


Ultraviolet

by Five-7 (Scubapus)



Category: Borderlands (Video Games), Borderlands 3
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Fingering, Canon-Typical Violence, Confused burn lol, Creampie, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Guess it's not so PWP anymore!, Humor, Kissing, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, Prostate Massage, Shameless Smut, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-21
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2020-12-27 06:35:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 550,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21114311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scubapus/pseuds/Five-7
Summary: After all the shite they'd been through together, Zane doesn't quite know what to think of them.Amara might have an idea.[Shameless and massive Zane-centric fic]





	1. Renaissance [New Beginnings - Xeros]

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, I'm Zanesexual, have an unsatisfied addiction to the underappreciated AmaZane pairing, and this is my fic (that I'm nervous as hell about, eek).
> 
> This was going to be a short PWP that then grew significantly longer than intended. Can't help myself - I dig character reflection. Most is in this section since I didn't think I'd have more than a one-shot to work with.
> 
> I'd actually written the majority of this before seeing the "So Happy Together" trailer, and oh my god, if that didn't feed my fire. Also, has anyone noticed how Amara and Zane seem to pair up in trailers often? Because I have.
> 
> Disclaimers: I haven't yet finished the game. Also, I am obviously not a stickler for grammar. You might notice that Zane's accent fades when the subject matter shifts him into more serious gears and then gets more casual/crazy when he is. The writing will occasionally be Amara-centric.
> 
> I'm literally up to my arms in like six other chapters that I will integrate into this story as I finish them. Until then, thank you for reading! Any comments are greatly appreciated!

Safe as Sanctuary III was, Zane Flynt found it highly mundane - which meant that he actually preferred running and gunning through hoards of shrieking, weapon-flailing, spit-spraying bandits. 'Course anyone who knew of him would have expected that.

Unfortunately, that was now in the past...or what remained of the COV had been left back on Pandora, his lack of action resulting in him growing steadily stir crazy.

As if he wasn't _already_ enough of a maniac. Everyone had shot him the most incredulous looks when he'd been dancing his hot arse off and blastin' bloody holes through bandits - and worse when he'd hooked arms with the digital construct that shared his dashing likeness, all so they could shoot in a gleefully murderous display...so why would anyone think it wise to keep him held up on an enclosed vessel?

Ah, maybe because his advanced age - badarsedness bedamned - suggested that he really meant the bullshite he'd spewed about retirement...which had happened. Technically. After all, he'd removed himself from the intergalactic hitman docket long before he found himself actually missing it.

Honestly, the silver-haired operative didn't think much about it - or anything else for that matter. Nowadays the life he lived was impulsive at best, and he'd hardly been joking when he'd told the others how he always heard screams. _That_ particular snippet of personal information had to have been halfway accountable for him finding himself in Sanctuary.

He sure as heck wasn't sitting there at Moxxxi's bar in deep contemplation, no sir, but he was doing a great deal enough of thinking'...'bout how he wasn't ready to leave the wee band of misfits he'd linked arms with back on Pandora. While his enlistment in the Crimson Raiders hadn't _really_ been his intention when all was said and done, going through all the shite the Calypso twins had put them through convinced him to stick around his new favorite group.

Wasn't like he had any family left on Pandora anyway - or like he'd ever belonged with them to begin with, which was why he'd ditched 'em in the first place...for bigger and better things.

Still, Zane had had a funny feeling when Ava had addressed him in private earlier that day. Really, he should've seen it coming, knowing more seasoned Vault Hunters often split off in solo-ventures. Upon receiving her ECHO transmission, he'd already half expected why it was she had wanted to talk with him.

What a young lass she was to be put into such a substantial position.

"You're meant for the part, Zane, since you know how to find information. You really have more experience than the rest of us. You know how to do shake-downs and dig up dirt. Anything you could find about other vaults or, you know, other assholes looking for them would be really useful to us."

He'd looked at her for a moment, absorbing what she'd suggested. And then laughed, abruptly, leaning to slap his right knee. "Thank Christ, I thought ye were gonna tell me to go back to Pandora an' keep its shite together, since it was my home planet and all! _Ahhhh_, whatta relief!"

She'd giggled at his outburst, clearly entertained by his vocal theatrics. "Nope. Not today, though _mayyyybbee…_"

The teen was set to learn that it wasn't easy to get under his skin, 'specially when he'd given her an angle - not that hers wasn't a smart idea, what with the leftover COV still disoriented in the wake of their dead idols. Made them ripe them for picking as far as other tyrannical nutjobs were concerned. Easier it would be to let those bloodthirsty bandits kill themselves and keep a distant eye on them in case someone else tried starting shite with the vault. Unlike his brothers, Zane had no inclination to lord over _anyone._

Considering the idea the teenager had introduced, the operative knew she was by no means wrong. He wasn't exactly reserved about his accomplishments and talents. Over many decades, he'd perfected his skills of espionage and assassinations. Had been the go-to operative for the highest bidders, and had built one heck of an arsenal of cutting-edge technology - and, most importantly, his know-how. Additionally, up until partnering with the three other newest vault hunters, he'd been a lone wolf. He'd enjoyed being all by himself in his own brand of high-stakes, flamboyant insanity.

Ordinarily he'd be eagerly out the door and on his merry way to some chaotic, violent solo-assignment, retirement bedamned, but now...it seemed some things had changed. After meeting Amara, Moze, and FL4K, there was no one he'd rather brush boots with but them - 'cept his own clone, naturally, that handsome bastard.

Curious thing their partnership was.

What a kick in the nuts it was to finally give a shite about somebody else for a change. He'd been chummy with damn near everyone but authentically friendly with few. He guessed that was how teamwork was suppose to go.

"Aye, you'd be right," replied Zane affably. I'll get to thinkin' about it...but lemme tell ye, I was gettin' a bit cozy with my boyos. Gotta admit I ain't exactly ready'ta leave them to someone else, ya know? Wouldn't feel quite right if I wasn't gettin' their back...

"_Yet,"_ he'd added, then shot the teenager a cocky smirk. "'Ey, I'm tryin' to retire here!"

Sure didn't seem like it but feck it. After some more chit chat, he'd been dismissed and had nearly walked into Amara as he'd exited bridge. Turned out his favorite siren had made arrangements with Ava to train their mystical skills, what with the teenager just having gained hers and the Partalian not having yet known the potential of her own. Tannis, being the sociopath she was, had no part in it that wasn't purely scientific, as far as he knew. Wasn't like the others needed her to cramp their style.

In past conversations, Amara had disclosed that she and the youngest siren were studying the book Maya had passed on. They regularly sparred and were determined to expand on their abilities, their ambitions of surpassing the Firehawk fueling their determination. From how busy the training had kept his purple-favoring friend, who'd been increasingly absent from their team's bonding times and greatly missed, it was a given that Amara took it all very seriously.

Naturally their conservative band of vault hunters were proud to support her and left her whatever impressive weapons and trinkets they collected on her behalf. The four of them still traveled to planets together, but on the occasions they left without her, they knew it unsettled her. Didn't upset her, necessarily, but bothered her, tough as her exterior was.

Zane, personally, had few qualms about comforting her with bribes of scavenged eridium, in particular. He figured she deserved it as a siren, given that she could make the most of it.

Together the operative, gunner, and beastmaster made sure to share all the boring details of their travels with their siren, assuring her that she hadn't really missed anything. If anything, being left out of their landing party due to her other preoccupations had exacerbated her curiosity.

"Ain't like we'd be leavin' ya outta anything actually _worth _doin', silly," he'd formerly assured her over a beer, with both Moze and FL4K nodding in practiced reinforcement. "In fact, it sure sucks to be us doin' layman's work when you're bein' all badass. Rest o' us might as well be scrubbin' shite outta toilets."

Moze chuckled, running one slim finger around the rim of her own frothy glass. "Too true. I didn't even have to use Iron Bear last time. Poor guy is getting rusty."

Zane couldn't remember if that was exactly true or not but drank to the angle she was using. After finding that his mug had run dry, he'd raised it and waved it at the barkeep - that was until FL4K reached for it.

"Allow me," offered the AI, for once not spouting some profound statement of death. "My pets require sustenance."

"Doin' the Lord's work, me good friend," smiled Zane, and then to Amara, going for another appeal with gusto, "We gotcha on speed dial, gorgeous. Better yet, when ya learn all them nifty siren tricks, ya can read our minds thinkin' '_Shite!_ _Sure wish Amara was here to save me sorry arse!' _And teleport right on over. _Zoom!_"

The curl of her full lips suggested she'd started thinking of the many occasions she'd hoisted him off his ass and to his feet when he'd gotten a wee bit too reckless.

Similarly Moze was grinning, clearly entertaining the scenario in her head - probably with him running around in flames, shrieking. "Grandpa's got a point there."

In good nature, Zane groused at the soldier before knocking back a gulp of the house brew. Using the back of his glove to wipe off the froth lingering on his mustache, he then talked behind the flat of his hand.

To Moze's amusement, he pitched his voice low as though sharing total scandal, his own mouth twitching with a smirk. "I gotta warn ya, though, 'bout learnin' to poke 'round in me brain - it's a scary place!"

Taking a swallow of her drink, Amara seemed placated enough...far as he knew, so he was surprised that her curiosity had rekindled during their more recent meetup beyond the bridge.

Naturally she gave in when he'd initiated a high five, now wholly accustomed to his antics and what happened if she didn't play along. Their gloved hands collided with familiar gusto. He'd then made a show of rubbing his palm, hissing at her with a wink. "_Easy_ there, Partalian Tiger."

"Tiger of _Partali,_" she'd corrected as always, rolling her eyes in mock irritation. She couldn't hide a small smile as he offered the same hand again but now at a lower elevation.

"Gonna gimme one down-low or are ye gonna be a buzzkill?"

Zane didn't give in to the temptation of making her miss and flippantly adding, 'too slow, Joe'. Not when she was reporting to official business. He didn't need to go wasting her time like that. More than that, he had an extra hankering' for a pint or two after the conversation he'd just had.

As though she was a predatory feline and her curiosity did indeed get the better of her, Amara fixed him in a serious gaze. She kept her voice a little lighter than her usual sternness, though, for reasons unknown. Maybe she thought he would tell her what she wanted to hear if she didn't _seem_ all that interested?

Tough as shite she was, Amara was still a woman and intentionally or not, they all played their mind games. He'd know - he'd been a fool for most of them at one time or another.

"Anything I should know?" she asked.

"Uhh, no?" he casually circumvented, like he had not a care in the universe - just like he typically didn't. He'd then hooked a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing back to the bridge and added airily, " 'least not that I know, but ya ain't here to talk with lil' ol' me, are ye?"

Unable to disagree, Amara lightly scoffed at him and brushed past. The operative found himself half turning to casually follow the purple sash trailing behind swaying hips. He'd then snorted bemusedly at himself and walked off, hands in his pockets.

Eventually he'd begun whistling a cheery little ditty, thinking he should've maybe tried to stick around and see what the two sirens did among themselves.

All be told, Zane couldn't really imagine Ava having much to offer the older woman. Maybe some new understanding, obviously, since the Partalian hadn't been cooped up in the protective bubble of a monastery - but then Amara did a lot of meditating, didn't she? Unless being face-down, passed out drunk counted, it wasn't like that was an activity Zane practiced. Either way, he assumed her spiritual self-reflection had something to do with figuring herself out.

From what he'd seen, Amara was the most physically powerful siren. God knew he'd been in awe of her strength aplenty. Not having understood the extent of her own potential, she had focused on refining the brute strength she'd worked so hard to develop. Far as he was concerned - not that he really knew shite - the rest of her training could be a cakewalk if she'd already harnessed so much dangerous potential. She'd only have to find new ways to utilize - or shape? - it, he guessed.

Either way, he had nothing to do with it. He had a dick, after all, and was not an exception to the siren system like Troy had been. 'Course it could be argued that the deceased Calypso brother, having worked in tandem with his narc sister, hadn't had balls at all. 'Least not any of his own.

Didn't matter now that he'd ceased to exist, so Zane went about considering what Ava had recently made so personally relevant.

All things told, the operative had nothing _against_ earning his bread and butter the ol' fashioned way, but going off on his own meant he'd waste a good deal of time having to look over his shoulder. That wasn't the most of his problems, though, 'cause if Crimson Raider chronology had anything to say, it was that their people only got killed when they went off doin' their own shite. What was the saying - security in numbers? All their members were skilled, yeah, but happened to cross a whole lotta paths with psychotic bastards and equally unpredictable extremists.

Knowing himself better than anyone, Zane knew he'd be best doing as Zer0 had done and go off on his own. After all, his fellow assassin still assisted the Crimson Raiders while calling his own shots. Seemed just right to him.

If those shots meant him breaking into dance or pelting out tawdry folk songs, so be it. If the circumstances called for infiltrating enemy territory, disabling their defenses, and destroying them from the inside before they knew what feckin' hit 'em, he'd have that covered too. Contrary to what his fellow vault hunters expected of him, he was perfectly capable of it, and he always had his tech to back him. With his augmentations, his digi-clone and sentinel drones were technological extensions of him.

Zane wasn't bothered by keeping his own ass safe because he'd done it so feckin' long. He goofed off during firefights and showed off with exuberant flare because he _could, _his extensive experiences able to afford it. But how much did Moze, Amara, and FL4K have? Wasn't like he knew how long the hobo robot had been in commission, but he didn't want to see _any _of them pull a Roland or Maya stunt. Speaking of the blue-haired siren, didn't she serve as recent proof that arseholes liked targeting sirens for their powers? He didn't like the though of Amara being singled out by any number of gobshites.

Nah, he didn't yet trust anyone in command to make the right shots. Him and the new crew didn't have enough skin in the game, yet, not to call their own. He _definitely _didn't trust that any one of his boyos wouldn't get themselves in too much trouble without his handsome mug. Besides, who else took point with such finesse like he did?

In ways that still surprised him, Zane didn't think much of their team having looked to him for direction. He only knew that his extensive experience and louder personality had resulted in him adopting some semblance of leadership. And he _knew_ he didn't need to officially associate as a Crimson Raider. As one of the oldest surviving hitmen, his arse kicking skills meant he didn't need their street cred. _His_ was intergalactic.

Was he bein'... protective? Call it a new habit. He didn't like fighting hip to hip with many fellas but felt an odd sense of kinship with their ragtag foursome. He suspected the others felt the same, though they hadn't really chatted about it. Among other things, they tended to keep to themselves in ways that supported his theory.

They were teammates. Friends. The _best_ of friends someone could have in lives like theirs. The term was relative. What mattered was that Zane knew he trusted them with his life and knew that the feeling was reciprocated. They'd already proven it by watching out for each other and guarding over the fallen.

He didn't need to think much of Ava's suggestions now that they'd mutually decided to put that subject on a hiatus. The wee lass was still hopeful of Lilith's returned and admitted she wasn't really ready to be anyone's boss.

He'd still haggled with her, acknowledging her position of authority - said he'd be a useful resource for her, and he'd meant it. The young commander didn't deny that she could use all the help she could get while learning the ropes of her new position.

That got him to thinking about his unofficial status among his team. He wasn't a superstitious man, but if Vault Hunter chronology was any indication, leaders were the ones who lost their lives. First that Roland fellow, then Maya. He supposed that if he similarly represented his unit, chances were he'd end up next in line at the chopping block.

Didn't seem so bad, since he wasn't at all afraid of death - and FL4K's fixation on it had no influence on that. Men didn't do what he did with inhibitions. He had told Maya that he'd been born kickin' arse and he'd die doing the same. He hadn't been boasting or otherwise lying. In all seriousness, Zane figured it'd be better him dead than any of them. The mere thought of losing another team member downright pissed him off, which was no small achievement.

Until shite hit the fan, he sure wasn't planning on kicking his own bucket, and he wasn't such a betting man that he'd take a gamble on it. Considering all the craziness he'd been through, it was hard to believe he'd have such bad luck. Some mega monster from a vault would have to be the one to end him, ornery ol' bastard he was, and he'd already killed those that'd tried. Needless to say, the odds weren't in their favor.

One thing was certain: that he'd go out in a blaze of glory. Of all the uncertainties throughout the six galaxies, that was guaranteed.

Truth be told, Zane understood that he wasn't important in the grand scheme of things, and it didn't bother him in the slightest. Very few of them were. Only the sirens proved to be necessary tools in opening the vaults. The rest of them were as good as expendable and that was the cold hard truth. They either survived to unveil the contents of the vaults or died trying. It was a risk they all knowingly signed up for.

'Course the reward of getting one's hands on unknown alien technology came with the risk of also endangering the universe. Seemed to him like opening Vaults was a massive gamble with potentially fatal consequences, considering the Eridians had used their technology to seal away creatures capable of wreaking mass fatalities and destroying everything in their wake.

Did he know the stakes? Aye. Did he play a hand in it? Also aye. Far as he figured, _someone_ would access those vaults if given the knowledge and resources. Better him and the folks he fought alongside than the real sadists - and that was the exact justification he had in doing it. That, and he'd done basically everything else in his day. What else was a thrill-seeker like him to do?

For now 'til someone coughed up a vault worth plundering, there was nothing to do. _Nothing._

Not much went on for the rest of that day. Sanctuary still hadn't budged due to what were likely unexpected delays, since shite usually happened that way.

Hours later, Zane found that he still felt off. Spent most of the time aimlessly wandering the less occupied corridors of the ship. Few people who wandered past him spoke up besides the random "Go Vault Hunter!" encouragements. He'd taken up whistling a cheery tune and kicking a random piece of rubble that had been tracked aboard. Later, he'd settled on the floor with his back to the wall and eavesdropped on assorted ECHOnet chit chat while repeatedly ejecting and slapping home a clip in his newest fancied sidearm over, and over, and over again.

The only unusual part of that day was when Moze showed up and gave him a look, like she was thoroughly contemplating using Iron Bear to drag him by the ankle to the on-board diner - as if she was irritated that he hadn't already there and two pints in. Meals eaten together had become their thing, after all. It was like she had to remind him to be hungry, and he had indeed been, so he'd forced himself to his feet with an audible crack in his ol' bastard back to follow her.

"Getting older?" smirked the short-haired gunner, regarding him with a thumb on her cute lil' chin.

"Eeeevery damn minute," was his gruff response. He twisted to realign his spine, the bony column popping loudly in evidence.

Maybe, at lunch, he'd underestimated how distracted he'd been - and that his fellow vault hunters had noticed.

Together, their foursome occupied their usual table in the corner and...well, he'd been too preoccupied to notice details. He knew only that he'd sat there and chewed absently on a mystery burger. It was leathery and a little tough, but salty and vaguely meat-like...and to his knowledge, didn't contain ratch.

Not like he was asking.

"'s good enough for me," he'd shrugged when Moze inquired about it, poking her head over each of their plates to inspect what she might consider ordering the next time. Small girl had one crazy metabolism.

If she said anything else, he couldn't remember. The others talked among themselves as he replayed his conversation with Ava in his head...and reconsidered what it entailed.

He couldn't deny that he was in a beneficial position to assist the other Crimson Raiders in what they did. He didn't doubt he knew at least a dozen leads to power-hungry bastards in high places who would love to crack open a vault of their own. He had connections throughout the six known galaxies and enough wealth of his own to access the right channels of intel.

Besides, wasn't it imperative to stay on the down-low when digging for vaults and their keys and not spread the existence of them to other competitors? And not dragging the other Crimson Raiders along meant none of them would have to deal with the crossfire of people trying to collect bounties on him because that shite got _real_ old _real_ fast.

As if his own reputation didn't get him enough recognition, his origins also made going undetected a wee bit more complicated. He'd ditched Pandora forever ago to make a name for himself and he was still, by blood, associated with his infamous brothers, dead as they were. Seems someone always had an ax to wield against his family tree.

He wondered, again, how his sister managed as she did.

Didn't retirement usually entail a whole lot of travel and exploration anyway? Not to mention he was such a handsome bastard that he could easily charm any new siren - on the off chance he encountered one - and convince her to join the Crimson ranks.

Regardless of all theoretical outcomes, him leaving the others didn't sit right in his gut.

And he didn't think he could blame his burger.

...

He'd gone on to shower later that night. Had taken a pint in with him - because why the feck not - and had still managed to feel drier than a Pandoran desert.

He'd promptly turned off his ECHO device and tossed it onto his workstation, narrowly avoiding his backup digi-clone module. Then he'd promptly sauntered his way down to the drop pods. Hadn't even needed to make arrangements with Ellie, voluptuous badarse lass she was, since she was off overseeing vessel maintenance.

Oh well. If they needed him, they could find him - or the drop pod, at least. No doubt there was a digital log of each dispatch, and he knew for certain that each had an electronic tracker, providing it was currently functioning. Anyone who knew _of_ him would suspect he was at a nearby bar...simple as that.

Sanctuary had been lingering in orbit around a planet named Xeros. Wasn't really worth anything more than a pit stop - a place to stock up on minerals and whatever trade supplies they could scrape up. Sanctuary III was one heck of a beast to be traveling the galaxy with, and with so much to it, it consumed considerable amounts of resources. What Xeros lacked in scenery, it made up for in raw materials that could be manufactured into vessel components.

And alcohol, he'd come to find, unrefined as it was.

First thing he'd done after recovering from his hellish landing was saunter his way toward the nearest settlement and navigate to where bottles clinked and filthy booze flowed. It ended up being a hole-in-the-wall joint that was just how he liked them: empty except a few arse-ugly fellas who were minding their own worthless business.

Thanks to the drop pod experience, Zane was more in need of getting hammered than he'd been previously. He still couldn't feel his arse when he occupied a rickety stool and his back reminded him that it wouldn't tolerate many more crash landings. Was a good reminder for him to scan the hangar dimensions and order his team their own ship - one with far safer, _survivable _landings...and one with a bitchin' sound system, because it he was gonna pass space-time in a vessel, he liked rendering himself deaf in the process.

Also added to his mental shopping list: a better coffee maker than the questionable one already on Sanctuary. The sludge that came out of it was too foul for his standards even when he was hungover. And for a man who was often stir crazy to the point of severe insomnia, he needed massive doses of tasty caffeine to keep him functioning...or else it sometimes caught up with him and he crashed for days. Was damn hard to get his bedhead under control after that.

Considerate soul he was, Zane was mentally ordering double to pass one onto Lorelei, that sexy Promethean spitfire.

Funny how being in the saloon felt like Pandora while being a heck of a lot quieter. Didn't have any bastard cultists running around. He hadn't seen any creatures lurking outside waiting to cause any trouble either. 'Course, he figured that was what most of the food on the arid planet consisted of, including what was being hauled onto the ship. Chances were local folks earned their keep by mining rock and butchering meat.

Fortunately for Zane, he wasn't hungry. He was too busy thinking thoughts and drinking for that. Already, he'd knocked back two decent pints of ale and was eyeballing the visible selection of alcohol advertised on dusty display. As long as it didn't poison him or otherwise shite himself to death, he didn't care what it was he ingested.

The fact that he didn't whip out his digi-doppelganger to piss in the wind with meant he _really_ wanted to be left alone.

Rapping two knuckles on the counter, the operative got the barkeep's attention, then guided it to where he wanted it by making a finger-gun at a particularly interesting bottle of god-knew-what and pulling the trigger.

Good ol' boyo he was - and providing no one would try to shoot him - Zane was just getting started.

...

Sitting there, hunched over the bar with the taste of bitter ale on his tongue, he found himself starting to miss Pandora - not because he was homesick, but for the very specific memories of him and his small band of vault hunters and how they'd spent their nights lounging at makeshift camps.

Being on Sanctuary just wasn't the same as roughing it in a wasteland somewhere, feeding stories of total shite to his crew. All the feisty banter and smartarse joking had taken him back to simpler times: back before his eldest pyromaniac of a brother had burned out his eye. Back before all the leading-edge digitech and personalized constructs. Back before he'd left Pandora and all its dust in _his_ dust and his ambition had taken him to far bigger, better, lavisher things.

The reputation he'd earned himself had lead him to command the highest prices and the greatest demand in the business. He'd lived a lifestyle of cash riches and willing bodies, but somehow that didn't compare to the kinship he felt when making Moze giggle, Amara snort, and FL4K narrow his lens in some semblance of dry humor.

He hadn't expected to find family on Pandora - at least, not the closest he'd come to having one. His brothers and nephew were long dead, not that he gave a shite, and the remaining zealots who inhabited his home world - scratch that, _Great Vault Key _\- he didn't share any similarities with.

At least, for the time being, the others were safe and secure as could be in Sanctuary. That was a load off his increasingly foggy mind. Had they not been, it was damn certain he would have been with them, spilling blood like a calculated madman. Why was he even thinking of that? He wasn't out to stir up trouble where it wasn't warranted. Was he some breed of guilty for finally going somewhere without them? Christ, he'd cut and fled _marriages _without any consideration.

Guess that said a whole lot about him.

Gazing absently into the wood grain spread out before him, and the half full glass in his hand, the operative inwardly sighed. That evening, he didn't have any particular goals to reach so far as booze went. Wasn't like he planned on drinking himself as stupid as he had back after the twins had been destroyed. Smirking to himself, he recalled how he'd ended up positively_ sloshed _at that party_. _Moxxi had likely built another establishment from his patronage alone.

Zane barely remembered anything from that celebration but didn't doubt the consistent renditions his friends told: that he'd tripped twice and taken chairs with him - and in one instance, an entire table. That he'd been belting out deafening songs no one in the _universe _could understand in his particularly incoherent accent, later described by FL4K as an "indiscernible and therefore untranslatable" language. That he'd planted a big, sloppy kiss on Amara's cheek before she's shoved him away with a grimace at his turpentine breath. That he'd then knocked four people down in his desperate race to yank Moze's helmet from her head and vomit into it. And that he'd soon after slapped Zer0 on his skinny alien arse.

Zane was still counting his lucky stars that he hadn't lost a hand.

For him, the party had ended when FL4K had slung him over his capable shoulder and promptly transported the operative to the infirmary, where he'd later woken with such a skull-splitting headache that he'd been too agonized to notice the spiderant perched on his chest, exhaling foul insect breath onto him. He'd assumed the odor had been his.

"Spiderants detect and observe their hive members for disease," FL4K had explained in that deep resonant voice of his, matter-of-fact as always.

Wasn't the most flattering attention Zane had ever garnered but the fault had been his own. And he'd woken up next to far worse in his day.

"Aye, " the operative had barely managed to croak over the threatening churn of his sour stomach, but the _real_ question needed to be asked: "-but did I get married again?"

The looks he'd gotten for _that_ one.

Chuckling to himself at the memory, Zane polished off another pint of amber liquid. Still, there was something more hollow to his humor than his glass.

Brooding wasn't becoming of him. It was never something he did_. Never. _Hit a nerve thinking that Ava's suggestion had tipped his attitude in the wrong direction. He only _looked_ the part of a grumpy, albeit handsome, old bastard. But despite how cheeky and impulsive he seemed - and was - he'd known serious moments that, well, weren't his favorite.

Like jolting awake from nightmares of a self-proclaimed goddess clasping her hand around Amara's throat. Powerlessly standing and witnessing as his teammate kicked desperately, the sounds of her panicked choking waning as Tyreen drained her of her energy. Or waking with his fist in the wall, the metal dented beside his bed, with his last memory being of him beating Troy into mince meat, Amara's dust at their feet. Because of stunts like that, his knuckles had seen better days beneath the well-worn leather of his gloves.

That wasn't like him. Not at all. And feck, why was he even thinking about it?

So he redirected his thought with another bottle of booze, grateful that a real creature was tending the bar instead of a glitching, frustrating bot. Sirens, well, weren't _they_ a clever thing? Never ceased to amaze with all the things they could do. He figured he'd have to rib Amara later and ask what all her meditation was for, since she evidently had more abilities to uncover. Wasn't like hers weren't impressive, because they damn sure were, but it seemed like she had a lot to learn from Lilith...whenever, and if ever, they found her.

Far as Zane was concerned, determining the fate of the infamous Firehawk was Tannis' specialty

Until then, he'd drink.

...

What Zane didn't expect was getting into an actual altercation over Amara. A real bare-fisted, cursin' donnybrook that happened for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend but involved a lotta greasy sneers and guys makin' ten too many lewd gestures while passing around a printed picture of her - and he just didn't like it for some feckin' reason.

'Course he could have blamed all the liquor he'd knocked back since arriving there. Feckin' tasked like it'd been distilled in a goddamn rusty bathtub and it smelled like the sludge from spiderant glands - and he only knew that from the nasty shite he'd seen FL4K's excrete when answering the call of nature.

Didn't stop the contract killer from drinking more of it, which he did with a hefty swig. He reached the state where he hardly noticed a hooker cooing and walking her fingers across his leather-coated shoulders. Wasn't until she tried to sit on his lap that he shrugged her off and blocked her pouty lips by draining another bottle. Like a fly, he shooed her off, and then hooked one boot on the base of his stool before waving on another pint.

As a vault hunter, he was into collecting loot - not diseases.

He sure wasn't some randy teen anymore, but he was a sexual man with a healthy appetite. Contrary to his audacity and uninhibited boisterousness, there was actually a balance to his madness. There was far more calculation to his conduct than he let on and that included his flippant behaviors. He'd learned long ago how to walk the fine line between self-denial and indulging in his libidinous urges.

There was a skill in harnessing just the right amount of sexual frustration. A good dry spell kept him alert and aggressive. A _drought_ could drive a man beyond the right amount of crazy. Men weren't meant to fight with their balls because they were easy to lop off. He planned to keep his so he could think with them when he wanted. He didn't need to use them on a purchased piece of arse.

Besides, being as charming as he was, sex was a free commodity.

He had standards and was more than willing to have a go with anyone who satisfied them, providing the chemistry was right and his dick wasn't too whiskied. Needless to say, he wasn't there yet, but if he _wanted_ someone, he'd damn well find one and seduce her - or him - out of their clothing.

Since joining the Crimson Raiders, he'd minded himself. Took care of matters with a slick fist. Sanctuary III's personal interface had an unexpected plethora of pornography, its monitors oh-so-conveniently installed overhead of the beds like it'd been constructed _knowing_ the ship wouldn't frequent intergalactic red light districts.

Heck, some of the selection was even new to _him_ and that was dark territory to play in.

Still, it had been a while since he'd bothered and he hadn't given a shite. For now, he found himself feeling unusually cantankerous. Made him raise a curious brow at the assortment of glasses and bottles he'd sat there collecting. He didn't need to go spoutin' curses and shovin' his way into conflict just to cause one. Oh no, he was surrounded by gobshites dumb enough to be goaded right into his fist.

He'd known the types. He'd thrown many of 'em through windows, after all. Meatheads who only needed someone to _look_ in their general direction before raising their dukes or weapons.

He'd heard alotta folks talk shite but them pissin' on Amara's reputation wasn't gonna happen on his feckin' watch. Was their fault for being there before he'd walked in. Didn't they feel trouble comin'? He had no reservations of sending a few nobodies to their graves even if he wasn't getting paid. Hitman he was, he still had hobbies on the side.

"Lass ain't none of ya damn business," he'd slurred over them, and then he was cracking his knuckles, his neck, his back, bones audibly popping - as if he'd needed the help earning their attention.

It wasn't like he tolerated their type - or anyone, for that matter, who ran their mouths so loud, it interrupted his moonshine guzzling. Normally he went about his business and didn't bother looking at anyone but himself, providing he was talking piss with his clone, but that day, that group of gobshites had damn well earned the withering glare he'd shot 'em with outta the corner of his blue eye.

"Mind your damn business, ya old fuck," the tallest of the trio spat at him and then guffawed at his buddies with a loud smack on one's back. "Ain't like your grandpa dick is working', ya scrawny old bitch."

Then they made the mistake of removin' their eyes from his hands and instead, flashed him their seedy, tooth-missin' grins.

Despite himself, Zane's grip on his bottle tightened, just like his molars that ground together. Yet somehow, he wrenched them apart to invite in another swig of liquor that spilled like turpentine down his throat.

Feckers just didn't get what that fine woman did for them by ending the Calypso twins. Hadn't saved just a few planets but potentially the whole goddamn universe. And they clearly weren't thinkin' how she kicked a whole lotta deservin' ass as her day job just to protect all the innocent folk out there - and had earned a whole lotta fans to prove it.

Then there were these assholes, waggin' their diseased dicks at her image, gettin' off on disrespectin' comments -

Had they been wankin' off to anyone else, Zane sure as hell wouldn't have given a flyin' feck, but he'd fought alongside her and, well, he was hammered, wasn't he? And they were insultin' his handsome, _functionin' _dick!

"Yeah, she's a siren a'right," said the nobby bald one, fatter than the rest. He just went right on talkin' like the operative didn't even exist. "Got tits of a goddess. How I'd like to fuck my dick between 'em and cum s'more tats on her bitch face-"

Zane's holding a broken bottle before he knows it and that jackass is balled up on the floor howling in pain. There's blood running slick and familiar down his gloved hands, staining the navy of his sleeve black, and pooling on the ground but he doesn't stop there, no sir. It's almost like a dream, the way he keeps busting bones and breaking jaws, and all that time, there's that vile taste of moonshine and dusty air until he takes a fist to the face.

Feckers never stood a chance.

When he feels done enough teachin' those shiteheads a lesson, he tears himself away with a slight stagger. Doesn't care that there's shards of glass in his hand pinning his gloves to skin. Doesn't care that he's audibly snarling, or that he overpaid his tab as he slapped a handful of currency on the counter and went to call it a day.

He only _then _realized that he'd finally found a place where he could throw back a pint in peace. Then what'd he do? Went and fecked it all up to hell...but for as good of a reason as any.

What he _didn't_ expect was to turn around from the pile of groaning bodies and see Amara there. Right there. Standing, with strong arms crossed, almost identical to the photo that was now in shreds on the ground. That illuminated blue was fading from the elaborate scrolls embedded in her skin, suggesting she'd been using her powers, and he was really dumbfounded as feck that he was suddenly staring at her. He even did a double-take at the scattered bottles abandoned at his seat, reaching to pick one up so he could squint his one good eye down the neck of it as though double-checking its contents.

Yep, it was Amara. That print-out was still salvageable if he needed reminding - which he didn't. He had half a mind to look past her, expecting their other two counterparts to be close behind, but they weren't. That meant FL4K and Moze were likely still back on the ship, where they'd been installing some much needed improvements on Iron Bear.

He'd know - tech addict he was, he'd been up to his elbows in it 'til Ava had requested him at the bridge.

Amara was not amused, even as Zane pointed an intact bottle at her like a telescope. Through the brown glass, he saw her fingers drum along one forearm.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" she demanded in that thick accent of hers - not that he was one to judge. "All this time, we've been trying to get a hold of you and you've been what, getting shitfaced?"

Oops. Time to slather on the suave _real_ thick.

"Aw shite, ya mean ya been callin' me?" he asked with sincerity because honestly, he had been oblivious. "Blasted ECHO device must be fecked up. My apologies, lovely."

Except he'd left it in his quarters aboard the ship, letting him avoid responsibility for a wee while, but Ms. Serious didn't need to know that. As if _that _tidbit would improve her attitude any.

His hadn't been the best choice of words. He figured that from the way her violet eyes narrowed at him in sober scrutiny. She seemed curious to determine if he really was slurring - until one of the floored thugs gave a groan. She stepped over to kick him, silencing his pathetic suffering.

"Let's go," she ordered, her ponytail swaying as she jerked her chin toward the direction she wanted to go. "There's plenty to drink at Moxxxi's."

Forcing out an exasperated sigh, Zane let his head tip back childishly, silver hair hardly shifting. "But interspace travel is so _borin'!_"

"You'll live," challenged the siren. She then turned for the door, not so much casting a glance back with all her self-assurance that he would obey her.

And Zane did, because she was bossy. Not 'cause she was _the_ boss, but because she could damn well use her powers to drag his arse back to Sanctuary. She was right, too, about Moxxxi's - had he gone there, he wouldn't have bashed skulls together. Not that he minded that any, but since leaving Pandora and saving the universe or some such, things _had_ been a wee bit bland for his tastes.

A guy like him got downright cagey when he was stuck in one place for too long. That'd been one draw of the assassin trade: he'd always been on the move, tracking down one target or another. Or he'd been free to satisfy his wanderlust, searching for something to fill his hunger for chaos.

But wasn't being cooped up in a ship a lot like the retirement he'd been aiming for? And if he didn't like squatting with the Crimson Raiders, what was keeping him around? What was making him follow that blue-tipped ponytail instead of leaving on his own?

Comradery, for one. That was a new thing for him. He'd had partners, on rare occasion, but only for as long as his missions dictated. Flying solo had always been his calling, but there was no denying how the four of them, excluding the other Raiders, worked in some crazy sort of sync. They didn't give two shites about his stint as a corporate hitman and weren't trying to shoot him in the back, 'cause they'd had innumerable chances already. That wasn't to say they wouldn't turn on him ever, but they had bigger fish to fry and vaults to crack, and, well...they were his boyos.

They weren't the band of brainless bandits he'd grown up with. Instead, they had some sorta virtues. Maybe he was starting to see that the universe wasn't entirely about power and riches, even if those were still big players. Maybe he just liked that he was free to enjoy his brand of insanity while still having buddies who accepted his craziness.

_Shite_, he thought to himself, did it really matter _why_he was tagging along with them? Wasn't like he needed money 'cause he was so feckin' rich. Bein' a free spirit was how he lived, and it wasn't like he'd _really_ considered what retirement entailed. He was still ornery enough to have a few more naughty years in him.

Together, the vault hunters stepped out in the night, and he'd be damned if his swagger wasn't a little teetering. Maybe he was a _wee_ bit tipsy, but that was the point of drinkin', wasn't it? 'Course he didn't miss the way Amara walked more closely to him than needed. Found himself snorting audibly before reaching over and pushing a playful knuckle on her shoulder as though rejecting her unnecessary hovering.

"Damn, girl, don't go thinkin' I need a crutch, aye? I sure ain't that piss-faced," he assured her with a lopsided grin. And then hit his brakes, hard, when she suddenly whirled on him and seized him by the wrist.

At first, he thought he'd gone too far. That maybe Amara was mighty ticked that he'd needed retrieving. Or maybe that she'd boot him in his poor nuts for touching her - but that was nothing new or uninvited, was it? After all, their group was always patting each other on their backs or some such.

It didn't dawn on him what the matter was until she jerked his captive hand to her face. At the bloodied sight of it, angry shards of glass still protruding in places, the siren bit her plump lip and cocked her eyebrows skeptically.

"Seriously, one got the jump on you?" she questioned as though in disbelief - to which he snorted and rolled his exposed eye.

"Did it to meself," he chuckled, flexing his fingers despite the burning pain and weeping stains of crimson.

"You were fighting with your clone?"

He couldn't very well blame her for misinterpreting now, could he? 'Cept he and his digi-clone were best of pals, so that didn't make much sense of her. How could he even _think_ of knocking the teeth in on his own gorgeous mug?

"'Course not! Things didn't go that arseways," he scoffed, then pulled his hand closer to his own vision to better inspect the damages. "Quit your worryin', lass. It's still attached."

He gave his wrist a hefty shake to prove it, and then added cheekily, "'Sides, if it wasn't, y a'd have plenty to spare, aye?"

Watching those purple eyes roll as hard as they did was reward enough to him. He waited until she pulled her hand back and resumed walking before strutting alongside her, assuming the matter was all said and done until she spoke up again.

"For the record," she warned, "I don't need you standing up for me to a couple of nobodies. And I can't say I took you as the type to defend anyone's honor."

Well, that made two of them.

He wagged his thick brows at her, shooting her his cocky smirk. "Well I _am_ a jack o' all trades, y'know? And I already said was gettin' plenty bored of bein' cooped up on that blasted ship."

Truth be told, flashy metropolises akin like Promethea were more his preference, but they weren't in that style of solar system now, were they?

Unable to pass down a golden opportunity to crack a joke, he couldn't resist the smartarsed curl of his own lips. "Ain't like I know ya can't _hand_le them."

"_Zane_," she breathed sharply before continuing despite him. "So let me get this straight: you decided to make yourself an appointment at the infirmary? Which, by the way, is precisely where your ass is going."

He refused, shaking his head dismissively. "Nope! Still got plenty'a hypos. Soon as we get on the ship, I'm gonna head on to the jacks and take care o' it. It'll be good as new."

Amara looked at him with a slight degree of confusion, likely lost by his atypical dialect.

"I'm gonna wash it up in the shitter," he clarified. She nodded and sighed, crossing one arm over the cobalt calligraphy of the other.

There wasn't much said between there and Sanctuary. Just the sound of plentiful insects partying out in the night air and the scuff of their boots on the sandy soil. Sure, he could have chatted her up more. Exchanged some witty banter to uplift her spirits. He was always up for some feisty conversation, especially with Amara because her serious exterior usually caved without too much effort from him.

But he didn't. As of now, she just seemed to thoughtful...or tired. He couldn't tell which. He was one hell of a handsome bastard and good at damn near everything but what he _wasn't_ was a mind reader.

One thing he didn't approve of was having Amara or anyone else worry their pretty lil' heads over him, so he spoke up again, disregarding how his breath clouded once it hit the cooling nocturnal climate.

Zane figured she'd either be amused by his comment or roll her eyes out of her head over it. Or she'd phase lock him. Or flip him off with any number of her middle fingers, anatomical or not. Whatever the outcome, it was better than her acting like she'd had to pry a rabid skag off his ass.

"No need to go troublin' yourself over me, lovely. Ya can't say ya got nothin' better to do. I hear that Axton boyo is back aboard," he suggested flippantly, reaching to loop one leather-clad around her solid shoulders and draw her within whispering distance before pitching his voice low. "Ya should go meet up with that Axton fella - the one with that badarse turrent, yah? Seems like you two were gettin' a wee bit friendly last time ya met. Pretty sure he was makin' eyes at ya too. Ain't any o' my business, I know, but it sure don't hurt to have a wee bit o' fun now an' then."

He then let her go to give her a playful nudge of his elbow and a suggestive wink of his unaugmented eye. Saw the faint darkening of her cheeks before she pointedly looked away from him, reaching to push one errant hair behind her ear.

_Ah-ha! _thought Zane to his prideful self. _As always, my instincts are bang-on! Jus' call me Cupid, I'm so good at shootin'!_

"Are you sure about that?" she asked, pointing an accusing finger at him._ "You're_ the one impressed by his gun. I wouldn't want to interfere."

Implying what, that she _was_ in fact interested? Or was she deflecting his ribbing by putting up her own form of shield?

"_Ha_! Girl, I got years on you," he brayed amicably. "I bet ya pretty head a pint that no one's as irresistible as this ol' bastard."

…

They went their separate ways soon after boarding Sanctuary, but not without him turning down the offer to accompany her to Moxxxi's.

"You're really done for the night?" tested Amara, visibly considering how many drinks he'd consumed before she found him - like she'd underestimated him.

"You sayin' ya want me to get in more trouble on this fine evenin'?" he countered with a saucy smirk...to which she shook her head, crossing her arms as she seemingly always did.

"No one here to fight and all the right reasons to be on good behavior."

Zane, naturally, thought otherwise. It was ingrained in him to be suspicious of his surroundings because his survival depended on it. He had no way of knowing who could be bought by any number of his former benefactors, enemies, or spiteful competitors. He already knew for a fact that they had some of the heftiest bounties out for his head. On multiple occasions had been attacked in the weirdest of locations, and successful mercenaries were never as loudly advertised as the Calypso twins.

Sanctuary, despite its name, was no exception.

Wasn't like he'd have anything to worry about had he been pullin' from a pint with FL4K, Moze, and of course Amara - and it wasn't like he hadn't occupied one of the bar stools in Moxxi's establishment before. He couldn't go _that_ long without wetting his appetite for booze, and what he personally supplied aboard never lasted long enough. Plus, the atmosphere just wasn't his preference but it wasn't like Sanctuary had a broad selection of choices.

As for Moxxi, well, he'd already plundered her loot over a long weekend Meridian's most exclusive casino. How could she not remember, he still wondered? He'd bent her over every inch of the presidential suite he'd supplied. Maybe that was it: he'd fucked her to amnesia. That, combined with all the spoils he'd reaped and the extensive selection of booze he'd tasted had made the trip memorable - the latter which seemed backward, didn't it? Maybe all the alcohol was to blame for Moxxi not recalling being pounded inside-out. That had to have been it.

Since having stepped on Sanctuary, Moxxi had made all her suggestive comments and one unmistakable offering for him to jog her memory, that smart lass, but he hadn't yet taken up her invitin' offer.

"Hate bein' a party pooper but I'm takin' a raincheck," he presently assured the siren, using his hands to flip through an imaginary calendar and scribbling down a mental note. "No offense to Moxxi but I sometimes like a lil' less tits with my pints," he half-way explained with a shrug. "And, y'know, less folks. I had my fill o' 'em for tonight."

Busy joints full of plastered patrons were only good for one thing, and that was blending in. That task always involved being equally boisterous and belligerent as to not stand out and draw attention to oneself. And though he had the wealth to do it, the older operative didn't feel like settling among those who lost at gambling when they couldn't afford to. Not all were as generously compensated as successful contract killers.

Unlike the rest of their ragtag group, Amara was accustomed to being surrounded by people. Old dog he was, he'd been more of a professional miscreant and as such had kept to himself. He'd never put down roots, never grew attached to anything because it had all been impermanent…so it'd been odd enough to share a bond with the other vault hunters. Now, expectations of him doing the same with an entire ship of Crimson Raiders was one _hell _of a stretch.

He wasn't lyin' when he claimed that Moxxi's wasn't his everyday type of honey. She was a fine piece of arse, he couldn't deny, but she was just too easy. Sure, he knew Zer0, who sometimes perched his lanky body on one of the bar stools. He loved amusin' himself by responding to the assassin's haikus with tawdry limericks. But all in all, he was better at keeping to himself...even if his jovial and deceptively outgoing personality earned him a lot of attention.

He'd waved goodbye to Amara, who gave him a "See you around" and spun on his heels toward the crew quarters. Strutted his way confidently toward the little nook he temporarily called home. If the Tiger knew what was good for her, he could trust her to go have a little fun and lighten up a tad - 'least 'til their next adventure. As for him, he had quite the bit of maintenance to do on all his beloved gadgets before then.

Man of many talents, he was just as good at procrastinating as he was handsome - at least when he could be, so all intentions of being productive were thrown to the wayside when he saw his bed. Approaching it, he'd kicked off his metal boots with gusto and ignored their loud steel _clang_ as they hit the floor. All he'd felt like doing was stretching his toes out without all that metal surrounding them...and drinking, naturally, so he went about finishing the bottle in his room. That way, he could check that additional accomplishment off his itinerary.

As he'd told his purple-clad companion, space life _was _a bore. He'd been there and done it all before - a thousand times over. Was hard to pass the time now after so many years of having painstakingly done it. If he wasn't arm wrestling someone, he was usually gambling them out of their money. His expertise as an assassin made him one hell of a stellar liar and having only one organic eye enhanced his poker face. 'Course he loved breakin' outta it and guffawing after he took their sad arses to the cleaners.

"It goes to a good cause!" he liked to assure them. "I drink half of it 'way and use the rest to buy me mates their weapons upgrades!"

And that was the _truth_, 'cause he had plenty of riches in the bank as it was and he wanted his teammates as well-armed as could be. More than any of 'em, he appreciated the advantage of having gizmos and gadgets that kicked a whole lotta arse. Clearly he used 'em often, which was why his current accommodations, while not as lavish as he was accustomed, were full of 'em.

Another way to pass the time, and definitely the most wholesome, was spent running energy out of the poor children trapped aboard. Heavens knew those kiddos deserved entire planets to explore. He felt for them and had, on occasion, sent his sentinel drones buzzing around the ship for their chasing entertainment. He was but a grown kid at heart, after all.

All that cuteness had made Zane think, for a crazy second, that he should've fathered a couple kids, but also knew he was a Flynt. Just because Captain had didn't make it a good decision. Now both he and Sparky were dead. But boy, him being' the grown goof-off he was, he was sure great with them.

Fortunately for him, he didn't believe in regrets.

In privacy, Zane sighed as he went about fixing his wounded hand. Now, there _was_ a wee bit of teeth gritting and minor cursing as he went through the process of peeling the blood-saturated glove off his injured skin. It was a shame to see that his former pint had betrayed him like that. Really, he was to blame, he reminded himself as he went about plucking the glass remnants of his flesh, alternating between "loves me, loves me nots" until they were all in the trash.

Come to think, he couldn't remember what he'd left off on when he'd proceeded to flush out the gashes and then retrieve a hypo from the stash he'd accumulated.

Zane didn't question the contents he injected into his hand. What was certain were the results: the cells of his damaged skin began multiplying until the surface mended itself with tender pink tissue. Deeper damage took longer to repair itself but for his purpose, the hypo worked just swell. If the rest of his body was any indication, it proved that the technology wasn't scar-proof, but it had held him together well enough over the years.

Shame about his glove, though, thought the operative as he held it up for inspection. Real soon, he'd have to meander around Sanctuary and find some means of having another synthesized. No biggie, especially when he had time to kill - as in, that was all he'd been killing.

Normally, in his free time, he drank. When he wasn't drinking, he either fiddled with his tech and cleaned his gear or played cards with his digi-clone. He wasn't an unusual sight in the command room, boots kicked up and long body lounging back at one of the consoles, and a time or two, he'd busied himself playing fetch with one of FL4K's pets. Other than that, there wasn't enough aboard to occupy him all that well. There was plenty of opportunity to keep his facial hair trimmed and pester everyone for some excuse to form a landing party, enabling them to burn off some much needed energy.

As it was, he'd spent the last few days waiting for something electric to happen. He was an adrenaline junkie, after all, but damned if it didn't take absolute chaos and planet-shaking explosions to get him off.

Oddly enough, Zane found himself highly unmotivated that evening. Didn't even have the will to use his ECHO device and peruse the airwaves for something mildly entertaining. Come to think of it, he didn't even care to tinker with the multiple droids he'd had in various stages of disrepair around the room. And he wasn't of mind to log into his computer to see what contracts, out of curiosity, had come onto the market.

Instead, Zane kicked back on his bed and spent a mind-numbing amount of time - could have been minutes, could have been hours - tossing back and forth one of the elastic masses of sap he'd collected off a previous planet. So far, he hadn't subjected it to Chomper's snapping jaws, which had been his intention of keeping it.

The way he saw it, there'd be plenty of time to throw the rubbery blob for FL4K's eager skag later. For now, he flung and caught the mass, the sound of the ricocheting material resounding through his quarters.

_Ka-thud. Ka-thud. Ka-thud._

A sharp, electric chirp interrupted the predictable noise. It made him glance at the the rooms sealed door, recognizing that someone was trying to get his attention. He wasn't sure if he was irritated or not by it, faltering for a moment to see if whoever was on the other side was determined or not.

_Ka-thud. Beep beep! Ka-thud. _Followed by an incomplete toss, the mass _ka-thumping _to the floor.

"-The heck is it?" he rasped, grunting with exaggeration as he hoisted himself off his mattress. "Better not answer that door an' have ya bitchin' that I'm makin' too much racket."

Going from lone operative to cohabitating with others was just _weird_, and he probably wasn't the best at it. Apparently Amara had appeared to be the judge of that, he discovered as he opened the door and saw that familiar bronze siren standing there, clad in what else? Black leather with amethyst accents.

She didn't look all that impressed with him.

"'Ey, gorgeous," he greeted cordially, his tall figure cocking one hip against the door frame. His brogue was as pronounced as could be. "What can I do ya for now?"

Amara certainly _looked_ like she wanted to say something, but there was reluctance in her purple gaze. Come to think of it, in all their running into firefights together, guns blazing at numbers easily twenty times theirs, he'd never noticed her looking so uncertain.

Maybe he was reading her wrong, but he'd regularly gambled with his own life and significant wealth on his ability to judge others - and being unsure of Amara seeming equally unsure of herself had him contagiously confused.

Not like he showed it, of course. He always had to be smooth and charming, after all, especially if someone needed some cheering up. So he opened his mouth to deal out a silly lil' quip - somethin' to get her eyes rolling or her lips smiling - and stopped short as she continued to stand there looking at him expectantly.

Leaning to look around behind her, he gently gripped her above her left elbow and pitched his voice low. "We got some secrets to share, aye? Somethin' ya don't want others to hear?"

If that was the case, what in the heck had he done to earn the privilege?

The look she shot him suggested otherwise: that he'd shite in her cereal. He hadn't meant to. What was she doing, holding an uncharacteristic grudge because she'd fetched him from that planet?

"You're so _frustrating_," she breathed, further solidifying his suspicions.

His pale brows furrowed now, and damned if he didn't feel like he had something to admit to or explain. And with how she stepped into his quarters, pushing him with her, he figured, ah _shite_, he was really in for it.

The door slid shut. She was reaching for the flaps of his jacket, yanking him down toward her, and then her mouth was against his, plump lips brushing his mustache.

The unexpected contact sent a sexual heat pooling between his legs. He was a man, after all, if a shocked one, and Amara _was_ attractive, even if the unexpectedness of _everything _blew his brain circuits.

Among more pleasant reactions, Zane felt like he'd just choked on his own feckin' tongue. And he was sure, for now, that it wasn't Amara's.

He couldn't even react as her leather-clad hands cupped his face, thumbs stroking his sideburns. His stunned mind struggled to register the occurrence on top of everything else, the tender gesture so unlike all the feisty jabs and shoulder claps they'd exchanged as rewards for a jobs well-done. And it most definitely wasn't the same kind of touch as when she wrapped his wounds or yanked him to his feet on the occasions he'd been knocked onto his ass.

Except maybe it was because suddenly, Amara was using that same contact to shove his face away and then she was making some frustrated sound. Just as aggressively, she turned on her booted heel and began walking briskly away, toward the door, before he could even blink.

Stunned as he was, Zane's immediate instinct was to question what he'd drank earlier. Were vivid hallucinations a side effect of consumption or had he nodded off and was having one doozy of a dream?

The thought wasn't too far-fetched. He'd dreamed of Amara in the past but hadn't thought much of it. It'd happened back when they'd been in pursuit of the Calypso twins and their foursome had settled down in a shack one night. He'd woken with his nose pressed to her hair and morning wood pushing against his pants. Hadn't done anything with it but breathe it away when he'd finally stretched out his aching back and hobbled off to take a piss.

As for the present-

His feet responded faster than his mind did, unaccustomed to women who'd kissed him walking in the other direction. He tried not to trip more over the fact that the lips against his own had been his teammate's - not someone he _wanted_ to let get away.

He'd said it before and now he thought it loudly:_ What in the _actual feck_ was happening?_

"Amara, c'mon- _hoooollld_ up-" He needed to ask her, didn't he? Or do whatever needed to make amends and not have her pissed off at him. Having her assign him to her shitelist really wasn't what he wanted.

The aggressive sway of her retreating ponytail said _oh yeah, he's on it._

"Amara-" he called again, unsure how she went so fast, and _shite_, he could have chosen his words less like a fumbling idiot. "- the heck y'go and do that for?"

Had he given himself a moment to compose himself, he might have sounded less incredulous. Maybe would have maintained some of his charisma, but there it went: poof, gone for those important seconds.

He'd personally gotten _married_ more easily and with less blunder than this - all because of his wanderlust and knowing he'd cut and run soon after. All because the attraction on those occasions had been so fickle. All because his other relationships hadn't been like _this._

Amara's expression, when she rounded on him, looked like she wanted to punch him. At her sides, her hands opened and closed into tight fists repeatedly. He could sure see how lesser men ran from her. She was bloody scary when she wanted to be.

"Zane," she snarled like a literal Tiger of Partali, "how fucking dense are you?"

That was indeed a proper question - and on any other day, he would have recognized her rhetoric loud and clear.

"Moderately!" he replied - and then again moved to get to her.

He couldn't say she didn't give him a fair warning.

Going to follow her might've been a mistake but one he had to make. 'Course, being allies, he didn't expect what happened next. Didn't think he'd ever be at the receiving end of her siren abilities.

Zane felt like a truck hit him, one large _sensation _overcoming him. Was like nothing he'd felt before - like he'd been flash frozen into a block of ice - and then it dawned on him. As if the illuminated scrollwork on the siren's arms didn't give it away, the orb and the giant underlying hand did.

"-t'feck?!" he managed to gripe, and even managing that required all his strength and no small degree of determination. Overall, he sounded real damn pathetic, like a trapped mouse - and that just wasn't acceptable for an infamous Flynt.

A look of concern had Amara's jaw dropping and he felt some constriction lesson with it, but just barely. His feet were still trapped in place, his limbs fixed in their reaching for her, but his digits could twitch and his jaw wasn't so painfully tight.

Her awareness renewed at the dangerous potential of her powers, Amara held her tight. There was still an absence of apology. And she was still controlling him like a puppet, so there was that. He hadn't made much progress yet.

"'Ey!" he sniped, none too happy with his predicament, "Y'aint s'pose to phase lock your boyos! It ain't nice!"

Shite, they'd soon be attracting a whole lotta unwanted attention at this rate. As it was, the commons were eerily - and conveniently - empty.

"I won't have to use it if you leave me the hell alone," she snapped back, making herself heard. "I mean it, Zane. Leave. Me. Alone."

"An' if I don't want to?" he challenges and then immediately backtracked, not wanting her to get the wrong idea - he wasn't arguing, _wouldn't, _for the sake of his phase-locked balls. "I mean, _look_," he redirected, forcing his bearded chin as far anatomically south as he could, "does it _look_ like I feckin' mind? Christ, lemme down!"

He hadn't _intended _for his rather friendly manhood to be put on shameless display as it was. Though he sure as shite couldn't see it, try as he might to invite her attention toward his crotch with his remaining eye, he could feel it strained against his pants.

It certainly wasn't the first time he'd sported wood in his fifty odd years and he hoped to hell it wouldn't be the last.

Forward as Amara been, he couldn't guarantee that the siren wouldn't take offense. If she did, he'd be at her mercy, and one thing he _hated_ was being in a state of vulnerability.

Gravity returned, dropping him to his feet abruptly. Proper color flashed before his eye again, causing his cybernetic implant to glitch momentarily before pixelating back into functionality. It had him reaching up to tap at the device with one hand and giving himself a quick pat-down with the other, ensuring everything else was in order.

He did not, however, perversely linger on his dick.

"...Did I hurt you?" reached Amara's thick voice, her tone intentionally neutral. He'd certainly never heard her ask an enemy that - but then wasn't flattered to be one of the rare, if only, ally she'd phase-locked.

"Only me ego," he admitted cheekily - and then it hit him why she'd behaved so atypically rashly.

His belated realization made him feel like a right bastard and nearly put him on the level of arseholiness beneath the rotting Calypso twins. At his age, he'd admittedly forgotten how to handle the nearly universal insecurities of young folks. Seemed too easy with Amara, in particular, with her mature exterior.

He was frowning now, thick brows drawn together, not wanting to seem like he pitied her but not wanting to appear as dense as accused.

"Aw shite," he sighed regretfully, "I hurt your feelings. C'mon, girl, why'd ya think I'd wanna do that?"

The siren didn't want to admit it, but she held her jaw tightly. She had her pride, and yet he could see how that confident composure of hers was waning, and damned if she didn't fight it with all her might. There was tension at the corner of her lips and a defensiveness to her, and _shite_, he wish he'd said something better.

"Hey now," he tried again, stepping up to her. With fingertips, he lightly touched her shoulder. Her violet eyes initially flitted away but couldn't resist glancing up to his pale blue. The operative maintained that connection without reluctance, even as he cocked his head toward his quarters.

"C'mon, let's get us some privacy and give it another go."

Moments of misgivings ticked on, the tiger's eyes scrutinizing him in vacillating silence. When it passed, she muttered a "fine" and hesitated to follow his leading footsteps. Through that dark and expansive corridor they went until the dim blue of his room consumed them. In that brief trek, their side-by-side sync seemed casual - and not all at like they were off to…feck? Was that her plan? Was it now, unexpectedly, _theirs?_

There was plenty of room for it, Zane recognized, but there were a number of drones and tools left on about every surface except his mattress. That including the floor, he notice, since it appeared the ship's last jump had spilled a set of screwdrivers. The bed, of course, looked sat in and was, unfortunately, quite small.

Good thing he was a man of many talents

Since standing there, Zane had fell into his habit of thoughtfully stroking his goatee and lingered on it before finally finding his companion not too close, and not too far, behind him. She was busy looking around, having never given much attention to his personal environment or having even been in it until then. Clearly _that_ was going to change.

"Hey," he urged quietly and not without a small degree of being cheeky, "me eyes're up here."

The second Amara fixed him in that smokey gaze of hers, he tried to cut through the tension with a more sincere smile and what ended up being a more forward proposal: "Ya wanna continue where we left off?"

Because beating around the bush and teasing wasn't achieving anything.

"Do _you_?" Amara countered, evidently choosing to avoid her own accountability.

What, his dick hadn't convinced her enough? Clearly not, which was a first. Seemed he had a small bit of explanation to do, since obviously Amara didn't take him for a man of hesitation - and for good reason. He wasn't. Had never been. And he didn't plan to be.

Zane's sigh was one of good-natured exasperated. She had to know that much about him. And that his footing was always sure, always fluid, and he used that refined talent to make his move. With a gentle grasp of her wrist, he pulled her close and gracefully bent her backward with a breathtaking kiss.

Amara might have been a siren, unusually gifted as they were, but he was Zane Flynt, and he had charm in a bag emblazoned with his name on it. There was nothing he wouldn't do - except be serious, 'cause he'd had yet a reason to be that. Whether he was with women, men, whatever, it didn't matter, he was equipped to impress. In matters of sex, he didn't need a half dozen gadgets or gimmicks to have his partners seeing _galaxies._

It was Amara's turn to be shocked, her mouth twitching at the unexpected tickle of his mustache. Her hands slapped against the beige fabric of his shirt and fisted before she melted into his oral coaxing. They then glided to clutch at his leather-clad back to pull him in.

Cocky lass she was, she wasn't exactly the novice he'd expected but also wasn't the most practiced. She obviously knew some things, her mouth melding with his. Still, he didn't figure her siren lifestyle involved much sex. Most guys had slim dicks and would be intimidated. Others, she chased off with glowing fists. She seemed to know how to kiss but, well, that bravery she always fought with wasn't so authentic there, in that moment.

Made him consider drawing back and reconsider if he was being an arsehole and taking advantage of her somehow. He couldn't miss the hint of sweet Zudroran whisky mixed with the exotic spice of her. Liquid courage, maybe?

To think she'd ever need _that _\- particularly with him, easygoing fella he he'd underestimated her experience. Fortunately for her, he was versed enough for the both of them...making out never went out of style. Amara was still eagerly participating. Why the feck shouldn't he?

Still, he couldn't deny how hyperaware it made him that his bed was so near, yet so far, behind them. Just thinking about what it entailed got his pants that much tighter - but abruptly he also he wondered, would him taking the siren there and fecking her good and proper complicate the rest of their partnership?

Word around was that there'd been relationships between Crimson Raiders in the past. Seemed inevitable given the danger of their wild travels. Working so closely and intensely together made some degree of sexual tension inevitable. With that being so relatable, it didn't seem the other vault hunters would misunderstand the two of them letting off some much needed steam together.

Frankly, Zane didn't give a feck if anyone but Amara had a problem with it. He was his own man, and she was one _hell_ of a woman, and he didn't care about anything but the way her mouth melded with his.

When they reluctantly parted lips, he kept his tone light as always, but the burn coursing through his blood was much less flippant and in no way innocent.

"This can go as far as ya want it to," he assured, "but just so y'know, I had the, ah, _inconvenience _factor in all of this handled ages ago." Then, so he ensured she caught his drift: "Can't have too many lil' Zanes runnin' 'round, can we?"

There were probably a _few_ out there, but who was counting?

Amara's moment of distractedness gave him a moment to wonder - was what he had said too presumptuous? What he'd meant by it was that neither of them had to divert themselves to the infirmary and hit up the vending machine of contraceptives. He didn't currently have any on him and Amara's fertility had never come up in casual conversation - imagine that.

There were other reasons to use protection. Wasn't as fun but still got the job done. There were, of course, a plethora of other options...and now Zane found himself extra enamored by her mouth. Found himself aching with how badly he wanted it.

"That would be _very_ scary," breathed Amara finally, and then her hands were in his hair, nails sensually scratching his scalp, and she was drawing him down to taste him again, her resolve building. She was regaining her familiar Amara self, if one he hadn't imagined. He'd honestly never expected _any_ of this.

Was this happening? It was happening, wasn't it? There was no time to be confused by it. Amara was tilting her chin up, parting her voluptuous lips, and without hesitating, Zane met her halfway with a husky sound of hunger.

The prospect of bedding a woman was nothing new for the operative. He'd charmed the clothes off nearly every person he'd ever wanted. He was dangerous and women, in particular, lusted after that. His handsomeness was an added benefit. Throughout his years, he'd had more spitfire affairs and marriages than he could remember. Then again, he'd been thoroughly intoxicated for more than a few of them.

What was different now? Now he cared - and it wasn't to say he hadn't in the past a time or two, but his fondness of the siren ran a bit deeper than that.

Were they friends? Feck yeah, they were. Had to be, because for a guy like himself, who'd never trusted a soul 'except his own, he only wanted her and their rag tag team guarding his back. After all the shite they'd gone through, running and gunning and dancing' their way through defeating Calypso's and vault guardians, he bet his own fine ass that they would remain the best of buds.

But now, uh, Amara was shoving her hands in his jacket and then stripping him so fast of it that he feckin' felt like she was using every one of her magic arms to do the deed - or maybe she had some mysterious skill of phasing clothing off him? If he knew only one thing, it was that she was driving him mindless with the whole lot of it, suddenly asking again, "Are you sure?"

Sounding uncertain wasn't very becoming of her, and neither was it like him to sound feckin' retarded, short on words- hell, he could talk his head off and be sly with the best of the best, including the finest women, and yet there he was, dumb as a doorknob with so much blood in his cock. He barely managed an unintelligible grunt that apparently sounded agreeable enough, seeing that it enticed the siren to pull him by goatee like she forgot it was attached. Then she was smothering any chance he had at words with her plump, delicious lips.

Logic was gone for him, not like he had much anyway, but he made damn sure he kissed her in ways that curled her toes - and with that, he embraced her in his arms and seized her mouth in ways that damn well better convince her of what he wanted.

Their hands were less patient, the audible releasing of holsters and belt buckles filling the static air. Her steel-plated gloves hit the ground, hard, followed by the contrasting flutter of her sash and wrist wraps. The spiked leather of her vest slumped to the floor and beige cotton was cast hastily aside. That damned bodysuit of his, though, was the only holdup - at least until Amara growled in hungry frustration and let him peel it off himself before shucking it aside. It was quickly forgiven and forgotten, just like her flimsy excuse for a shirt. He'd had but a second to savor the sight of her nipples straining against it.

Against her tawny skin, he felt pale as feck, but the contrast was erotic. Her hands seemed as pleased with his body as he was hers, lightly grazing as they teased from the breadth of his shoulders to the slim strength of his hips. Along their way, they did hesitate along landmarks within his map of scars, tracing some of them thoughtfully. His extensive career hadn't been without mistakes or inevitable injury, that was for sure, and he wouldn't be surprised if she had a small collection of her own.

They called his a swimmer's build, broad in the shoulders and narrow at the hip. Perfect for fitting between someone's legs, if you asked him. His fingers were convinced, eagerly teasing along the hem of her denim pants.

He paused only to tease at the divot of her navel, languidly tracing the ridges of her and that rose and dipped as she breathed. He could feel her try to overcome his suggestive ministrations, busting herself by pulling off her boots and kicking them behind her. He relented only to kneel before her and assist in shimmying down her jeans, his eyes torn between following those alluring siren swirls.

Zane didn't miss his opportunity to gently nip at her navel and then trace his tongue down the crease to her panties. He felt her breath catch, then her entire body give a sweet shiver as his fingertips grazed her slender ankles.

Teeth teasing at her lower lip, Amara bit back a smiling twitch as he pressed a kiss to the lower rim of her navel - then again as he repeated the motion. To him, it seemed a shame that she stifled her perfectly natural reaction to the brush of his facial hair against her sensitive places.

"Ticklish?" he asked, his one eye glittering with enough amusement for two.

"Better stop before I knee you in the face," was her warning.

"Fair enough!" he laughed.

Zane stood again, his full height towering over her as he went about relieving himself of his remaining undergarment. His bodysuit, vital as it was for keeping secure his most valuable assets, was easy to roll down with his pants. His manhood sprung eagerly from it, straining and ready, and he might've had the mind to wonder if he should have been more gentlemanly - except the siren's curious, if careful hands were quick to comb through the white of his pubic hair and stroke along his velvet thickness.

"Surprised it doesn't have an eye patch," Amara mused, dragging a surprised laugh from deep in his chiseled chest. Christ, he loved a partner who could surprise the shite outta him.

"Don't ya go sayin' that 'bout lil' Zane," he warned, shooting her a look. "He's a nice fella and wants ya to know the pleasure's all his."

Of course it _wouldn't _be but he didn't give her time to interject further comment. Their smiling lips met, his clever mouth slanting over hers, their noses brushing. One of her hands scratched lightly through his sideburn, the other admiring what he had to offer, carefully gliding from heavy base to sticky tip.

Such a shameless man he was, having never disappointed anyone. He knew he was in damn good shape - and not just for his age. All of his battle scars, of which there were plenty, only gave him character and proved only _half_ of what he'd been through. And his dick? Well, it spoke for itself, but needless to say, he had every reason to act as confidently as he did.

Besides, it wasn't the equipment that mattered so much as the skill behind it. He hadn't been lying when boasting that he was a one-man armada. And at the time, it hadn't been like he'd been shooting the _real _firepower he'd been packing. There were different times and places for everything.

Right now, it was time to forget everything but his and her pleasure. Feck what anyone else might think if they knew. Feck if it made tomorrow awkward the next time they were gunning down a gang of bandits and hunting for vault artifacts. As far as the operative was concerned, the siren's hand was wrapped around him and he needed to make quick work of remaining garments like a real gentleman.

He neglected to care about their age difference. All that should've mattered was that they were two consenting adults. And that _she_ initiated when he never would have, but damned if he wasn't grateful that she'd pounced like the tiger she was. He welcomed her hungry lips, and her stroking hand, and yet...

He'd been around the block a few times and noticed there was something off about it. Like it was forced but still very much wanted. Like Amara was pouring all her confidence in her actions to drown out hesitance - because he hadn't asked for it? Was that it: because he wasn't seizing the wheel and steering them straight to sex like they'd deployed his favorite Catch-A-Ride?

Maybe despite initiating, she knew how fecked up this was.

Lucky for her, he _liked_ fecked up. In fact, he liked it a lot.

Still, he wasn't into his partners being uncertain of themselves. Where was the fun in that? And maybe Amara sensed his misgivings because at the first sign of him pulling back, she kissed him again, her fingers carding again through the thick of his hair.

Hers was in his crosshairs. He swallowed Amara's attempt at a protest when his clever fingers released her locks from their confines, denying her that restraint. Her dark, rich hair fell heavily around her shoulders, and it was a real sight to behold. He couldn't recall ever seeing it let down until now and thanked his lucky stars he had such a delightful opportunity.

Leaning back, he took in the sight of her with lust-lidded eyes. Said sincerely, in his husky brogue, "So lovely."

He didn't miss the faint flushing in her cheeks or the awkward way she diverted her face, inviting him to nip along the shell of her ear and draw its lobe between a hint of teeth, sending a shiver rolling through her.

Just like they gunned down the Children of the Vault, they worked in harmony, using that uncanny harmony to divest the other of their remaining clothing.

Amara made a sound of amusement at how effortlessly Zane unhooked her bra with a flick of his wrist and helped her shoulder out of it. It hadn't even hit the floor before his hands were weighing and molding her breasts, his facial hair tickling as he mouthed along the side of her neck.

Callus thumbs circled her pebbled nipples as he leaned back, savoring her in a lingering and appraising gaze. Truth be told, he'd always been more of an arse man, but that wasn't to say her sensitive, feminine attributes didn't send even _more _of his blood rushing between his legs. He stopped admiring her breasts only to hunch down and grab her behind her thighs, earning a curious brow lift from her. He then stood and hoisted her upward, her muscular thighs cinching around his waist and her varnished nails scratching at his back, her laugh elated and pleased.

For her size, Amara was heavy. She was all muscle, no doubt, and attitude. Wasn't like he cared any, being as appreciative as he was, and he hadn't the mind to do more than focus on the tits now so much closer to his face.

Bracing her against the nearest wall spared his damn back, tired from the years of collisions and violent landings. Plus, it enabled his hands to wander, adroit digits tracing the dimples at the base of her back. His touch made her arch, inviting him to nuzzle at her supple skin, her arms hugging him to her cleavage.

What lovely dark nipples she had, so responsive to the teasing of his tongue. He swore she tasted like some foreign spice he couldn't get enough of, and the way her breath hitched as he sucked at her sensitive tips was positively delicious.

When she pushed at his shoulders to let her down, he obliged - but only so he could fill his palms with her. His large, warm hands cupped her breasts, callused fingers brushing nipples that pebbled at his firm strokes. He pinched them softly, making her gasp. Rolled them between thumbs and forefingers, savoring the way she sighed, and then trailed his short nails over the valley of her cleavage, reveling in the way her skin prickled with sensation.

Between them, her hands were on their own quest. She squeezed him in her right hand, left traveling to weigh and roll his sac, and damn if it wasn't sweet. She was _cautious_, or maybe just distracted by the way his hands stroked her sides, mesmerized by the tattoo running the entire half her body.

Seeking to encourage her, Zane nipped at her lower lip and then teased his tongue across it, inviting her to sink into him. His hand sought hers, easing one to cup his heavy sac, the other covering her curl around his aching shaft to guide her through a series of firm, tantalizing strokes.

It didn't take her long to learn his rhythm and further it, her pleasant touch tightening with confidence. It drew a rumbling hum from him, his hands grabbing her ass. He felt lust drunk with all of it, palming her shapely posterior, wholly oblivious to the stinging of his recent scars.

For how fit she was, Amara had _curves_ \- so, so many of them in all the right places. Her hips, in particular, flared in ways that shattered his defenses like his deployable shield had been shot to shite. Still, he enjoyed it**, **following her sinful shape, filling his senses with every inch of her that he can reach. Savored the way her silky skin belied her hard muscles and how it pinkened as she leaned into him.

She was so willing, it surprised even him. With wanton, she bucked her hips toward his teasing hand. His nostrils flared as they smelled how ready she was, her wetness soaking through the fabric of her violet panties. She all but bit his lip as his digits skillfully wandered, spreading her labia through the soaked material. The thinness of it clung to her swollen sex as he peeled it from her, her thighs parting with desperate permission.

Now he could clearly see that those siren markings ran the entire length of her body. Through the tattered denim of her pants, he'd seen glimpses, but hadn't let his imagination run with them. Now, there was no need, but what where was was a plethora of temptations...and one alluring triangle of neat hair that demanded his attention.

There was no time for teasing now - not with the pace Amara had set. She was so feckin' wet around the two fingers he slipped inside of her, her desire dripping down his hand as he knowingly reached and curled those clever digits where she wanted them. Crooked them deep against the place that made her walls flutter, his cock begging to be there instead. The way she groaned and sagged against him in relief, in pleasure, he nearly couldn't take it.

But he did, because he had to take her further. Craved to make her thighs trembled as they did, her breath catching as he finally, _finally _glided the pad of his thumb over her clit, feeling it stiffen and plead. With a hum, he swirled wetly around it, his mouth working at her collarbone, sucking and nipping and savoring the way her pulse galloped beneath his lips.

God, how he wanted to take her there, propel her over that edge, feel her coming unraveled because of him. Had there not been that desperate undercurrent between them, he would have finger fucked her properly and had her gushing all over his bed. He hoped to hell there would be opportunities for that later. Cocky bastard he was, he already knew he could entice her.

Those who wrongfully assumed men were the messier gender _clearly_ hadn't pleasured a woman right. His insatiable history of fucking both sexes, hard and _thoroughly_,meant he was one to know.

He'd fully intended to push Amara to the edge despite her body resisting what undoubtedly were new sensations - but much to his equal disappointed and thrill, she stopped him before he could take her there. What she did instead, he couldn't protest: she shoved him to his bed and followed with hungry intention.

Fine by him - in any position, he bet he could teach her a thing or two.

Who was he to argue if she wanted to take the reins? He knew damn well how to be an active participant in any position, and if it got Amara off being on top, he sure as hell wasn't gonna argue.

Those arms of Amara's were _strong_, just like the rest of her, and it wasn't like he was resisting any. Still, the force of his calves hitting the bed had his knees buckling, punctuated by his delighted laugh. Like the tiger she was, she pounced to straddle him, her movements fluid as her legs anchored possessively around his.

She was damned gorgeous. _Exotic. _And looks weren't even the half of it. Zane still found himself intoxicated with the way her coloration contrasted his - warm caramel, purple, and chocolate to his alabaster white. Her skin was so smoldering, and yet her mouth as it plundered his was even hotter - _molten - _and he swore the air galvanized around them.

They were there, together, pawing and grinding, tongues thrusting and caressing. There was so much he wanted to do that his mind swam with it. So much he missed doing to a woman and wanted to do to_ her. _So much of Amara that he wanted to learn, and yet there was still that sense of needy urgency. He figured it best, amidst the pressing and grinding of their bodies, to let the siren take what she wanted - to prove how much she wanted.

The way he saw it, Amara was behaving like they'd just won the gunfight of their lives and had to fuck before they died.

Damn, though - it had been a long time since he'd had his cock that close to a woman. He'd been too damn preoccupied with survival to prioritize bumping uglies in any way. Even before the cult had demanded exterminating, he'd been too busy watching his back to have a thorough tumble with anyone. Had him wondering how patient he could be.

"Y'know," he started hoarsely, eagerly reaching to assist the siren in rocking her hips against his, driving them both mad with the slick strokes of erogenous skin, "'s been a wee while since I got so lucky. Sad thing about vault huntin' and savin' the universe - not much time to fuck ya teammates, aye?"

It wasn't like he planned to shoot one off early but he supposed he was testing the proverbial waters - and found them just as wet as Amara was: soaked, just how he liked it. He wished, in that moment, that between them they'd had the patience to seat her on his face so he could make proper use of his handsome mustache. His cock jolted against the pressing bodies at the thought of it.

There'd be time later, Zane reminded himself. Unless they fucked each other to death, that was. Regardless, he hoped Amara read into his intent: to suggest that there were no real expectations - for either one of them.

"Same," she managed, sounding breathless and thoroughly distracted. "Not anyone worth my time in Partali."

"Shucks, I'm real flattered," he said coyly, with a wink.

"Zane, please," came her eye rolling, "shut your face." Then she was pushing him further back onto his pillow, shifting to raise herself on her impressive haunches.

"Less talkin', more feckin', he breathed, feeling aloft with anticipation.

As if he wanted it any other way. Wasn't like he had any words left in his head anyhow. And who was he to argue with a siren anyway? He had a brain in him, after all - 'least last time he checked, which sure as feck wasn't _now-_

In anticipation, Zane grit his teeth, the muscles in his jaw jumping, his hands palming for purchase on Amara's powerful thighs. He could do little else but _crave_, leaning back into the pillows to support her, unable to stifle his rumbling groan as as he watched her lips spread around his glans. Felt the squeeze of her silken heat as she slid down his shaft, their bodies tensing with sensation.

_Christ, _how her walls clamped down on his heavy length, her pussy already rippling in her desperate need to milk him. All he knew was wet, tight heat and rich, tan skin. The fissures of lean muscle. The dull, alluring violet of her lidded eyes. Full, heavy lips, and a woman behind them who knew how to _use _them. And an undercurrent of energy that barely sparked before rapidly catching fire, the building heat bringing perspiration to their skin.

At the feel of her atop him, his eyes fought to roll and yet all he could see was her. She was there, a stunning siren, branded and beautiful, her loose hair tipped with that same surreal blue. Her full lips glistened, her own eyes squeezed tight in a mix of bliss and focus.

He wanted to remember every part of it - the pinch of her brows at her fullness. The shuddering breath that escaped her throat as she searched for purchase with polished fingertips and slowly rolled her hips, adjusting to the stretch of him.

Zane savored those moments and appreciated the view, murmuring in gruff satisfaction. Seeing her there, in all her bare glory, hair spilling past her shoulders and her lips parted with wanton, changed everything he had expected of the siren.

He found that he even thoroughly appreciated the bracelets remaining on Amara's wrists. The round beads added another sensation as they brushed and rolled, clicking dully together as she admired his chest. And that purple crystal that glowed like eridium, combined with the crisscross network of her necklace, gave a sense that she was still in a state of undress, them both having wanted to get to this point that they'd neglected those little personal facets.

As if he'd forget this exhilarating experience, but those signature elements of hers, when he later caught a glimpse of them throughout their travels, would take him back here, to this memory, of being buried inside of her.

He should have discouraged those potential distractions. Instead, he reached up to admire the crystal between his forefinger and thumb, committing it to memory. Then, with his other callused hand, cupped her firm right breast, letting her hard nipple peek through the caressing slats of his fingers.

He probably looked damn stupid, staring up at Amara in some sort of surreal fascination. He swore he'd never seen anything hotter than the tight draw of her washboard abs and the flowing flex of those deeply etched muscles as she started riding him. As much as they were always on display to all curious eyes, he could in clear conscious swear that he'd only given them a glance of appreciation - but now he stared at her there, at her _everywhere_, all at once, as their bodies found their delicious rhythm.

Why was it already so damn good was what he wanted to know. Sure, he'd been in the middle of the dry spell from hell but that'd been his own fault for not giving anyone the time of day. Was hard to take a load off _and_ shoot one off when seemingly everyone was trying to kill him. But with his experience, he couldn't deny the tangible _chemistry_ between them - the sensual shock of electricity they shared with every touch, with every stroke, that had his hips driving upwards into her wet heat and made her powerful thighs quiver, her pussy gripping him delightfully. Maybe that was just how sex with a siren was, or maybe it was because there _had_ been some visceral attraction that begun when she'd reluctantly joined him in that guns-blazing, goofy display of dancing he had initiated. When she'd finally _let go._

Whatever it was, Zane wanted more of it, and her body was taking him, the wet sounds of their hips colliding in escalating rhythm growing in intensity.

Moaning gratefully, the operative gave in to his undeniable need to feel her pert, yet pliant breasts mold into his strong hands. As she pistoned herself up and down him, filling them both with delicious sensation, he squeezed them, craved them, pushed himself up to taste the hard buds of her dusky nipples. Rolled his hips up into her, letting the head of his cock rub into those delicious spots that made her legs shake and her trembling breath catch.

Why it had taken until then for him to come to his senses, he didn't know but that had to change. His free hand trailed easily downward, palming the curve of her marked hip, practiced touch slipping between her quivering thighs to press over the aching pearl of her clit.

The effect was immediate - the tidal wave caused by his touch crested over Amara and she threw her head back, disheveled hair spilling behind her. Her pussy fisted around him, the cascade of wordless her praises filling his ears, and the valley of her flushed breasts prickled with exhilarated sweat.

"Keep goin'," he gruffly urged, his body craving its own release but he'd be damned if he'd go just yet, inviting as the siren was. Turned out she was greedier than he gave her credit for, her hips beginning to slam against him in earnest, the smile on her face positively pleased and wicked.

Even then, he skillfully stroked and circled her sweet pulsing bundle of nerves. Backed off when he sensed her becoming overstimulated - increasing his efforts when her quivering snatch begged for him. With his other hand he gripped her ass and helped guide her strokes in eager encouragement. In turn, she leaned over him, the thick curtain of her hair consuming them.

He sighed into her as their mouths met, feeling her purr along their tangle of tongues.

Though he's the one pressed onto the bed, the threadbare sheets clinging to his moist back and his matted hair, she's the one pressing her chest to his and begging with her skin. She's the one digging her fingers into his frosted hair, hers damp and heavy and glowing aquamarine along with the distinct marks on her body. She's moaning, _clearly_ not caring if everyone aboard Sanctuary hears what their doing. And he's panting with it, breathing hard into the aggressive caress of her lips as her tongue takes his in a battle for dominance, alternating between sucking and stroking, and he doesn't give a flying feck who wins because he is right _there_ in that tightening, quivering core of her body, both hands now digging with need into her hips.

Together, they sounded like they'd just covered every story of Promethea at a full-sprint. Best exercise there was, Zane knew. But his determination was running out, Amara overloading his senses, from the explicit sounds of her milking pussy and the wet slap of their colliding bodies to the way her breasts bounced with their fucking.

He couldn't keep the audible strain from his voice, try as he might, his jaw tight and face etched with pleasured exertion. Asking his partner was the _gentlemanly_ thing to do.

There was a time and mood for it and this was one of them.

"'Mara," he husked, and he could feel the crows feet of his eyes deepen with need, "mind if I go?"

He felt her clench at the lusty depths of his voice, a molten shudder running down his spine, and yet he held back, gritting his molars. He could go longer if he had to but _feck, _he sure as hell didn't _want_ to. Not even the ethereal glow of Amara's spiraling markings, growing brighter with intensity, could distract from his physical needs. And he owed it to her to decide where he'd put it, which would respectfully be wherever she wanted it.

The way she hugged him with her legs and dug her nails into the hair on his chest was permission enough.

Zane Flynt prided himself as being an uninhibited man and an expressive one at that - saw nothing wrong with vocalizing the pleasure he felt with his partner, the urge to groan, throaty and deep, irresistible. Her permission, spoken in a whimper and the begging buck of her body, was all he needed to push him over the edge.

Short, sharp, her breath was panting into his ear, and she's right there with him, grinding downward as he cants his hips and surges into her, cursing desperately. His cock swells and twitches urgently and she moans, melting into the wet heat pumping inside of her.

In those divine moments, there were no wars, no vaults, no anything. Just them together, consumed in that raw, throbbing bliss, lost in the throes of feeling.

The sounds she makes are ones he'll remember when the gunfire dies down...or when he's with her again, reliving the pleasure, grinding her down into some thin mattress somewhere.

With grateful groans, they collapsed together in a sweaty heap, Amara's impressive body reduced to satisfied jelly and his own feeling more relaxed than it had in too long. The minutes that followed consisted of ragged breathing and a sense of cooling as the perspiration dried on their bodies...and the feel of his seed dripping between them.

With that urgency bled away, things got...awkward? Didn't seem to be the word for it. Confusing? Again, not really. Zane knew he couldn't quite put his finger on what the plan was but also wasn't all that worried. He figured he'd let the siren call the shots since that'd been working well so far...since their current condition was encouraging enough.

Amazing woman she was, Amara didn't fit among all the notches on his bedpost. As a man who'd had accumulated more one-night stands than any single person should have, he knew it didn't sit right for her to be shelved among them. Fleeting as his attraction to those people had been, he barely remembered them...but the siren was his partner. Furthermore, his friend. And if she later decided against them screwing again, he would have to graciously accept it. He could do that.

It wasn't like him to take relationships seriously - unless it meant cutting and running, which he had no intention of doing from his team. And making anything _heavy_ of it, he just didn't do - wasn't in the rules - and Amara should have already known that about him.

Still, them laying on his bed, him feeling tongue-tied - the two of them aren't made for these kinds of moments; they don't work this way. He expected her to roll off to the side and that they would both stare for a while at the metal ceiling above them. Or that he'd eventually break the tension with some smartarse quip and they'd be themselves again.

Instead, Amara sprawled a little further on his chest, pillowing her cheek against the silver spread of hair there. He felt her mumble more than he could actually hear her, his heartbeat still slowing from their recent fun. Just thinking of it, combined with the feel of his semen dripping onto him from her freshly fucked slit, ran a hot hook of lust through his gut,

"You're not leaving without me and the others," she firmly told him. "It doesn't matter if you were going to tell us or not - your old ass doesn't get a choice."

Blinking his eye, Zane felt his brows lift of their own surprised volition. Was _that_ what this was about? Had Ava brought their talk up with Amara or had she interrogated it out of the well-meaning, yet naive, commander?

His first instinct was to give Amara a playful smack on that shapely ass but he stopped short. Didn't want her feeling like some cheap fling, so instead he spoke with a tone of reasoning. Wasn't like he wanted her to regret anything.

"Plenty other ways of keepin' me around, girl."

"Oh yeah?" she countered, tilting her face to narrow her violet eyes are him. "Tell me something I don't know. Let's get one thing straight: I did this because I wanted to."

"Color me surprised - sure wasn't expectin' it. Always thought ye exclusively batted for the other team," he admitted honestly. From Amara's expression, he clearly wouldn't be the first to commit that assumption. Then his pride couldn't help but ask, pitching his voice low in happy teasing, "How long's it been since ya wanted to bang me? Since ya saw my gorgeous mug?"

True to himself, the operative flashed the siren his most dashing grin. Her snort was immediate, clearly anticipating the cocky turn of events. "Since I wanted to, _boyo_. That's all your ego needs to know."

"Maybe other parts o' me'd like to know," he husked, and then had to ask, "This a one-time thing or can I get all excited when ya come knockin' on my door again?"

That assumed _he_ wouldn't be the one standing at her door, ready to lay on thick his handsomeness.

"Leave it open," Amara suggested with a sly smile, and her beauty really was stunning. And he wasn't just thinking that because he was high from a good, thorough fecking. "Or come to mine. Might be a better choice since Moze isn't my neighbor."

She was probably right. The young gunner was probably more likely to bring up the ruckus of their suspicious activities in conversation - or would she? Or would it be FL4K who, being the AI he was and therefore lacking the basic construct of human privacy, might comment on their intentions of procreating?

Chuckling to himself, Zane then sighed as his partner's fingers lazily traced the defined ridges of his abdomen, wandering dangerously close to the thatch of hair surrounding his softening manhood. It twitched in response, a thin pearl still dangling from its tip.

"Easy, tiger," he warned loftily, feeling her smile against his skin. "Let an ol' man catch his breath." Not that he _needed_ to but was pretty sure she did.

Contented as he was, the operative caught on to her implication that they'd keep their affair to themselves. He wasn't opposed to it - he was virtually impossible to offend and understood her potential reservations against advertising the fact they'd been humping. Still, that was assuming everyone on Sanctuary remained none-the-wiser. If others hadn't heard their sexual activities already, it was inevitable that they'd remain under the radar with how sound traveled in the steel vessel.

Hearing Amara breathe in, savoring the moment, he brushed the back of her shoulder with a tender thumb and enjoyed her appreciative purr.

"Aye," he rumbled agreeably, response belated by the comfortable moment. "If they connect those sounds ya were makin' with my room, we can tell 'em I found a vault _in_ a siren. Let 'em know I already looted it an' didn't share 'cause it was too good for 'em."

Flatly, yet bemusedly, she sighed. "You would do that, wouldn't you?"

Rhetoric or not, Zane didn't need to say. And the remark he almost couldn't wait to make wasn't too far from the truth now, was it?


	2. Scavengers and Showers [Dick Jokes on Scav-8]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any day you can work "My Dick" jokes into a fic is a well-spent.
> 
> I totally use artistic license when considering Sanctuary since I don't recall it having bathrooms, among other things. I was too busy getting lost in it while I played.
> 
> Limericks are not written by yours truly. Random Google searches helped.
> 
> There's some booty fingering at the end so beware folks who can't appreciate it.
> 
> I think for every chapter I finish, I start three more. Help meeeeee - particularly because I only wrote on mobile (hence typos galore) and formatting is a B-I-T-C-H.
> 
> Shout-out to FablePsycho who has been greatly supportive and mentally stimulating. :D

It surprised no one when Sanctuary broke down. Even BALEX, the foul-mouth, ass-attached, grungy teddy bear hadn't expected one of the primary engines to fail as it had.

Fortunately enough with space travel and the vessel's sustaining gravity systems, the passengers weren't wildly thrown and the massive shuttle didn't list. That was, until Command diverted their course and set their aim for the nearest celestial body, a planet nicknamed Scav-8. Labeled appropriately after a culture of scavengers who dominated the landscape, the actual name was unpronounceable by non-native tongues.

It wasn't until Sanctuary broke through the atmosphere that air resistance and friction reappeared, sending everything haywire.

Despite being trapped in his plush form, BALEX was a capable navigator - as he repeatedly and offensively reminded all who listened. The AI was far more predictable than Claptrap, though that wasn't saying much, and seized control better than any combination of humans occupying the helm. Thanks to him, the Crimson Raider's home was left largely intact, with only additional hull damage to correct before they'd be clear to resume their previous route.

That was how the vault hunters found themselves there, on that marshy planet, having been commanded by the bridge to enact security measures. Heavily armed as they were, they'd been ordered to defend the vessel and protect it by any means necessary while repairs were underway in assumed hostile territory.

As it was, Sanctuary III's defense systems were minimal at best. Actual open space combat was pretty rare and the ship had been constructed, rather hastily, to remove its passengers from Pandora. It did have a basic shield system but even that had been depleted in order to funnel available power into Ellie's tools. From what Amara could understand, despite her general disinterest in technology, the rocket boosters were largely responsible for producing the shield's primary bank of energy. Something about fuel sources and combustion reactions had been briefly detailed at the meeting but she'd been too busy preparing her fists for a fight.

She, Brick, and Mordecai had stepped out to keep their eyes on the horizon while Zane, technical aficionado he was, had followed Ellie's robust body to the damaged propulsion systems. FL4K had accompanied him, suited for heavy lifting, while Moze had excused herself to refuel Iron Bear to full capacity.

A number of inhabitants had quickly approached the spacecraft and their evident aggression supported their designation as dangerous. Hollering and spewing complex whistles, they'd opened fire not on the vessel but the people stationed outside. It readily grew apparent to Amara that their attackers were actively seeking to keep Sanctuary as intact as they could, while concentrating their gunfire on her and the others.

Together, the three vault hunters handled their numbers well enough. Brick busied himself with his brute strength, drop kicking explosives back at them and bashing them together like a child playing roughly with his toys. He'd even carried with him what was, for him, a portable Catch-A-Ride station. Under the cover of Mordecai's efficient sharpshooting, the mountain of a man was able to flatten out the metal pad and erect the command module, then deploy a heavily-armed Technical. He'd whooped and hollered as he'd leaped in and proceeded to plow through bodies and cut through others with turret fire.

As for herself, Amara did what she did best, calling on her siren skills. With glowing fists and crackling bursts of electricity, she pummeled the masses. Ferocity and speed propelled her to phaselock and pound their attackers with her many sets of arms, the likes of which the natives had clearly never seen. They ran from her, shrieking, before she caught up to them and crushed them with her ethereal powers.

Much to her disappointment, the Partalian siren found them unworthy of brawling. They were as easily crushed as the aluminum beer cans Brick routinely flattened with his forehead. Of course most skeletons were, for her, but they had nothing more to offer. No true skill, instead relying on their stolen weapons to try and deplete her shield while she swatted them like cumbersome mosquitoes. They whined the same when she phase-locked them and then pulverized them with her astral projections, their remains raining down in splattering pieces. In fact, there would have been more left to them had she chosen to instead aimed a gun in their direction.

She did draw her weapon when the so-called heavily artillery arrived and marauders stomped in with a wall of quadrupedal, furred creatures that reminded her of the camels from her homeland. These, however, were a great deal larger, the third mass on their humped backs making them that much more immense and capable, as she witnessed, of carrying three heavily armed riders each.

That had made her scowl in earnest. When avoidable, she refrained from harming animals. She understood that they were only the victims of their riders or otherwise acted on their survival instinct. It was unfair to them, though even she could not deny the inevitability of putting down some of their numbers. She certainly couldn't spare them at the expense of her teammates or Sanctuary, but her calculated attacks were directed at those steering their reins. She hoped, as she took careful aim and squeezed the trigger, that the mammoth creatures would flee once free from their riders.

It wasn't until one of the creatures reared back its long neck and launched a blob of caustic expectorate that she cursed and reconsidered - right about the point that Mordecai transmitted across ECHOnet for backup.

Amara had seen a vast spectrum of animals throughout her years of space travel and had been attacked by many beasts - but an acid-spewing alien camel? That was new and unexpected.

Soon, it seemed like somehow every inhabitant of the resource-rich planet had accumulated in mass pursuit, wanting to claim a piece of Sanctuary.

At that point, even she would have bitten back her pride and called for reinforcements. While she and her three closest Vault Hunters had gunned their way through thousands of radicalists, it was different with so much territory to defend. It wasn't like they could afford to lose the ship and Zane's recent purchase had a max capacity of maybe a dozen. Needless to say, they really couldn't leave behind the Crimson Raiders in such hostile territory.

Speaking of the operative, she could have watched her ECHO for his position had she the opportunity. Instead, seeing Zoomer's aerodynamic form zing into the air, stabilizers and propulsion systems glowing, was proof enough of Zane's attendance. Like a furiously defending hornet, the sentinel never flew far from its operator. She almost wished she had time to watch it spray its targets with rapid machine gun fire and send its rocket payload booming into the welling sea of greedy bodies.

The accumulation of loud shots and explosive detonations were swallowing her senses, consuming her with that familiarity that she found almost comforting. It was clear, with so many skilled vault hunters present, that their opponents didn't stand a chance despite them being dramatically outnumbered. Still, she didn't fight any less valiantly. She had to get her kills in too - test her limits so she could grab, smash, and smear as many of them as she could. After all, she lived for every opportunity to train and spread her name. She made those greedy bastards see why sirens weren't a force to be reckoned with.

She'd punched, fist-slammed, and jabbed to her heart's content, pausing only to snarl in her readiness and look about herself, hunting for other victims. To her dismay, they withdrew from her. Their cowardly avoidance proved that they didn't deserve any chance of reaching the ship or worse, any of her comrades. So she lifted her Maliwan SMG, squinted down her scope, and began popping heads.

She could see, in the distance, that Axton and Brick were navigating a Tactical. With the brawler's massive body stationed at the turret, the Tiger of Partali noticed how the vehicle weaved and maneuvered rather cautiously. Poor Brick, though, because she knew he would rather be punching the hell out of their enemies. She could relate. The repetitive monotony of taking aim and shooting was leaving the rest of her fist neglected. Her trigger finger ached from overuse already and that said something.

Despite being fully supportive of Ellie, none of the newest vault hunters had optimistic expectations for Sanctuary's repair timeline. They hadn't really understood why anyone would. With Zane having stuck his head down into the propulsion reactors, he'd been blatantly confident that they'd be grounded for some time by the extensive repairs.

They'd spent that entire day being inundated with attempt after attempt on their spacecraft, often requiring every one of them to defend against what seemed like an entire planetary population of bastards on their doorstep. It seemed the second they hoped for an opportunity to rest, someone else came to banish it with a massive shitfest, which must have been their strategy. The amount of ammunition required by the massive undertaking had necessitated that a pair of them remained stationed in the Tactical, their

sole purpose to retrieve bullets from the piling of bodies, then perform rush deliveries when clips ran empty.

In many ways, it was significantly more frustrating than fighting their way through the Calypso's ten thousand followers, because at least those had been more manageably spread throughout many locations.

"_Geez_," gusted Zane's exaggerated voice, exasperation sounding across her ECHO. "Look at all these damn idjits. Sure we ain't got any more go in 'er?" '_Her_' being the downed ship, naturally. "Enough to park our arses on an island or some such - so we don't gotta waste all day swattin' 'em off like flies on a horse's arse?"

FL4K deep, resonant voice cut in. "Affirmative. Ellie is firm that the current condition of the ship is insufficient for relocation. For now, we must engage in the hunt."

"Damn," Mordecai grunted. "Isn't like I hate shooting asshole's faces in but not when it's _this_ repetitive!"

Every one of them grumbled across ECHO in agreement.

Didn't take long for Zane to pipe up again with another suggestion.

"Can't me girl phaselock everyone?" he asked hopefully, sounding excited at the prospect. "Or make a bunch o' giant fists an' punch 'em to shite?"

His curious wording made her chest hitch before she dismissively rolled her eyes. Like anyone would read into Zane being flirtatious. He'd hit on with a burger bot if he thought it'd looked at him. He probably had, on occasion. In fact, she guaranteed it.

"One: that's not how it works, Zane, and two: what do you think I've been doing?," she'd snorted - not that she couldn't wish that was within her abilities. The operative, having seen more than his fair share of her handiwork, knew that, so she teased back, "Do you have a deployable shield that can cover the ship? No? Didn't think so."

After a beat, Mordecai started laughing borderline maniacally. She hadn't expected it and _certainly_ hadn't intended what he'd made of it, and why could she clearly imagine the operative and the sniper having spent a second looking at each other before that hoarse barking transmitted over the airwaves?

"_Dude_," coughed the hunter in amused disbelief. "Did she just diss your dick?"

"No!" she hurriedly interjected, wanting to punch the man's nutsack. She wasn't fond of being childish misinterpreted. "I didn't mean it like that! God, you people!"

She didn't want to start thinking about Zane's aforementioned dick and what he could do with it - specifically to her. Now was definitely not the time for it. And besides, her circumventing _that_ particular subject made her seem more like herself before she'd started an affair with the assassin, didn't it? She admitted having been a little prudish in the past.

In the background, the two older men started having a grand time between themselves, inevitably exposing her to their ECHOnet antics in the process. Clearly boredom abounded.

"Can't help a lass for doubtin' Zane Junior. He likes bein' underestimated - so he can have a go at showin' 'em who's boss."

"Sure some people would think you were compensating for something with all your gadgetry, man."

Zane's giddy laugh was superseded only by his enthusiasm. "Now _there's_ an idea, lad! Gotta get me johnson a clone an' drone of its own! They'll never see it comin' 'til it does!"

Even BALEX chimed in, presumably having been occupied on other channels until then. The AI's voice - and verbatim - was impossible to miss.

"What's this I'm hearing about Zaney's shiznit? Damn, and you people gotta _know_ everyone's listening to ECHOnet. Y'all a crazy bunch'a bitches. I love it."

Okay, it was definitely time to change the subject. Did they forget there were potentially teenagers on the line?

"Everyone stop talking about Zane's equipment," Amara snapped, audibly and visibly shaking her head. "I know you guys have nothing better to do, but _please_."

"Nothin' better to do than me dick!" Zane interjected, almost simultaneously adjoined with:

"You started it," Mordecai accused, and Amara almost sputtered with how wrong he was.

Zane's cheeriness persisted as always: "No, let's give 'im all the encouragement he deserves! He loves the attention!"

And that was how a half hour of "Zane's Dick is So Big" jokes began between the two older _men-children_.

"Me dick is so big, it has it's own elevator and lobby!"

"Zane's dick is so big, that right now it's at Moxxxi's fixing us drinks."

"_Hot damn_, I wish! He's gonna hafta learn a new trick! Me dick is so big, you're standin' on it."

Everyone must have looked down at Sanctuary and received the same mental images. Or had he meant the entire planet?

"Damn, Zane, slow day for you? Only got a million people after it?"

"You know it! Me dick is so big, I'm already feckin' someone tomorrow."

She wished despite herself. "Stop it."

"Zane's dick is so big, it has its own dick. And even his dick's dick is bigger than your dick."

Dick didn't even seem like a word anymore, having been so overused and exhausted.

"Me dick is so big, I'd wear it as a tie if I wasn't so afraid of gettin' a hard-on and killin' meself!"

Amara doubted that her eyes had ever rolled so far into her head. She wondered how stuck they would get. She probably missed the turn Mordecai must have taken. That was, unless Zane's enthusiasm had dominated him.

"Me dick is so big, it has an agent. Me dick's people will call your people. Let's have lunch with me dick! It's buyin'!"

"Oh god, _lunch_," she said, shoving her way in with what she knew - or hoped - to be the perfect diversion. Unless someone had wisely brought a snack with them, it was unlikely any of them had eaten since breakfast. She knew she hadn't, her stomach growling as a reminder. "Can we get that on with?"

Mordecai replied agreeably, "Zane's dick must be hungry and we can't keep it waiting."

"S'always waitin' and always hungry, that strappin' lad. Never stops growin'!"

"Shit," gusted Moze, finally butting in, "All we need now is Tiny Tina hopping on and jabbering about pizza. I'm on the rag, guys, and if I hear anything else about meals, I'm going to eat someone."

Most men made childish, disgusted voices. Zane, jovial as always, laughed heartily.

"Best list'n to 'er, lads! How 'bout a limerick to forget her unholy bleedin'?"

_Oh god_, Amara thought but she couldn't help a smile from stretching her lips. She'd heard plenty of these by now, what with all the time Zane wasted in the bar spouting them. The more people enabled and egged him on, the worse they got. Some - scratch that, _most_ \- were ridiculous.

Amara would bet most of her money that the operative was already striking his signature pose, as he always did, with chest puffed proudly and a _hopefully_ phantom drink raised in poised announcement.

"True story, lads!" Zane announced and began, voice laden with his pronounced inflection:

"At times I'm so mad that I'm hoppin'. / Me angriness sets me veins poppin'. / I yell and I curse, / With swearwords diverse, / But me wife does much worse: she goes shoppin'!"

Over ECHOnet, the sound of distant cackling and clapping.

"Do the one you did last night," Mordecai encouraged, snorting. "I hate those bastards."

Huh. Apparently she'd missed out when she'd been hitting the book with Ava. It made her frown to think of all the antics she'd likely missed out on if Zane had been there reciting his witty short stories. Her training, while significant and rewarding, took its social toll at times - not that she was ever complaining. She had her priorities straight.

"Ya got it, _Boo-boo Choco-do_:

"There once was an ol' man of Esser, / Whose knowledge grew lesser and lesser, / It at last grew so small / He knew nothin' at all / And now he's a college professor!"

Even she was among the giggling, the errant gunshot doing nothing to interrupt the wordplay.

"Thanks _Lucky Charmer_, you goddamn loon, for becoming a vault hunter," stated Mordecai appreciatively.

A new callsign? Amara snickered. Oh they didn't have a clue.

"Do a dirty one!" Brick now, seeming way more enthusiastic than she expected.

"Oh geez," started Zane, giving a little laugh as he flipped through the pages of his brain. "Alrighty! One fer the nosebleed seats, as requested! But none too filthy," he added. "Hopin' this ain't gonna be relevant:

"There once was a man from Sprocket / Who went for a ride in a rocket / The rocket went bang / His balls went clang / And he found his dick in his pocket!"

Moze, in particular, was snickering. "That's a good one."

Collectively the men disagreed, feigning moans of suffering.

"Ya like that one, Gunny, I got another. S'one of me faves but also involves dismemberin'. Funny thing, that.

"There was a young sailor named Bates / Who danced the fandango on skates. / But a fall on his cutlass / Has rendered him nutless, / And practically useless on dates."

The natives had to be questioning their sanity as the lot of them hooted and hollered in merriment. Had they any means of overhearing the transmissions and translating, or understanding, their language, no doubt they would have been scratching their heads or or would otherwise refuse take them seriously - aside from the way their bodies were piling.

Zane collected himself first and adopted a tone of sarky authority. "Alrighty, folks! Show's over! Get yer arses back to work!"

Morale heightened, the vault hunters finally buckling down. Together, they were able to beat back the marauders and significantly maim their numbers. Only a few splatters of the so-called _"danger vomit"_, coined by Moze, managed to hit their marks. That was good and all except the caustic mush managed to hiss, bubble, and chew clean holes through the ship. That gave Ellie and her crew more to work on than they already had stacked against them.

In the distance, Amara had been able to make out Zane's digi-clone flashing in and out of existence. The holographic glow of it was difficult not to notice. Advanced as it was, its AI capably self-sufficient, its only limitation was its runtime combined with it being fixed on location. That, of course, was assuming its user didn't transpose places with it, which she'd so far witnessed more than once.

Those brief glimpses of her grizzled partner were entertaining ones, though the prospect of him checking up on her was ridiculous. She hoped that wasn't his intention. As if she needed it. Or maybe his purpose was to remind her of his presence - near enough that in the event she needed assistance, he could provide it. It made her smile to consider how far the operative had chucked the module just to see her if for those two brief minutes.

If there was anyone with enough personality to divide between two bodies, it was Zane Flynt.

Aside from the operative and all his hopping and waving - and once, blowing her a kiss - she'd seen little sign of the others. Occasionally a vehicle of theirs shot across the distance, kicking up trails of dust and causing explosions in its wake. Mr. Chew, FL4K's obedient skag, had tromped over to her twice, jaws drooling and tongue waving. The friendly creature had wiggled against her, blunt tail a flurry of circular motion, before it had kicked off the ground to enthusiastically pursue a man who had been screaming insults and flashing his weapon. It happened to be the same firearm Mr. Chew had later brought to her, wielding arm and all.

That had almost distracted her from the familiar sight of their resident 15-ton mech, traveling at a running stomp, chasing away the last decently sized gang of misfits. Flamethrower blazing, Iron Bear sent them screaming. Amara knew she wasn't alone in hoping that Moze's display, along with the entire massacre, would deter others with malicious intent.

Or, at least, that it would take the enemies longer to regroup. She couldn't decide if she wanted them to piss off until Ellie finished repairs or come back with a more intense strategy.

All in all, shooting grunts was better than being stuck in open space with little else to do. And it was rather amusing listening to the banter and assorted chit chat of her teammates over her ECHO, and even more entertaining watching Axton and Brick, in the Tactical, kicking up dust and bodies, shocks bucking like a bronco as it swerved and zoomed hyperactively.

But, eventually, the herd of marauders begging for death thinned out. The vault hunters' own numbers were no longer needed. With the likely chance of retaliation by the natives, their team decided to arrange guard shifts and effectively maintain an around-the-clock watch. Their approach had been to section off the vessel into four quadrants and leave one person accountable for each.

Amara hadn't begun to tired herself out of the responsibility, nor had Mordecai, the sharpshooter always eager to give Talon ample to fly. Brick had opted out to play his saxophone at Moxxxi's, which was likely what much of the crew needed after their rough atmospheric re-entry and the threat that had followed.

Zane had been the third - and fourth - vault hunter to attend guard duty.

"No problems pullin' double duty," he said with a casual shrug, easygoing as always. "Lets one more o' our folks enjoy the show. Drank meself plenty already today."

"Note the choice of words: _plenty_. Not _enough_," commented Mordecai dryly before giving his winged companion a whistle. The others could only guess as what he was communicating to his airborne partner.

"_Never_ enough," deflected Zane effortlessly, sounding a lot like he was currently pining for a pint, but then when wasn't he?

Equipped with his black market technology, the operative was indeed capable of maintaining watch over his staked territory. His augmented eye was directly linked with both his digi-clone and the optical sensors of his SNTNL drone that scouted an optimal path and utilized elevation for advantageous vantage points.

Amara said nothing on the subject of Zane and his beloved, often mentioned '_pints_'. She didn't believe for one second that the operative was in any way cutting back on his consumption or wouldn't turn to drinking the second they'd board the shuttle. The man had a religion of drinking, doing it frequently and faithfully.

She'd been concerned by the mercenary's alcohol consumption for some time before she'd grown accustomed to it. Even acknowledging her acceptance of it seemed wrong, but now her worry was primarily for the questionable state of his liver. It wasn't like Zane was a bitter drunk - in fact, every time she'd encountered him intoxicated from all the impressive quantities of liquor he'd imbibed, he'd been pleasant. If possible, his disposition was even more winsome when he was drunk. At least he stayed sober enough on their missions, even if he'd absconded a shot or two throughout them.

She tried acknowledging Zane's possible alcoholism for what it was: his way of taking a mental load off and kicking back. The man ran on high energy and intensity _constantly_, and if he needed to drink himself stupid to recover from it, who were they to judge? They didn't know what went on in his head and, by Zane's own rendition, likely didn't want to...and he could still function, so what was wrong with it? Drinking was part of his charm.

It was also social for him, though she knew him to be the most extroverted introvert who existed. The man thrived when joking, spilling expressive stories, and finding amusement in others. He clearly had fond past times of sharing drinks with other assassins and that being the only time he could let loose with professionals of the same cloth without being shot at - on most occasions.

"I jus' don't get ya young folk! What's wrong with grabbin' a pint with your boyos? Why ya kids always gotta be talkin' on _social media_?" he asked with dense mockery. "An' no one's got true boyos 'nymore 'cause they don't go out and meet 'em! Hard with ECHOs in ev'ryones blasted faces!"

"Says the man with one directly embedded in his head," remarked Moze flatly.

"And uses a clone of himself for company," Amara added matter-of-factly.

The gunner nodded, short hair swaying. "Alright now, Zane, go on and date yourself. Give us the talk: 'Back in _me_ day…"

"Ain't like I had much've a choice," scoffed Zane, doing a particularly poor impersonation of being offended. "'Least me digi-struct is actually present an' not on some wee screen. An' come on ladies, lookin' like this," said gesturing at himself with a hand drawn from his head to his chest, "who can blame me for enjoyin' me own handsome self? 'Least he's 3-D!"

However handsome she did indeed find Zane and subsequently his digi-match, she preferred the one that wasn't so blue and, well, temporary...even if he was more the strong and silent type.

She did like the sounds the older man made when he was between her legs, rumbling hungrily as he kissed her there, talented tongue swirling and stroking her. Or when he was behind her, panting raggedly against the shell of her ear, grinding and pulsing inside of her.

She wondered if the operative thought of their fleeting times together as much as she did or if he had more discipline than that. She used to have a surplus of it but couldn't seem to hear logic with her hormones screaming at her. At his age, she didn't think the silver-haired man had that to contend with.

Sighing, Amara lifted the scope of her firearm to methodically scan the nearby are. Then she settled cross-legged and leaned her chin into the supportive cup of her hands.

She couldn't speak for the outspoken operative. While she couldn't say for certain that Zane had specific reasons for aligning their shifts, she also knew she couldn't entirely put it past him. No one save her suspected any ulterior motive behind him stepping in, and even then she wasn't convinced that she did.

It wasn't like they'd sneak off to fool around, just as they hadn't for a handful of days. _Too many of them_, her body told her, however much she resisted becoming accustomed to her partner's private touches.

Resourceful as they both were, and equally motivated, they could hardly muster a moment of privacy aboard Sanctuary. And quickies, however exhilarating and pleasurable as they were, weren't as satisfying as they wanted them to be. However much exposing their relationship with one another would have bought them more freedom and opportunities, she still had her own reservations about making that divulgence to their team.

She didn't want anyone up in her business except Zane. He, true to himself, went with the flow, even if she could sometimes sense his sexual frustration while they waited for a window of opportunity. If anything, she was surprised that the others hadn't caught the glances they'd shared or sensed the virtually tangible sexual tension between them.

They satisfied what they could of it, as often as they could, without raising suspicions. That alone took diligence, of which Zane was arguably better at. Her? She liked living large and being in the public. She wasn't so adept at covertness.

The last time they'd gotten their hands on each other had been three days prior. They'd met in the engine room, Zane's mouth tasting of hops and some dark liquor. She hadn't minded waiting for him, knowing the reward was well worth the toll her needs took on her craving body. She'd wondered, as she'd ached and squeezed together her thighs, already slick and heady and greedy, if she'd been ovulating. She could have shredded every inch of clothing off his body the second he found her.

She'd wanted to fuck him just for the masculine aftershave he wore, only belatedly appreciating that benefit of his methodically groomed facial hair.

Desperate as she'd been for a deep and primal fucking, they'd had to compromise on their position. That location hadn't been the most forgiving as far as furnishings went - as in there'd been none whatsoever and shouldn't have been - and Zane was a head taller than her that he'd had to kneel awkwardly just to align with her when bent over.

He'd expressed that he'd known better than to try in the first place, smothering his chuckling in her hair as she'd impatiently bucked back against him - and yelped sharply into the sudden cupping of his fingers. The angle had been all wrong, and she'd been so frustrated, she'd turned to shove at his chest and try to force him to the ground, but he'd promptly lifted her, guided her legs around his waist, and braced her against the solid wall.

_That_ way, they'd fit better together. She didn't cramp so hard when he bottomed out in her.

Despite all of her commotion, they'd gotten their fill of each other. She'd fucked herself onto him without restraint, arms fixed around the breadth of his shoulders as he supported her, reveling in his physical power - how he carried the whole of her, her legs wrapped around him, and still managed to pound her like a machine made solely for that purpose.

She'd bit his shoulder and scratched at his leather-clad back and buried her stilted sobs into his neck, all while he'd squeezed her ass in his hands and bruised the pleasurable hell out of her cervix. She'd been lucky to walk after that. And Zane had needed the high collar of his jacket to hide the tooth indents left at the neck of his bodysuit.

One obstacle was their height differences, another being how they finished. She didn't want to scamper off to her room and have him dripping down her legs the entire way. There were ways of managing both but still had to be taken into consideration. For one, she didn't want to ruin their mutual enjoyment by involving condoms if they weren't needed and she didn't enjoy Zane pulling out as much as he didn't. He never complained, and she wondered what her problem was because she _liked_ watching him jerk himself to a desperate finish. Helped her imagine how he fucked his fist when he desired, but couldn't have, her.

The worst was the operative's damn clothing. There was no simple way for her to reach skin. About the only readily accessible parts of him below the neck were his thumbs, forefingers, and penis. Naturally Zane had reminded her that that was all that mattered, to which she'd snorted in amusement. But there were other complications…

Like when they'd been going at it in the shadows of the cargo room, stifling each other's moans with a searing, desperate kiss, and she'd accidentally triggered his digi-clone as she'd grabbed at him and accidentally engaged the sensor on his neck.

She'd nearly knocked Zane through the wall at the unexpected appearance of his digital lookalike and she hadn't fathomed the operatives lack of reaction to the sudden blue illumination that had immediately set them in its intensely attentive gaze, awaiting instruction. Had anyone been nearby, their cover would have been blown to smithereens.

He'd quickly disengaged it but it would only take a second for someone to notice the luminous six-foot-something digi-struct.

Zane had later said, after they'd achieved one last toe-curling climax and caught their breath, that he was used to it.

"Bucked so hard, almost made me bust me nut," he chuckled afterward, when they came down from their high and were putting themselves back together.

They helped each other recover their appearances and ensure that neither of them looked freshly fucked. He'd checked all the accessories she wore and made sure they were just right - and accounted for. She smoothed out the leather of his jacket and re-sculpted his hair...and brushed a smudge of her mascara off the white of one flared sideburn.

There was always something so oddly sweet about their arrangement. They were attentive to each other in ways that reflected their vault hunter partnership. It wasn't just a matter of them appeasing each other as to not turn off other, but there was real care and respect there. She found they could have sex with each other just as naturally as they fought and shopped upgrades alongside each other, and she was equally amazed by how hard Zane could get her off as much as she was seeing him spend such massive amounts of credits at Marcus'.

She, along with everyone else, could only guess how lucrative Zane's line of business had been, but seeing the man spend money so excessively, and so imprudently, suggested she'd underestimated his financial prowess. It wasn't like the operative's gear wasn't blatantly top-tier. That, combined with him always generously providing their team's drinks on his tab, assured her that he didn't need repayment. In fact, he'd waved off every time she'd offered to cover it.

Given how swampy her current surroundings were, the siren sighed again and idly began tracing the pattern of oil slick across her skin. She wished something in need of shooting would pop up its pathetic head out of the mud but found that she was the only one missing out.

Hours passed and idle conversation joined the occasional gunshots that sprinkled the air. She could hear the familiar sharp fire of the high-powered Jakobs rifle that Zane favored and also a second, presumably their feather-capped sharpshooter's. She knew they were respectively to her right and left sides, stationed to cap off the periphery of their main defensive priority.

As for herself, she was situated by the damaged hull, her abilities invaluable in destroying the nasties who'd survived to reach her. After all, their primary concern was the mounted marauders using corrosive munitions to further ruin the metals integrity.

Amara felt her hackles rise as she thought of all the harmless civilians and children kept inside. She knew there were many relying on the vault hunters to protect their new homestead. There weren't many but to the siren, that didn't make a bit of difference. All of their lives were important, and she didn't need reminding after GenIVIV had infiltrated Sanctuary's system and instructed it to turn against them.

The boredom circulating through her blood, combined with remembering the robo-bitch, had Amara's visage scowling in contempt.

There had been enough span between straggling scavengers for her to be inundated with memories. In avoidance, she'd felt the urge to assist the others but couldn't give in, unable to abandon her vital position. It couldn't be guaranteed that the enemy wasn't observing her and actively attempting to lure her away by creating a diversion nearer Mordecai or Zane. As it was, their weapon discharges were proof of them doing their jobs. If they needed backup, they would request it.

For now, the background cacophony only served to take her back to that chaotic, dangerous time that the AI had overtaken Sanctuary.

Punching and crushing her way through the ship, Amara had wasted no time in making her way to the family quarters and had found the children there, huddled among scared adults - and above them had been Zoomer's hovering form. Seemed the sentinel had been rushed ahead when they'd boarded the ship, and to further enforce that theory, Zane had rushed in, machine gun raised, mere moments after the siren.

They'd locked eyes with a nod of affirmation and then Zane had pointed at the sentinel before directing it out the door with his index finger. He'd then withdrew his handheld module, engaged his clone, and then left it in his place, his boots clanging rapidly down the adjacent hallway. Controlled bursts of gunfire had echoed in his wake, shells spilling and shuttle bots loudly sparking.

It had seemed so weird to stand alongside a silent version of Zane, however identical, if blue, it otherwise was to him.

Of course the operative had gone there first. What else had she expected from him? Gruff as he was, and for all that she'd grossly misjudged him upon first encountering him, she'd known by then how fond he was of kids.

The small bunch of children on-board had been intimidated by his appearance, at first. Eye patch and ample tech covering him, the siren could see why the little ones would. It didn't take more than minutes for them to warm to him, intrigued by the rapidly fluctuating and comedic tones of his accent. That and he knew how to talk to them, getting down on his knees and to their level. He'd said to them, tapping the intimidating presence of his eye patch, "This, wee lasses and lads, is why ya listen 'bout bein' safe. No runnin' with scissors!" He'd then let them touch it despite all the sticky fingerprints he'd accumulated from it.

Zane's digi-clone furthered the fascination. He'd given a little boy the his hand control module and encouraged him to engage it. Then laughed when the kids jumped back from the humanoid flash, eyes expanding to the size of saucers at what they witnessed: the solid glow of the doppelganger who, after immediately fixing the operative in his determined gaze, lowered his pistol and raised a white brow in emoted confusion.

"New mission!" Zane instructed. The weapon the clone wielded vanished in a spark of pixels. It had then remained stationary as small hands poked and prodded it, until encouraged to shake them before eventually flashing out of existence.

It would have been impossible for her to not find the older man endearing, particularly later when the vault hunters had been dining and drinking. She'd assumed nothing could get between Zane and the pints he so happily chugged - that was until a girl, age all of three, shyly approached them while sucking her thumb.

That was when Amara discovered that the operative had applied his technical talents to repairing toys when he could. He had gone from ribbing Moze to finishing his pint, wiping his face, and then beamed at the girl who adorably held her toy car up to him. Said, meekly, that her brother had broken it. Zane had promptly excused himself from their table, bent down to link hands with the toddler, and walked her to the communal couch to sit. He'd then retrieved a small toolkit from his quarters and sat cross-legged on the floor across from her to work on the vehicle. Upon repairing the mini car, the operative had gladly walked the girl back to her guardians.

Within the hour they'd been back planetside, punching and blasting faces in. The same man who had been so gentle with childrens had reverted back into a deadly force to be reckoned with.

Now, Amara felt proud to defend her people, even if she missed more extreme action. Doing her duty gave her a larger sense of purpose than she had when actively cracking vaults. Some could say her altruism was stronger than her selfish interest in loot. And naturally her intent of finding alien technology had been for the benefit of her friends, and now family, who also resided on the ship. Inconveniences like this mess on Scav-8 were bound to happen. She couldn't claim that she trusted technology as faithfully as Zane did, but so long as her people weren't killed or otherwise harmed by their damn ship, she could deal with it.

So she'd cast her destructive fists at the snarling men and women eager to raid them. Slammed her fist in the ground with thunderous tremors, effortlessly throwing their disintegrating bodies. She used her powers for good, just as she always had, because she couldn't be blamed for assholes not knowing their place. What they wanted wasn't theirs to take.

As easy as it was for her to harness her gifted abilities, the long hours of standing watch was taxing. The mental load of it, prolonged as it was, proved exhausting.

She craved a mug of chai tea. She wanted a stack of pillows to melt into, a book to read, or even ten minutes to sit on crossed legs and meditate her mind away. Among other things, she wanted to be bunked in the room next to Zane, as one added benefit would be sharing the shower split between the adjacent quarters. It wasn't like they'd been sleeping together when they'd first boarded the ship and chosen their rooms at random.

Needless to say, with that fantasy arrangement, they would have had many more opportunities to fool around between them and they would have had significantly more _comfortable_ privacy as well.

Oh well. She couldn't think of any excuses to trade rooms with Moze that wouldn't raise a hundred red flags. The former Vladof soldier seemed contented enough with the arrangement. If anything, the siren figured she could have suggested Zane relocate alongside FL4K so he could have his own bathroom, which seemed ideal for his extensive grooming routine. She didn't think the robot used the facility she shared with him, as she'd never found it locked. Then again, when was it ever wise to have two women share that precious territory? She should have appreciated not needing to compete for a latrine.

And Zane, well, he was a good guy. Moze clearly didn't feel her privacy was invaded any by the operative sharing her restroom. Wasn't like he barged in unannounced, and if anything, he probably spent more time touching up in there than the tomboy did. Keeping his facial hair the way he wanted it took maintenance, and it seemed like he was always in there trimming and shaving.

"Could grow a right beard in a day!" he'd offered as explanation once for arriving at their team breakfast late. Even though they hadn't gotten physical yet, she still remembered enjoying and complimenting his musky aftershave.

It was easy enough to mentally relive that memory when the three of them were relieved from duty and were finally, _finally_ able to get a bite to eat. They sat at the same booth as her recollection except this time, they ordered a massive pizza laden with toppings. Famished as they were, they already planned on having a second.

She'd been sitting across from Mordecai, hands practically poised and ready for pizza slice handling, not exactly hearing whatever the gruff sharp shooter was saying. Instead, she found herself looking over her shoulder toward the order counter, watching Zane's tall figure as he propped his elbows on the surface and chatted up some unidentifiable customer.

Seemed the operative knew everyone - and what did that matter? Because even if he didn't, he acted like he'd been their best friend for years. As it was, Amara and the others had been impressed by how Zane seemingly knew almost everyone notable from one mission or another. He'd known Zer0 from some pub and assassin's circle. Had crossed paths with Clay during some smuggling operation. He'd always known or that about some figurehead, some asshole, or some location. Clearly he wasn't exaggerating when he said he'd been basically everywhere over his fifty years.

Raking down his handsome form with her amethyst gaze, she eventually settled on his compact ass. He barely had one hidden away under all that leather and whatever aggravating material that damn body suit was. Invitingly, the luminescent accents of his boots and other attributes called to her. She found herself, once more, wondering what the spider on his coat represented. Considering the same image was emblazoned on his personal computer, she assumed it was his professional insignia.

"Chill," the other vault hunter urged, interrupting her staring - and clearly misinterpreting her cravings. "I know it sucks but the pie's gotta cook. Trust me, it'll be worth it when we're stuffing our faces."

Zane was pounding the counter with a friendly fist and patted his conversation partner on the shoulder, then began casually strolling his way back to them. He made finger guns at someone she couldn't see behind her, and then he was tucking his tall body down onto the bench and slid alongside her without a detectable care in the universe.

It had made her stomach flutter, especially when he'd stretched himself comfortably out, arm along the seat behind her, and his legs dropped to the side, so much his left brushed against her.

She was sure her eyes went immediately to the sniper and tried determining his reaction, but, well, he wore goggles. She couldn't see anything but him breaking into a welcoming smile.

She spent that entire meal with a tickle in her belly, wondering why she had to feel it now. She and Zane had sat together in that arrangement so many times. The operative was always laid back and informal like that. And it wasn't like she could see his entire face, with that high collar of his jacket concealing nearly half of it. She could make out the top of his mustache, his eye patch, his neck and ear implant...and damned if that wasn't plenty.

With his cordial smirk hidden, showing only his augmented technology and the wild crest of his hair, Zane looked positively dangerous. All of the leather and armoring he wore only emphasized the effect.

She really couldn't keep her mind on the conversation, only offering a couple "hmms" or "mmhm, yeah" when she had to. She was too preoccupied with chastising herself for being so easy. Maybe jumping Zane had been the worst idea she'd ever acted on. She'd been physically attracted to him and his charisma from early on, but at least then she'd been able to focus on everything _but_ the feel of him. As it was, her decision to act on her baser needs had been atypically impulsive for her.

Something caught her attention, mind snapping back to the present. There was a lot of Flynting going on, the name being passed back and forth between the two conversing men. Made her wonder what she'd missed.

When Zane mentioned his kin, she listened. Throughout their journeys, he'd made off-handed comments about his brothers more than once, most revolving around the older's sadistic tendencies. She'd heard enough about the other vault hunters' experiences with killing them and had found the operative's lack of interest initially disconcerting. That was, until she'd gathered enough insight on them to know Zane hit the jackpot in the shit family lottery. She couldn't even compare them to the Flynt she was so fond of, certain that their only shared similarity was their surname.

Once, he'd responded to Hammerlock's reflection on family-derived heartbreak, which had seemed unusually revealing for the operative.

It seemed inevitable that any mention of Zane's surname revolved around the actions of his deranged kin.

"So what was this I heard Moze mention about a bloody piano recital?" asked the sharp shooter, leaning forward with earnest interest.

"Ah, yeah, _that_," the operative responded, sounding unusually avoidant. He spoke into his glass as he lifted it, swirling the whisky within. "Long story, boyo,"

"I'm all ears."

Never one to disappoint, particularly someone he seemed so fond of, the former mercenary shrugged flippantly and relented. "Basically, Captain - me older brother - got in a tick 'bout our mum tryin' to give me a shinin' moment when I was a wee lad. So he barged in an' slaughtered a good half o' the audience. Burnt em to a crisp. Broke the piano in half an' used it for kindlin'. Big lickarsin' tantrum."

"Do you still play?"

She was also curious, looking to the white-haired man. He thumbed his goatee absently, giving her a clear view of his long, callused fingers. They looked fitting for a pianist.

"O'course," Zane scoffed, smirking good-naturedly. "With the wee grand I keep in me back pocket. But oi," he said more thoughtfully. "I'd say so but I'd be rusty as hell. Been years since I tinked out a tune."

She had to ask, crossing her arms against her chest amidst their comfortable - for her - conversation. "Is there anything you don't do? Because you and your antics proved you can dance."

Zane snorted out a laugh, flashing her an affable smile and a wink of that frosted blue eye. Her lips curled upward in return, enjoying the charisma that permeated through the man. She couldn't forget the surprisingly elegant footwork he'd impressed them with or the natural elegance of his movements.

"Sing," he answered simply and then pointed out, like anyone needed reminding: "Ain't like that stops me!"

Mordecai added helpfully: "And speaking coherently. You know, you sound like a Zaford."

"I get that a lot," chuckled the operative, then turned to her. "Lemme tell ya, girl, ya live as long as me, ya have plenty o' time to pick up a whole lotta things - most of which is pretty damn useless."

"So there's a Flynt who can dance and play piano," commented Mordecai in wonder, like it didn't compute. "Favorite genre?

"Ol' classical," Zane admitted as he settled deeper into his seat like he was reminiscing. "Ya might hear it when I'm in the zone an' tinkerin' with me projects. Gets me brain buzzin'.

"Ya gotta have the right 'mount of class, bird boyo," continued the operative, pointing at Mordecai like he was driving home a vital point. "Clean yourself up, learn some charm, an' you'll be drippin' in lasses, lads, birds - whatever meets yer fancy."

"Like you are, right?" contested the other vault hunter, audibly rolling his eyes.

"Ya know it," Zane countered with his signature cockiness, looping that arm - finally - around her and hugging her closer. "I mean lookit her - can't keep her eight hands off me!"

She shot him a look that could be easily misinterpreted as threatening.

"Mmhm," snickered Mordecai dryly. "I'll wait for the babies."

"Damn fine lookers they'd be," nodded Zane affably.

Just like that, on that subject, she was back to mentally fucking him.

Inwardly, Amara sighed in frustration. She missed being able to lounge around and simply enjoy his company. She liked the stories he told, expressive as they were. She'd liked competing with accounts of her own triumphs. She liked being _herself_, before they'd gotten into each other's pants. While she was in her twenties, and that was indeed still young, she despised feeling more like a hormonal teenager than anything.

That was why, when Mordecai sounded a hint more serious, she snapped into focus. "Bro, you been sleeping alright? Ah, why am I even asking that? You look like shit."

Amara blinked and truly saw Zane's appearance, no longer mentally molesting him.

Mordecai was right - the operative had seen better days. As it was, she hadn't really _seen_ much of Zane that day, their interactions up until now ECHO-based. With his profile facing her, his prominent eye patch drew most of her attention, but now upon closer scrutiny, she could see how his exhaustion weighed heavily in the creases below it.

Frowning, Amara understood that the previous days events hadn't accounted for the dark semi circles sunken beneath his eye sockets. As much as she favored purple, that wasn't the way she approved seeing it on him. Regardless, she knew how the operative struggled to establish a sleeping schedule. He ran on all cylinders far longer than had to be healthy but swore he'd been that way since birth. That his insomnia was just another birth defect among the Flynt family, though she'd snorted knowing genetics didn't work that way…did they? And she knew his tiredness had nothing to do with age.

Her brows stitched together in concern but then she knew how long of a day it had been and knew that her partner struggled with insomnia. She'd seen him up at all hours of the night...usually drinking.

"I ...am pretty damn zonked," admitted the operative, his pause suggesting he'd considered injecting a witty comment but then had submitted to the unfortunate truth.

"Alright," he transitioned suddenly, even as she was opening her mouth to comment. The operative was pulling away and easing himself out of the booth, standing with a long stretch that made his spine audibly realign. "Meal's on me, so don't ya two worry. I'm gonna go hit the shower and then the hay. S'been a long day."

Mordecai was lifting his drink in appreciation, nodding at him. "Amen. See you around, brother."

Off Zane went after a nod to her, hands on his belt and swagger in his step, leaving Amara to miss the hot brush of his thigh and his warm personality. She busied herself with another slice of cheese-laden pizza, chewing absently while inwardly fighting her self-directed frustration.

The way Zane had so casually thrown out that he was in need of sleep made her second guess if she detected an underlying invitation. That instead, his spoken intentions had been honest.

Zane was tired. He was allowed to be. Her libido wasn't allowed to invalidate his other physical needs. She felt angry with herself for being disappointed by the thought of him not being permanently able to engage in their flings. It was immature and selfish of her and therefore so unlike her.

Like hell he could disappoint her. She reminded herself to be grateful for whatever they managed, not knowing when that fire they felt together would inevitably fizzle out.

Then, on her ECHO, a rare_ ping_ announcing a message received. She did her best to lackadaisically retrieve the device from her pocket and seem annoyed by the screen she kept tilted toward herself for maximized privacy.

It was Zane. Of course it was, his icon making her pulse hike in curiosity. The text she rapidly accessed made it go from a gallop to a full-on sprint.

_Time's wasting. Hurry and get your arse in me shower. Moze relieved me so we get it all to ourselves. Door's open._

She didn't even have time to feel guilty about interrupting any chance he had at rest. It took all of her control not to chuck her device aside and run out of the diner. If he was offering, she sure as hell wouldn't miss out on the opportunity, particularly one as promising as that.

She hoped that her current companion didn't suspect anything, particularly since Zane had contacted her unusually soon after their parting ways. Did that mean he was as impatient as her? She hoped so.

"Let me guess," began Mordecai with a snarky grin, "it's the old man apologizing for making you vomit up that pizza?"

"Something like that," she said, playing her hand. "Zane's only half as handsome as he thinks he is."

Maybe an exaggeration and maybe it wasn't, depending on how he inflated his ego. Clearly, between them, she found him utterly attractive, but had to keep up her own appearances.

That explained why she lingered for five more torturous minutes before excusing herself, and just in time for FL4K to arrive. She excused herself for the bathroom and hadn't exactly mislead her friends - rather, the one she carefully hurried to wasn't hers.

When she reached it, she beeped Zane's door for appearances, though no one seemed to pay her much attention, and then invited herself in after a pause. She mindfully engaged the lock behind her.

The bathroom was saturated with steam when she, after what felt like a lifetime of anticipation, stepped in. She didn't have to even speak before Zane's bare hand opened the fogged glass of the stall and curled his index finger at her. _Come hither_. It made her grin in an unusually giddy way, and she couldn't strip her clothing off fast enough. Almost didn't pull off her necklace and brackets as she routinely did.

The sight of Zane dripping and glistening went right to her core. She'd seen him wet on a couple of occasions, when rain had drenched them all, but not like this: shamelessly nude...and hard. As it was, they had so much hasty, dressed sex that she'd hardly seen him in all his exposed glory, same as he'd barely seen her. Needless to say, they used those first exciting moments to ravenously drink the other in.

Zane was a delight for the eyes. Broad through his chest and narrow at the waist, musculature powerful yet sleek. There were scars scattered about him but he was positively delicious and easily the most masculine partner she'd taken. And for all the female lovers she'd taken, she found the operative's testosterone exceptionally alluring.

She loved the pelt of his chest. Same as the rest of him, it was that same pale silver. Maybe slightly less white or darkened by its dampened condition. Whatever it was, she found it deeply masculine, her fingers eager to play through it. She felt it accentuated the rest of him. He might have trimmed it a bit but overall, it was far less tamed than the rest of him.

That hair on his head, though, was a force to be reckoned with. Despite being drenched by the showerhead, it only barely hung in his face. She wondered how much sculpting product was responsible for Zane's gravity-defying display and how much was the dense mass of it. Dripping from the tips, it seemed thoroughly saturated.

It might not have been hyperbole to suspect she'd seen bullets deflect off it before.

Meeting her eyes, he reached for her and she grazed her fingertips over the matching fur on his forearms. Caught a new glimpse of it his underarms. Then, naturally, her gaze raked from the patch between his pecs, down the spread that broadened beneath his navel, and continued on to where it was thickest.

He was aroused already, had been when she'd stepped in, and she was hungry to take him in. Their mouths curled into tandem smirks as she traced a finger up that solid length, teasing through the showers moisture, before she stepped to nestle that eager erection between them. She felt as much as heard the pleased rumble in his chest.

"Did you start without me?" she asked.

"If by startin' ye mean fantasizin' 'bout this moment an' where it be leadin', then I'm _so_ guilty," he chuckled, then added with a devious quirk of his thin lips, "What gave me away?"

As if he needed to direct her attention to the hard member insistently pressing against her. She loved that she makes him hard. It continued to give her a thrill that was hard to define. Still, she'd gotten an eyeful of him already and now focused on feeling its solid heat, reminiscing of how deeply it penetrated her.

Zane chuckled, deeper than before, and reached out to stroke her shoulder. Traced his scarred fingers along her collarbone, down the side of one breast, and followed the water beading along the muscular indentation of her ribs. She was suddenly glad she'd shaved that morning, not that Zane was the type to be dissuaded by errant stubble.

He cupped her there and turned her with gentle hands, guiding her back against his chest. She went willingly, purring, unable to resist arching her back and feeling his girth stiff against her ass. Compared to that insistent press, everything else felt unusually innocent. God knew how she managed it with how eager for him she'd been.

Rare opportunity it was to be alone and in private, even the hungry ache of her loins couldn't refuse her savoring this.

The operative invited her nearness, the brush of his mustache and goatee making her shiver as he pressed his lips to her neck. He nipped softly at that risen skin but otherwise sprinkled kisses there, the column tilting in further encouragement.

"You smell clean, for once," she teased, and he did - without the tasteful cologne she'd smelled traces of all this time. He didn't bathe in it by any means - in fact, the scent of hot leather against his skin nearly overwhelmed it, but it was always there - just an alluring hint. Enough to lure a lover in. Now, as she inhaled, she missed the scent of it.

It didn't matter if he'd already bathed before her arrival - she needed to touch him. He wasn't one to complain, leaning to press his lips to the tender points of her jawline as she turned to face him.

By some miracle, the siren kept her touch soft and patient as they'd bathed together, assisting in sudsing his broad shoulders and thumbing the crease of his spine. She'd worked her hands into his taut muscles and felt him all but tip into the stall wall at her ministrations, releasing the closest thing to an indecent moan he'd made so far. And still, he managed to return the gesture, using his hands to gather the clean, falling water and work handfuls of it around her skin to rinse the soap away.

All the sweat and grime had washed away, swirling down the drain underfoot, leaving them relieved and refreshed. Still, they couldn't spend a shower together and not indulge a little in play. With Sanctuary's water capacity, their only limit was the duration of their privacy. The vessel was more than adequately capable of filtering, recycling, and recirculating all the hot water they'd need.

All their touching and admiring felt natural but she wondered, despite herself, if it was somehow versed. As much as she didn't like to envision Zane with another person, she didn't want to be misled into believing that she was in any way an exception for him. She didn't dare open that door - the one that could lead to her questioning what they were or worse: making it out to be more than it was. The siren wouldn't put it past the operative to have made the same gestures with others he'd been with. Being considerate was simply a part of it.

Zane was surefooted, as he'd demonstrated in some ways more literal than others. All she knew was that no one earned so much seductive finesse without practice.

Things were, and had to be, casual between them. That was all there was to it. Just friends getting sexually together for their mutual benefit. It was a good way to forget about everything else their roles as vault hunters demanded of them. So what if, unlike her, Zane had a plethora of flings throughout his history? She couldn't complain if he was good at what he did, and God, was he. What an understatement.

She couldn't forget that he was just a guy out for good times and dodging assassination attempts. Maybe unlocking vaults weren't enough of a conquest for him. What person, after all, could turn down the rare chance of bedding a siren?

The thought must have made her physically react because he spoke up then, dripping facial hair still brushing her skin.

"Somethin' on your mind?"

Damn him. She wanted to be mad. Didn't want him to be so charismatic. Didn't want to like him for being so willing to talk when most other men actively avoided potentially hazardous discussions.

Not Zane Flynt. Crazy bastard probably _enjoyed_ dancing on minefields.

He reinforced that belief as she shook her head, the wet cling of her hair resisting the motion.

"Ya change your mind, I'm your guy anytime," he assured, kneading both hands along her shoulders in a way that made her moan against her will. So much tension there. "Me door's always open...and, y'know, me ECHOs always in me ear. Can always program a private channel for us."

She felt his frown when, after allowing her a thoughtful moment to respond, he went to turn her and further determine what the matter was, so she kissed him. It was quite obviously a distraction but a good one, though it left her wondering if maybe they did it too much. If locking lips as often as they did was a mistake.

But Zane, it seemed, was a man on a mission. With undeniable attraction and sudden curiosity, she watched the muscles throughout his arm shift as he reached for the soap dispenser and flex as he brought it to lather between both hands. Clearly he intended to return the tender favor.

It was almost sugar sweet how he touched her, smoothing the suds across her dark skin. Feeling him knead her in that manner, she knew he was trying to butter her up - and decided she didn't care, as both the warmth of his touch and steaming water worked her over.

There wasn't an inch of her that didn't receive his thoughtful caresses, grazing along her arms, underarms, her sides…He languidly traced over her hips, her thighs...even her sex and her breasts with chaste patience. Like an artist admiring a piece of fine art, he traced and outlined her every dip, arch, and curve until she purred...then turned her into the spray, assisting it in rinsing away each and every sud until she was thoroughly glistening.

Her hair was another matter. She took that into her own hands, particular about how it was handled. Not doing it just right could cost her the rest of their time together just unknotting the dense mass of it. And so he watched her with a lidded gaze, appraising her from head to toe as she stroked shampoo through the strands and coaxed it out with a careful rinse.

Zane offered her a lopsided grin when she had finished. Reached to her and then, when she allowed him, pulled them together again, tilting his head down to plunder her mouth. She reached up to wrap her arms around his shoulders, to comb her lacquered nails along the back of his neck and drive them into his hair. Let out a breathless moan as his hands found their way to her breasts and teased her nipples into hard, sensitive peaks.

Already, her body was aching for him...and also because of him. The realization made her frown in her own self-induced discouragement, then admitted, "I'm pretty sore from last time, still…" she trailed off, frowning in disappointment.

Zane turned her back to his chest once more and kissed one shoulder, then the other. When he went to do the same behind the base of her ear, he lingered, the heat of his breath ghosting along her skin making her shiver.

"'Course," he murmured, collecting her hair and easing it over her left shoulder, his goatee free to brush against her teasingly. "Whatever ya need, me fine lady. 'M always eager to please."

That was the price they paid for fucking as they had. The operative seemed perfectly understanding. He was already curling one arm around her waist supportively, holding her comfortably in place, aligning their contrasting bodies. Then murmured quietly as his large fingers slid across her hip and through the neat patch of her pubic hair.

His fingers are incredible, and she welcomes them with parted thighs and a lustful sigh. One of those long, thick digits slides to the slightly open cleft between her outer lips. Danced lightly along the edge of her more sensitive inner. Glided gently, back and forth, along the slick path of her eager pussy, the heel of his hand caressing her mound with precise, pleasurable pressure.

One thing worked in her favor: she wasn't a fifty-year old man. She was a young woman and could have as many orgasms as she likes, and already, she could feel one steadily welling inside of her. Zane made it easy, made her shiver again as he gently sucked at her neck, his other hands slid lower, seeking her, finding her, providing her that molten pleasure.

Zane is patient. Generous. His hands are skilled. They knew her inside and out. Sensed both what she desperately wanted and needed. Gave it to her in the confines of that steamy shower.

She swore he broke a record.

She couldn't explain the utter willingness of her own body. Must have been his patient caressed that had primed her for pleasure. Could have been his charisma and understanding. Could have been _anything_, for all she cared. All she knew was his fingers and how he spread her, stroked her, worked her until a flame grew deep in her belly and then spread into a roaring blaze that had her whining, her hips unabashedly bucking. She could only breathe as he growled into her ear and came, tight and pulsing, when he told her to.

His smoldering hand held her there until her shivers passed, but it was her who greedily pushed into him. She couldn't help herself, didn't want to, and instead turned her face to brush one cheek against his chest, delighted by the crisp feel of his hair and the masculine sound of satisfaction that left him.

"Zane," she couldn't help but purr, thoroughly impressed and still so insatiable. "Do that again."

Man of his word, he did.

...

He was there, now, kneeling before her, making a space for himself between her smooth thighs. He was nestling there with a glint of anticipation in his eye that was so intensely hot, it branded her. Had her finding purchase in his hair, all so she could breathe as he drew nearer to her most private juncture.

She shook with the whole of her body as he nuzzled her there, inhaling her scent, and she shuddered out a moan at the sight of the his mustache brushing against her dark, trimmed hair. Seeing him there, staring up at her with so much lust in his eye, the other glowing at her, she wouldn't withhold her simper. Her arousal overwhelmed her, forcing back her head, the heavy weight of her wet hair clinging to her, reminding her how utterly bare she was.

Zane was there, and he was staring at her with such intensity, the air all but sparked with it, and then he was closing his eyes, pitch of his groan impossibly deep as he passed his tongue along her swollen, dewy sex.

Her vulnerable, feminine whimper was _nothing_ like her. For her, it sounded foreign. For her partner, it was the most sensual sound ever.

All she knew, when Zane's mouth was on her, was pleasure, pure and flowing through her like molten mercury. She couldn't even describe what he did with that clever mouth of his. Only that he sucked and swirled as he put his lips to hers. She only knew how much made her _feel_.

His dense, pale hair was in her hands, dripping and heavier. She tried not to twist it, not to pull, yet with his flicking tongue, he encouraged her. Ever do considerate, he used his hands to hold her hips, callused thumbs spreading her for his ministrations, silken pink stroked by the skillful softness of his tongue.

Amara felt her body contort as though of its own accord, powerless against each caress. She bucked, arched, _writhed_, scoring her nails down his sturdy shoulders, clenching his crested hair in her trembling grasp. She did everything she could to fight the sensations swelling like waves in her body, voice rising into a breathless crescendo until the torrent in her crested.

It felt like a dozen stars bloomed inside of her, her heart racing, her head dizzy. She didn't feel the tight draw of her face or the way her hands scrambled for purchase, cutting crescents into his skin, or when her expression melted into heavenly bliss as she swayed and shook like a leaf in the wind.

It was a wonder she hadn't collapsed before she collected herself. Would have had it not been for Zane's possessive hold on her.

With shaking hands, she pushed him away, knowing that if she didn't, he wouldn't quit until she was painfully oversensitive. One more orgasm like the last and she knew she wouldn't have it in her to return the favor. She craved it - didn't want to be reduced to a quivering mass again - and it was only fair after how selflessly he'd pleasured her.

She tasted so much of herself in his mouth when she drew him up to kiss her. Smelled her nectar like saccharine on his facial hair and shaven skin. Felt him, harder than ever and straining desperately against her, and yet the way he supported her was so patient, it must have been torture.

Still, he had no intentions of stopping. Not yet, at least, and made that crystal clear as he offered more to her. "Got plenty o' time. Want another?"

She laughed in breathless exasperation, unsure if she'd even survive another. Didn't seem like it if her pulse had anything to say about it, still rapidly percussing in her jugular.

"I'd like to feel my legs later," she informed him, like that was some sort of problem. And it would be, for her, but the stroke of his ego would definitely enjoy it.

"I swear," he husked, "never knew a girl who'd complain 'bout comin' too many times." But he was smiling, corners of his eyes attractively crinkling.

"I'm no ordinary woman," purred the tiger, pressing so close to him that the hairs of his chest danced teasingly along her breasts.

Looking down between their brushing bodies, Zane made a growl of longing...and then of discomfort.

That lighter moment over, she saw his jaw tighten with tension. Felt him swallow, heard the low grumble of approval in his throat as his arm traveled from her shoulders down along her back, tracing the delicate ridges of her spine. Like that, they reveled in a long moment of just touching each other; heavy petting amidst slow, wet kisses, and soft sighs and moans filling the space between them.

When Zane finally spoke, he sounded almost strangled. "Yeah, uh," he tried, then cleared his throat. "I'm gonna need to, y'know, take care of this before it kills me. Hurts like a right bastard."

Still, he touched her, furthering his aching torture. Lowered his head to kiss her breasts in turn, mouthing at the swell of one, and then the other, coaxing lazy moans from her. Her hands instinctively cupped the nape of his neck, cradling his head to her chest, happy to let him suck on her tender nipples. That was, until the whites of his teeth lightly flirted with them, nipping and pulling in careful aggression, sending electric sparks along invisible lines to her pussy.

It made her reconsider having him right then and there, bruised inside as she was. And God, the way he reached behind her neck and tugged a handful of her long, blue-tipped hair made her lips part in wanton desire.

Zane all but tore himself away, muscles tight like he resisted punching the wall.

"Sorry," he breathed, and he must have used every ounce of willpower he had as a calculating assassin to ground himself. "Those noises ya were makin'," he breathed, "hottest things I ever did hear, holy feck. I've gotta... goddamn-"

She reacted faster than he did, her hand intercepting his in grasping his shaft. Upon contact, his jaw went slack and tremors ran from his spine into his thighs, abdomen drawing tighter than she'd ever seen it.

His cock was long and thick in her grasp. Scalding hot, pulsing with the rapid tempo of his heady heartbeat, and it felt so good in her hand. She wanted more of it than that, wanted to return his generous favor and have him in ways she hadn't yet. So she wasted no time in dropping to her knees and stared into the deep whirl of his startled pupil.

Zane was an intelligent man but for a moment, it looked like he thought his own vision deceived him.

The grin she flashed him was wicked, clearly in command, and she wasted no time in guiding him between her lips and embracing him in their plump softness.

They had plenty of time, the operative had said, but the last thing they needed was Moze to walk in and find her with a literal mouthful of him.

"Christ," Zane almost shuddered inaudibly. She agreed, allowing her eyes to flutter closed in contented bliss. Having had few enjoyable experiences with men, she hadn't done this in a while. It had been even longer since she'd been on her knees, and she was eager as ever to please the man she'd chosen.

To think she'd disliked this with other men, so much that she'd often avoided them and focused on women instead. But now, there was a smile in her voice as she hummed for the operative, savoring as she slowly worked him into her warm, worshipful mouth.

Already, her tongue is undulating along the bottom of his shaft _just_ how she knows he likes it. Paused only when she'd sucked her way to the tip again, pressing a kiss to the velvet glans. Then, gazing up at his hazed gaze, she eased herself down again, stroking the base with one twisting hand.

His came to rest on the sides of her head, considerate as ever, cradling but not guiding. She felt treasured, his fingers gliding through her long, wet tresses. She hummed her appreciation, breathing through her nose skillfully, steadily, and the vibration had his stomach tensing. She could feel him pulse harder on her tasting tongue and slippery grasp. Felt the entire shudder that ran through his spine and reverberated through his length.

She wanted it, proved it by intensifying her efforts, hollowing her cheeks around him, swirling her tongue with each full pass. She enjoyed the effects - that Zane couldn't help but buck his hips and clench his ass, his abdomen rigid, his breathing labored. It aroused her how his cock wept and twitched.

But she wanted more than that, demanding siren she could be. She knew she would have it, the wet suck she gave when pulling off him loud and shamelessly lewd, making him curse under his breath.

She knew he'd let her fulfill the fantasy she'd been plagued with after all the pleasure he'd given her. Wanted to return the favor the best way she knew how, having eagerly devoured erotica when she couldn't otherwise get what she wanted.

Maya's book hasn't been the only literature she'd studied recently.

Everything about Zane's brazen nature invited it, and so in her confidence, she let her hand wander. Cupped his dripping sac and let the digit tease across the swell just beyond...to that vulnerable little pucker that twitched when she brushed along it.

Zane's whole body stiffened at the contact, and his eye was boring down into hers, corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smirk. She arched a brow inquisitively, waiting for his permission, and he gave it - in the form a shuddering sigh and the backward tilt of his head.

She felt the tension in his body gradually unravel, and it was clear that he was willing his body to relent. The feel of his blatant submission sent a pang of lust straight through her gut like a bullet. Made her moan around the digit she took in, wetting it as she had his cock.

Carefully, slowly, she eased her fingertip in. Felt that taut ring immediately squeeze her in its intimate confines. Concern would have stopped her except Zane was murmuring, exhaling, and amazed her by trying to push down on her slender finger, wanting more of it, _needing_ more - more than he had the breath to admit.

With how he accepted her finger, she knew without a doubt that he'd done that before. She didn't question it, was thoroughly convinced that there wasn't much the operative hadn't done in both business and pleasure and was grateful that it took the pressure off her. She certainly hadn't done this before.

So she needed the encouragement he gave by nodding to her and intentionally clenching around her finger. It wasn't long until she was easing in another alongside the first. Until she was tentatively scissoring them and stretching herself more headway to maneuver. Zane was nearly purring, his right hand grabbing his shaft with surprisingly aggression, stroking firmly and slowly right before her.

It was like he couldn't help himself, either needing the distraction to relax or craving that tight-fisted stimulation.

By the way he bit his lip and bucked his hips and groaned under shuddering breaths, she soon knew which.

"C'mon," he urged raggedly, pleaded desperately, perspiration beading on his furrowed forehead. His body further surged, thrusting back at her, motion erratic in his mounting fervor.

Nearly sinking to the knuckle, she knew the moment she brushed what she sought. Felt his entire body stiffen in shock - and for a split second, was convinced that she hurt him. That was, until a heavy dollop of precome ooze from his slit and his knuckles bleached white where they fell to grasp her shoulders, struggling for restraint.

"Oh _Christ_," he choked, voice ragged in ways she'd never heard. He was clearly caught up in it, his pleasure overriding everything in ways that made her envious, that made her thirst.

She stared at him in wonder, drinking in the details of the effect she had on him - how his length, already solidly erect, had hardened like granite. It wasn't just jutting from his body but standing straight up, every vein and ridge on its surface swollen and prominent.

Beneath it, his sac had pulled snugly to his body, the puckered seam invitingly twitching up the center of it. The rhythm matched the heartbeat pounding through his shaft - same as the dripping of precome that beaded heavily from his slit, and he was sweating, flushing profusely, as she pressed into that precious place over and over again.

Unable to resist temptation, she nuzzled against the marble slab of his trembling cock. Brushed her lips along the veins, his velvet shaft scalding to the touch. His reaction was immediate - he gasped and violent bucked his hips, so worked up that even the lightest contact felt agonizingly amazing.

He grunts, moans, makes a broken sound that might be her name maybe, and it encouraged her with the way he gripped her shoulder with one hand, his other shifting to brace himself against the stall wall. Casting him a heated gaze, she cupped one trembling cheek of his ass to help hold him in place.

Then, unable to resist her whims and unintimidated by consequences, Amara pushed him further, summoning one ethereal extension to take his wrists and hold them captive in her shimmering fist.

Zane's blatant lack of resistance aroused her beyond belief. Her pussy and thighs were soaked with it. Amara wondered over it - how strong it made her feel to be like this, with him at her mercy and him so willingly submissive. It made her feel more powerful than when she'd taken him in her mouth, and oh, if that wasn't addicting enough for her.

Tongue swiping along his weeping tip, languidly tracing the sensitive rim, the pad of her finger continued to swirl and stroke that precious, hidden place. She couldn't help but flash him a wicked smile as she savored the hungry squeeze of his body and the way it begged for the sensation her ministrations milked from it.

Amused by the hoarseness of Zane's panting reaction, she tilted her head to catch a better glimpse of his visage as she fingered him. Try as he might, there was no hope of the operative stifling the primal desire etched in his expression. His handsome features were twisted in the deepest ecstasy she'd ever witnessed him give, and his cock jolted aggressively with each throb of sensation.

It amazed her, the sheer quantity of precome that welled and spilled down his aching member, one long string of it glinting in the light of the shower.

Up until then, Zane had been suspiciously quiet, seemingly choked up on sensation. Now, as she withdrew her finger only to glide in again, repeatedly stroking that swollen gland, he strained to speak, fresh sweat breaking across his flushed skin.

"_Fffeck-k_," he grit, and she swore she came just from the sound of him, but she couldn't linger now, couldn't distract herself, now with how desperately he pleaded. "T-that's it, jus' like that, or more- more'f it, god yeah, _more_."

Who was she to deny him? She didn't. Each curl of her digit was deliberate, every stroke intended to send Zane over that erotic edge. The man under her power was nearly delirious with it, his hips stuttering now, lip glinted crimson beneath his teeth as she rubbed that dense bundle of nerves. He couldn't decide whether to drop his head forward and keen or throw it back against the tile wall, and so he did both.

His strangled groan, when she finally enclosed him in her hand again, was immediate. His throat worked around it, his entire body flexed, and that was all he needed - he bit back a yell, his entire spine contorting forward as he bucked and thrust and gushed.

Eyes wide, she'd never seen so much shoot from him, watching avidly as she stroked and emptied him. Thick ropes of semen spurted in violent ejaculation, her finger trapped inside of him as he pulsed again and again. Ribbons painted her cheeks, her chest, her neck. She caught the briny taste of him through her parted lips, forced to breathe between them in her excitement.

She was quick to release his wrists and support him instead, relenting as his cock throbbed with overstimulation. Only her true hands remained, fixing to his narrow pelvis the instant she felt him sway. He still managed to slide against the slippery surface, slumping before she stabilized him.

It was certainly not the most dignified ending, but Amara was pleased all the same. Usually it was her forced to regain control over her legs. Seemed only fair that her partner experienced the same. True gender equality, as it were.

Smirking smugly, she combed her hands through the wet, white mass of Zane's hair. Listened as he worked to bring his ragged breathing under control. She almost made a comment about good cardio but refrained, swept away by the feeling of her glowing pride. And she couldn't help but watch his member as it twitched, semen still oozing from it.

She was sure her face was flushed with it when Zane huffed something incoherent and then finally stood with some semblance of stability. Upon managing that, the first thing he did was reach for her and pull her nearer, drawing her with him back into the hot spray of water. There, he began considerately rinsing his semen off her.

They were smiling as they came together in a languid kiss, though for once, the operative will was the weaker of the two. She could feel, as she tasted him and stroked at his flared sideburns, that his lips were soft with exhaustion.

That was why, when they eased apart with savoring sighs, she couldn't help but ask, curious for his reaction. "Wanna do it again?"

His incredulous laugh was immediate, spilling freely from him.

"Try'n to kill me?" he inquired with probable rhetoric, and then he was tilting his head back in an intensely deep yawn. She felt invited by it, nipping at his dripping goatee while taking his slender waist into her muscular arms.

"Need a nap," he murmured, as if he hadn't just proven it, sounding thoroughly sapped. Amara loved seeing, and hearing him, as lackadaisical and satisfied as that. "Then bring it on. I'll die a happy man."


	3. Uphill Battle [Asthmatic Flashback - Pandora]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And the show goes on (I guess?) at a much shorter length. Intended for Ultraviolet to be a series of silly writing exercises. Zane's panting for less enjoyable reasons this time. That said, my [Before] note means...before sex? Before the end of BL3? Both!
> 
> I totally get that FL4K is agender but I'm too simple for that.
> 
> Happy Halloween, everyone!

_[Before]_

* * *

Zane was doing it again.

All eyes were on the operative as he huffed and wheezed, stationed ahead of the rest and acting oblivious to the five eyes boring into his back. Amara met FL4K's optical sensor first, then Moze's gaze above her black-smudged cheeks. Then, in tandem they returned to the spider flexing its symbolic legs on Zane's leather-coated back.

Maybe they should have kept the Cyclone he had recently hijacked but had abandoned some ways behind them. It seemed none of them, for whatever reason, had considered taking the single-capacity vehicle and using it to speed over to the nearest Catch-A-Ride and then trade it in for a technical more than capable of seating everyone.

Of all the COV that had tried to kill them, it would have been anticlimactic to have their oldest member keel over from exertion. However, the rapid inhales and ragged exhales slowing their normally chipper operative seemed closer to ending him than either Calypso twin.

…

It wasn't like Amara hadn't seen hijackings aplenty on Partali or any of the planets their intense band of vault hunters had made tracks on, but she'd never seen it performed quite so nonchalantly.

She'd watched with a small degree of wonder as Zane had taunted and then dodged the wicked path of the cyclone-mounted bandit and, like asking the asshole to dance, had flamboyantly extended a single hand. Then, at that split-second of opportunity, he'd seized _something_ on the vehicle and, with weird grace, promptly rammed the driver's head into the metal frame with a blunt, violent **_thonk_**, before extricating the body and throwing it nonchalantly aside.

Who knew the impacting sound of a human head could be so outright comical?

It was amusing how effortlessly Zane slung his slender body into the seat and commandeered the cyclone. He'd immediately seized the controls, clearly putting years of experience on display, and brought it to a circular stop. He seemed every bit as though he belonged in that landscape, exhibiting that same cruel severity of other Pandoran inhabitants. Hadn't he been born there anyway?

Well, that had been one way of stopping that asshole from shooting saw blades at them. Would have been good to turn the tables on others had there been any around, but the desert horizon was disappointingly interrupted only by jagged spikes of rock and sparse else except the errant rakk circling in the distance.

There definitely hadn't been four unicycles, which is what they needed, however entertaining it was to envision all of them attempting to cram onto one.

"Ain't fair leavin' the likes of ye hoofin' it on foot," Zane had said to them affably, shrugging before gracefully hopping out of the seat with a skip. "'Sides, sometimes I jus' like doin' that."

"Don't blame ya," related Moze, removing her helmet belatedly beneath the heat of that desiccating sun. The siren watched her attach it to her belt while FL4K scratched Mr. Chew's affectionate nuzzling at his metal hand.

Amara had then kicked the limp roll of the fanatic's head as she passed him, their foursome continuing on their journey, with Zane's white crest pointing the way.

Following behind Zane put that signature swagger of his on full display - probably just how he liked it. Out there in the middle of nowhere, with little to stoke his exuberant ego, it wasn't as pronounced as it could be. Maybe would have been had he had one of his prized firearms in his hand, armed and ready for anything. There was no show to put on their road, currently.

Bored as they were, having fallen out of the jog they'd covered multiple miles with, they'd been a bit _predisposed_ to antics - anything to entertain them was vastly appreciated. The monotony of their trip was the reason she glanced over so readily to see the pronounced sway of the gunner's pelvis as she attempted to copy the strut of their pointman...and promptly failed because she was too short with too much hip and not enough attitude.

Stifling a snicker, the siren flashed a smirk at her. "Should have excused yourself behind the rocks back there."

Passing them to the left, FL4K narrowed his lens at them for a beat as his circuitry deciphered their meaning.

"...Ah...implied excrement," he stated simply - the moment so unexpected and bemusing, the women chuckled between themselves.

It was a surprise that Zane said nothing. Of anyone, he was typically the first to speak. She could only guess he had the local ECHOnet psychobabble broadcasting in his earpiece. Sometimes, if rarely, that advertised relevant fuckhead activity.

That, or he was preoccupied with whatever it was his drone could still be transmitting. Though she didn't know the limits of the sentinel, she would have expected it to have de-materialized and return to its user by now.

For how impulsive he seemed, Zane was serious about reconnaissance. Often he sent his robotic wasp out before she even noticed. She knew for a fact, having witnessed its dispatch, that he'd sent Zoomer off ahead some time ago. The sentinel, at its operator's beckoning, had rapidly digi-structed from one lifted wrist.

She guessed it made sense, though rarely did Zane _appear_ to take calculated risks when instead, he seemed most eager to race in, weapons blazing.

At first, the hovering sentinel had appeared to hesitate and sent a series of visible light flashed and digital chirps at its user. Clearly the command it had received hadn't exactly computed with it, or maybe it hadn't calculated Zane's reasoning with whatever scans it had already made.

Amara didn't pretend to understand computers, particularly not as thoroughly as Zane did. As if him integrating tech into half of his big head didn't make that evident enough.

"Your sensors are indicatin' jus' dandy. Don't gimme that," chuckled Zane at the robot and repeated the directive point of his half-bare index finger, knuckle sensors lit aglow. "Go on then. Off with ya!"

The drone had gracefully turned and, true to its name, zoomed off until it shrank into an indiscernible speck in the distance. She only wished they could move as fast as it did.

So did Mr. Chew, who tried his damndest to follow after it before reluctantly forfeiting the chase a mile in, dragging his lolling tongue along the ground upon his plodding return.

Either way, with their usual conversationalist not striking up some assortment of interaction, the task was left to them. Maybe, after soaking up so much time in each other's company, they had begun appreciating the comfortable silence. For once they weren't being deafened by dying screams.

Who knew that was possible on Pandora?

Moze was sighing to herself, expressing the siren's own frustration. "This sucks," she exhaled, and then nodded up ahead, directing her attention to the walking operative again.

"He's all legs and old man strength," envied the petite woman, and Amara nodded agreeably. That, she could see. Made Moze need further practice before effectively mimicking him.

"And ego," Amara added.

From ahead, _finally_ that snark-laden Irish inflection. "Are me ears detectin' some smartarsin' back there _again_?"

"Not really," Moze sighed like a teenager exasperated by her dad. Then, more seriously as she remembered former fond memories: "It's a thing. The guys and I talked about it in the military. It's something like - the older some men get, the more refined and dense their muscles are, and they've been trained to work more efficiently."

Having half-turned to acknowledge them, Zane didn't seem to spare much thought to it. Instead, he irritably scratched at the stubble that had risen between his sideburns and mustache. He made a face while doing it.

"Sounds like a backhanded compliment - but me pride can take a playful spankin'!" boasted Zane, surprising no one.

It was about then they began the hike to the highlands, their focus naturally on their trekking climb.

Together, they'd plodded too damn far for her tastes. Even conversation among them had grown unusually stale. Amara could only assume her partners were thirsting for some wild fray into battle instead of trudging up the steep embankment that seemed to stretch on and on indefinitely.

Short of having them staring at ECHO across the wastelands, Zane had taken point, his augmented eye apparently able to maintain a display with all the waypoints and landmarks they'd staked. She wasn't one to complain, though she was getting quite the workout herself as she dug her boots deep into the shifting sand and hauled herself up the steep terrain, glad her bare midriff allowed her skin to breathe. She didn't know how the man ahead of her could stand the leather encasing his body so fully, but Zane was the optimist among them. Always looking ahead, head always up, except now...

They'd made it to the top of the incline, finally, when she heard his labored breathing. She initially assumed she had only detected it because she'd been awaiting further direction from the operative, but it was clear she wasn't alone in her observation with how the soldier slowed to a stop alongside her, some twenty feet away from the older man.

"You, uh, alright there soldier?" inquired Moze, breaking that awkward ice, but only after shooting her an inquisitive glance.

Puff, huff, swallow. "Whaddya mean?"

FL4K's non-exhausted, resonant voice served as a more concerning contrast, not that they weren't comparing apples to oranges. A fifty-something year old man wasn't as fortunate as a humanoid robot lacking a respiratory system, even if that man was the infamous _Zane Flynt_.

"My sensors indicate that you have a substantial decline in your blood oxygen reserves. I suggest you cease physical activity and enable them to stabilize to more sufficient quantities before proceeding."

"_You_-" started the operative, refusing to turn but instead jabbing one index finger behind him toward the AI's general direction. "-is that a feckin' ol' joke I'm hearin'? Do I gotta turn this here car around?"

"You came to that conclusion independently, as it was not implied by my statement. Had you a vehicle in your current possession, I would insist that you utilize it for your own benefit."

Amara wished she could see Zane's expression for the Kodak factor but the silver-haired man was still stubbornly facing ahead. He seemed intent to, even as he gusted out another huff of breath before bending forward at the waist, his dense spikes shifting as his face fell forward.

"I don't wanna hear it," he wheezed, hands braced on his knees as he worked to catch his breath.

For the first time, Amara wondered if he had a history of smoking. She'd never seen him light up in their time together but there were some scratchy elements to his voice that might not have stemmed from all his testosterone.

Seeing Zane unlike his usual upbeat, virtually skipping self was admittedly concerning - even more when the operative dropped himself unceremoniously to the sandy ground. She watched his head fall back as he elongated his torso and reclined on his palms, face toward the sky.

"I, ah," more wheezing but slightly subdued, the operative actively attempting to stifle his irregular breathing. "I should probably, ugh, lay off all them, _phew_, burgers I been inhalin'."

Amara raised a brow, scrutinizing the operative. Tall and slender as he was, his respiratory health didn't seem to befit his slender, athletic physique.

Even Zane's intense energy wouldn't be enough to clear out his arteries, particularly considering what had congealed in there by his age.

Zane was in his fifties and had clearly survived some long, treacherous years - most of which hadn't been half as kind to his body as it had been to his looks. Particularly each morning, it was clear the man and his physical form had opposing ideas of what retirement entailed. The man's joints protested frequently and loudly, sounding much like bubble wrap, and even the easygoing man couldn't bite back all his discomforted grunts at the more severe snaps.

Seemed he was always rotating an ankle or stretching out his legs before everything was sufficiently warmed up by mid-day. His state didn't make aging seem all that appealing to his significantly younger, human companions.

From what she'd witnessed, his diet was also shit. So was most of theirs, honestly, though she tended to flick away excess carbohydrates in favor of protein. Moze seemed well-rounded enough, exhibiting restraint that must have stemmed from her Vladof days,and FL4K, well, didn't eat anything.

Zane drank like a fish. And drank some more. And seemed to survive off burgers and deep-fried items. Considering how paranoid the operative was of things being poisoned - and maybe rightfully so - he trusted few food establishments. He'd also mentioned that of all the jobs he'd taken, he'd never been a cook.

Looks clearly were deceiving. The man didn't appear to have a hint of fat on him...but evidently it was all internal. Sad to think such an seasoned, adept professional would probably keel over from a heart attack someday, assuming he was too stubborn to visit Dr. Zed.

On second thought, Amara knew she wouldn't either - not unless she had a death wish, so maybe she didn't want to wish that upon the silver-haired man. There were actual _qualified_ doctors around - just not where they frequented.

It wasn't like they'd had much time for self-care since they'd fast traveled, again, to Pandora. Brick, Tina, and Mordecai had sent them running all over the region doing mindless tasks. They'd spent as much time on foot as they had enjoying the fun of the Catch-A-Rides. Regardless, even Zane was sporting more stubble than she'd ever seen on him, and that said something - and not just that he'd look good sporting a beard that could give Vaughn's a run for its money. She didn't need to hear the leader of the Sun Smashers bellowing about some beard feud.

Casting _that_ particularly loud scenario aside, Amara found herself wondering why Zane groomed the way he did, though she found his style unusually fitting for his _unique_ personality.

There wasn't much that stopped Zane from going, going, and _going_, if his age was any indication - except maybe a pub. Since their first introduction, he'd confirmed her suspicion that he was out for a nonstop adrenaline fix. Without hitting his quota for chaos and destruction, she thought maybe that was why he was flagging. He never seemed to falter when there was shit to blow up and COV to kill.

She'd seen him tired before but only after putting them all to shame with those long legs of his. The speeds he could reach were impressive and left the rest of them in the dust. The vigor she'd seen him chase enemies down with was second to none. But now, Zane was acting a bit more his age and less like a seasoned assassin.

It was both simultaneously easy to forget, given Zane's energetic enthusiasm, that he'd been kicking ass for far longer than she and Moze had lived. And it was simple to see, given the aptitude he exhibited when blasting bandits to pieces and unleashing chaos.

Even Zane's offhand remarks of "I'm too old for this shite" didn't suggest he was actually convinced.

She couldn't blame him. She knew she was going to be putting her fists to good use when she was his age. She'd accept nothing less.

Apparently the soldier had the same train of thought. Moze shot the siren a sly look, then threw at the operative, "What are you, like sixty?"

"_Lass,_" gusted the Irishman, sounding up to his pointed mustache in exasperation, "I'm sixty seconds 'way from makin' ya wish ya never said that."

Snickering, the soldier absently checked her sidearm, giving it a good once-over in a methodical way that betrayed her military training. Amara observed her for a moment longer before narrowing her eyes ahead at that arid distance, Zane's actions drawing her attention as there was nothing else to see.

The operative was breathing, open-mouthed, as he reached down and seized the hem of his shirt, pulling it up to expose an expanse of black-encased muscles as he used the fabric to mop his perspiring face.

Upon seeing layer upon layer of clothing, Amara didn't really blame Zane for being in his condition. She didn't know why the operative didn't shuck off his jacket, though she was only now realizing she'd had yet to see him without it.

She wanted to respect his privacy as much as she was curious about the hexagonal material adhering to him. Like everything else Zane wore - except for the more casual, broad-neck shirt he sported - the design was so high-tech. She could see some form of armored plating around his sides and up his slender stomach, similar to the glimpses she'd noticed around his collarbone and neck. She presumed it provided some digital purpose and didn't just suit Zane's overall aesthetic.

She couldn't understand how he wasn't claustrophobic in what appeared to be a very form-fitting bodysuit. Her only sizable item of clothing was her jeans and even then, they were slashed like tiger stripes, allowing her dark skin to breathe.

Hearing the resonant rumble of FL4K still behind them, cooing deep words of endearment at his pets, the siren looked back at the operative. He was still wiping at the beads of sweat glittering on his neck, rubbing the flare of his sideburns until they were more pronounced than ever.

It was her nature, more than the others, to be concerned, her empathy only _maybe_ second to Zane's, but even he didn't seem but mildly inconvenienced by his condition. She waited for him to withdraw something of a flask and start chugging but he never did. Instead, he smeared the back of one glove across his forehead and flicked it off, scowling faintly as he did.

"Hey, FL4K," called the gunner to their resident robot, her eyes glittering with mischief above the matte smudges of paint as she looked to the siren again. "You want to pick up grandpa and carry him to the nearest retirement home? Seems we forgot his walker somewhere."

Zane gusted out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. He let his damp shirt drop into place, counterfeit scowl on his expressive face.

"Y'know what?" he said with finality. "You guys suck. I'm gonna go on me own and grab a pint and none of ya are invited!"

He then gusted out one last massive breath before standing up to his full height. Once there, he fit his hands against his low back, elongating and thoroughly stretching it.

"_Phew_. Good as new," he claimed, giving both shoulders a roll before he started walking again, with a slight skip to his step, glowing boots beckoning them. "Not dyin' today - 'cept maybe when I kick off me clothes an' smell myself. S'anyone's junk sweatin' up a storm or's it just mine?"

Blinking, Amara hoped his question was rhetoric. FL4K made a mechanical hum but said nothing else, massive form beginning to trudge toward their predetermined destination. Falling behind, Moze made a face - then gestured for the siren to follow, falling into step beside her.

"...What are we going to do with him?" asked the soldier, looking to her like she had the faintest clue.

Like hell she did.

Amara chuckled and shrugged, speechless. She then continued to follow their rather atypical and now mildly threatening pointman, marring his sandy prints underfoot. Subconsciously, she allowed more distance to fall between them.

The operative was back to being his usual self, whistling merrily and contentedly swinging his arms. With that renewed pep in his step, he looked like he didn't have a care in the universe - and like he'd never been exhausted to begin with. The man was a mystery - and absolutely unlike what she'd anticipated when she'd first crossed paths with the one-eyed vault hunter.

With a single statement, Zane had effectively concerned her about something potentially worse than the condition of his arteries.


	4. Chemical Burns [Assassination of Anzel Flashback - Lectra City]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnd we're back in the past again, with Amara, who is apparently taking over after I never thought I'd write from her angle. Zane will return shortly. 
> 
> Have a feeling this story is going to devolve into a whole mess of smut eventually, if my drafts are any indication. I'm sort of sorry but man, do I hate writing action. Not my jazz.
> 
> This author needs to learn how to finish chapters in a decent order, and also not discourage the heck out of herself. Because that's shitty and I want to complete this.

[Before]

* * *

By design, Lectra City was a warzone. Killavolt and his overwhelmingly narcissistic ego had arranged a battle royale, the likes of which was _evidently_ highly attended.

The vault hunters would know - they were nose deep in it.

To think it was all for some promise of celebrity sex. The concept made Amara ill and more than happy to tear apart the participants for being outright pathetic and likely disease-ridden. Wasn't as if she intended to touch them except with her fists and fatal intentions, and that's exactly what she did. She didn't give a shit about the three tokens they needed to collect.

On second thought, the Tiger of Partali decided she did, if only because that would win them the opportunity to, as Moxxi had precisely asked, shoot Killavolt in the dick. So long as he didn't have it hanging out in perverted anticipation, Amara planned to punch it with her steel-clad knuckles - repeatedly. Her fists craved to do as Moxxi had suggested and pull the plug on the raving egotist.

She couldn't speak for any of her three companions, but she was pretty convinced that none of them wanted to take Kenneth up on his offer.

She wasn't sure, exactly, how this mission had come about. Only that Zane had been around Moxxi when the seductress had suggested it. Whether or not the operative had been drinking at her bar or had been fucking her and discussing assassination like some form of pillow talk, Amara didn't care to know.

Admittedly, though, wouldn't that be the prime time to ask someone to kill your ex? She also couldn't disregard the possibility that Zane had accepted the job in hopes of nailing the curvaceous vixen...again. He didn't strike Amara as _that _desperate, but then she probably wouldn't have made those assumptions had Zane's first comment to Moxxi about Sanctuary not been, basically, "Hey, I spent days screwin' ya at a casino!"

Not the operative's best casanova moment. At least he'd dropped it when she'd admitted not having remembered him.

At least the operative had the decency to wait for some privacy if he'd later offered to jog her memory. Wasn't something his teammates cared to hear _or_ see.

To Amara, way the Moxxi had greeted them at the entrance of the battle royale had been unusually off-putting for as attractive as the barkeep was. She'd stood there, referring to Zane as her champion, teasing at his closest mutton chop all the while. The siren had at least given the seductress_ some_ credit for making an appearance, though the way she'd gone about it had been..._ugh. _Nevermind the crowd of crazy fangirls who'd been begging to get _banged by a bazillionaire._

It had all been too much implied sex for her.

Amara didn't know why she'd frowned at it. She couldn't blame anyone for wanting Moxxi - the woman was one hell of a sexually empowered treat. She used that allure just as much as she did her cunning mind. She was a successful business woman and manipulator. What did the siren care so long as she personally got to beat a few hundred _more_ freaks to their pathetic demises?

And it wasn't like Zane actually gave his ego the necessary headspace to interfere with his missions. Whatever he set out to do, he did with veteran precision - even if his methods could be characteristically flamboyant.

For Amara, there was ample opportunity to showcase her abilities, particularly with the battle royale so highly telecasted. Not only would her kicking so much ass backfire on the COV, who were proving themselves to be weak failures, but she was effectively ruining the propaganda the Calypso Twins were using to enroll more gullible followers. Her appearance would prove that they weren't the only sirens out there.

So what if it enraged the fanatics and made them revolt in waves? For her, that was even more opportunity for her to plow her fists through their faces - the more literally, the more rewarding.

She had to ask, however, if Moxxi's was a literal reference to Killavolt chugging battery acid, to which Zane had verbally shrugged over the blasting of bullets. "Dunno! Does it look like I be usin' any? Ask yerself!"

She'd smirked as some shots pinged overhead and had the strung lines of vacuumed bulbs popping loudly, raining shards of glass down from above.

The grounds of Lectra City were extensive and _packed_ with gun-toting, grenade brandishing, speed-injecting freaks who were egged on not only by Killavolt verbally flaunting his dick but the Calypso twins promising their followers the universe. It was impossible to know which drove them higher in their insanity, but it quickly became clear that the vault hunters were extremely outnumbered.

Together, virtually arm to arm, the four of them had tackled the challenge as aggressively as ever. They combined their efforts and their complementary methods to carve their way through the flood of thrashing bodies and the spray of gunfire aimed their way.

At the same time, Promethea's massive nuclear stacks loomed in the distance, providing its payoff to the countless neon advertisements embellishing their surroundings. Even the luminous accents of the more oversized buildings added entropy to the enlivened environment. Without them, Amara might not have so readily noticed the planet's wildly fluctuating nightfall.

It was the best kind of chaos: massive explosions thundering in the sky and shaking the ground. Buildings and piles of trash catching fire. The burn of caustic projectiles in her nose and the hissing of chemicals dissolving everything in itheir wake. Bandits screamed as machine guns tore through their knees, collapsing on their disembodied feet. Skulls exploded like fireworks, brains audibly splattering. Reckless COV jumped from rooftops and screamed as their bones crushed under their own weight, and still they pulled their triggers in their violent madness, their bullets pelting futilely against the impressive shields absorbing their impacts.

Amara invited the adrenaline to pour through her veins like a drug. Felt the energy envelop her arm in that beautiful, spiritual _fire _as she sent a torrent of forearms spiraling, rapidly, down the spill of bandits tripping over themselves in the roadway.

Their team's formation - the one they naturally adopted when surrounded - enabled her to unleash her siren fury without restraint. That was what she loved best - having her friends as close as this, feeding off the energy they exuded. It was contagious.

She could look to her left and FL4K was there, massive form hulking and wanderer garbs flapping in the wind. The Maliwan rifle he wielded was appropriately massive, and the trio of creatures he directed were obediently rabid.

To her right, the teal glow of Zane's shoulder module and the high collar of his jacket. Above it, the metallic glint of his eye patch. The extension of one wrist as he deployed his faithful sentinel, the likes of which engaged in an immediate pursuit of the psychos targeted by the operative. He had an assault rifle in his gloved hands, finger depressing the trigger with controlled, short bursts, the bridge of his sharp nose furrowed with focus, his lips peeled back from his fangs as he used the sea of screaming mouths as target practice.

Behind her, the sound of Moze's gunfire, as calculated and controlled as the soldier was. Even better - when Iron Bear's massive form materialized around her and the _real_ firepower filled the air, the dome of its shield protecting everyone encased by it.

It was a beautiful chain reaction of carnage as they carved their way through the city like one would a bloody skag roast. Grenades detonated, biting chunks out of buildings and sending flesh and rubble flying. Iron Bear and Zoomer sending rockets spiraling into the distance, where they plowed into their targets and exploded, throwing bits and pieces of bodies asunder with shows of wet meat.

Amara almost protested, wishing her siren powers were plowing through the masses instead but she couldn't taken them _all _on. And considerate as her teammates were, they left her plenty of COV to smash with swirls of fists and crush between her projected fingers.

She couldn't have _all_ the bastards to herself, she knew. Her teammates were mindful enough to give her the limelight, yet they deserved their own. Being so engaged in battle, she rarely granted herself the opportunity to appreciate her fellow vault hunters in action.

There was too much to do, too many people to slaughter, but that didn't stop her from admiring the way Zane accounted for a shrieking, machete-wielding fanatic who somehow survived their wall of bullets and leaped at them. She gave a delighted, throaty laugh when Zane reacted like the seasoned veteran he was, greeting the pink-haired fanatic with the fierce flash of his uppercutting blades, its prongs decapitating her in a gruesome, colorful display.

Though brute strength was her forte, she could admire the speed and efficiency the operative performed with - and all while receiving constant feedback from the drone that whizzed through the air, its targets manipulated by the engaged operator and his calculating judgement. And while he hadn't yet deployed his digital doppelganger, she knew Zane could also seamlessly manipulate each element of his advanced tech like it was second nature.

As a fighter who preferred to feel the impact of her fists and used a more traditional approach to combat, she could appreciate the quick wit and complex improvisation performed by the operative and the technology he implemented. Though she had full control over her many sets of siren-gifted fists, she couldn't say the same of having to divide her attention so literally.

FL4K commandeering his pets was similar, reacting to their instincts as opposed to AI, but the way Zane could direct commands to the sentinel while transposing with his clone from place to place and _still_ maintaining enough orientation to seamlessly engage the COV thoroughly impressed her. Technology was something she couldn't so easily grasp and yet she fought alongside a professional who wielded it as a weapon equally as capable of cutting through the bandits as the corrosive assault rifle aimed by his practiced hands.

Zane, more than the others, had angles of attacks that complimented hers and the perception to enhance her opportunities. Like now, he used a quick gesture of one index finger to send the sentinel strafing across the limbs of amassing COV, causing them to collapse. It was the perfect opportunity for her to gather her power, tattoo scorching brightly on her arm, and send a rotation of fists pulverizing through the concentration of cursing, screaming bodies.

That the operative spared the time to nudge her with an encouraging elbow made her grin that much more rewarded, her fists clenching and eager to further impress.

It wasn't long until they'd killed their way to the docks and blown through Trudy and the swarm of badasses that kept her company. Against their coordinated assault, the fanatics never stood a chance. Beneath the blaring of _Trudy the Toeless'_ voluptuous pink sign, bandits fell in droves. They made an even worse mess of the Seaport District than there had been with its crumbling bridges and shanty shacks.

It was Moze who hopped out of Iron Bear's steaming metal frame and ducked besides the competitor's gored body, plucking up her token into one gloved fist. Nearby, FL4K sniped some freaks closing in on their location and Zane diligently inspected the more promising pilfered weapons they'd collected.

As for her? She'd replenished her ammo stores and sunk her fist wrist-deep through Troy Calypso's ugly grin littering a plethora of those sickening propaganda posters.

By the time Amara looked back, Moze was dusting something errant off her beloved mech and tapping through her ECHO as Zane presumably did the same in his eye patch, manipulating his neck sensor with minute motions. Amara could only guess what he saw in his augmentation but with how Moze was thumbing along her holographic map and the two of them were chatting among themselves, she was confident they were formulating a plan.

Zane never remained quiet for long and proved that when he raised his gruff voice, interesting inflection more pronounced with his elevated volume.

"Say, boyos - ya wanna go halfsies? Get them remainin' tokens a lil' faster, 'fore Kennypie shites himself an' runs 'way cryin' to his mummy?"

From his position overhead, FL4K hummed resonantly in calculation. The AI rarely disproved of anything that involved death.

Amara was all for that approach the instance she heard it. A chance to increase the odds against them by doubling their kill count? She was already rubbing the bands at her wrists in her insatiable hunger. She'd spent their time in the battle royale itching for a harder fight, though she had every reason to doubt that the COV would ever amount to anything.

It wasn't often that their band of vault hunters didn't stick together as a four-body unit, but there were times that called for it. They had a considerable distance to cover, the main roads interrupted with abandoned cars and cement dividers that provided cover among the rapidly dilapidating buildings.

"Looks like this Jenny lass is at the mouth of the subway," Zane commented, indicating their opponent's position on Moze's brandished ECHO. "Hazard a guess that Iron Bear's gonna be a tad limited there if ya gotta pursuit 'er down them tunnels. Be a real mess if ya collapse the place with them rockets an' we gotta comb through rubble fer that blasted token. Me back ain't up fer that."

"Copy that," Moze nodded in stern agreement. "We'll leave you two to that and hit this Lena bitch over here. Looks like it's _niiice_ and open."

To Amara, it sounded like the two of them had sound reasoning and a good arrangement. Neither of them had steered their team wrong yet - and it wasn't like vault hunters of their skill sets couldn't take charge of any inclement situation was one to ever arise.

In preparation, the Tiger rolled her shoulders, enjoying the stretch of her broken-in leather vest and equally conditioned gloves. Moze joined her, audibly cracking her knuckles before shouldering her assault rifle.

"Don't forget 'em radio signals. Can't let these bastards keep spewin' all this nonsense," Zane reminded, dropping his hands to both slender hips with a backward stretching arch of his spine.

"Copy that," responded Moze, business as ever - until she regarded Zane and then her for noteworthy beats. "Behave yourselves, you two. Leave some of the town standing for Lorelei"

Zane opened his thin lips as if to protest before snorting out a laugh, shaking his head. He continued walking toward Amara while the gunner went to meet up with FL4K's towering form as he climbed down from the stack of cargo bins he had effortlessly scaled.

Zane strutted until he was a head over her, jagged tufts of hair blocking the sudden risen sun from hitting her in the face

"Dunno why she be sayin' that. Ain't like we're the ones with the nuclear-capable robot," muttered Zane before he grinned at her lopsidedly. "An' I ain't referrin' to Robo-Boyo. He's got a lil' bit o' manners in 'im."

"Who needs a mech to reap destruction?" Amara countered, drumming her lacquered fingers against the hard bands of her forearms.

"Not this lass!" Zane laughed and then clapped her shoulder with one blue-knuckled hand. "C'mon, Biceps! Token's good as ours! Gotta beat 'em to the chase!"

"You're so on," she challenged with a dangerous smirk and a flex, more than ready to keep kicking some COV ass.

Off to do just that, the two of them took off at a determined sprint.

...

Why their team had divided as they always did, Amara didn't know. It had initially happened by instinct. Only later had they fallen into that pattern, and why fix what wasn't broken? The results couldn't be denied.

She liked to think that she tamed some hint of the operative's insanity. She was also realistically aware of her predisposition toward overconfidence and trusted Zane and his irrefutable experience to rein her in when necessary. Having always been one to make her own calls, it helped her to see how obviously the operative respected her strength. Zane had never refrained from enabling her to exhibit her ethereal gift. And why would he? He cheered her on, enjoying her displays of brute destruction as much as she got off performing them. She similarly appreciated his talent in diverting and creating mischief among the COV, allowing them both to take advantage of their disorientation.

Both teams, effectively, ended up having an aggressive powerhouse accentuated by a more calculated, capable sniper. Same as FL4K's creatures joined the fray, Zane's digi-clone and sentinel drone did the same. Their arrangement seemed to have the best balance, and there wasn't any other better way that Amara could see it working.

Moze and FL4K had their system. She and Zane shared theirs. And it was a beautiful thing to behold. With fewer allies present to account for, Amara was freer to unleash the intense destructiveness of her powers, more fully summoning the glowing strength that spilled from her as fist extensions.

At her feet, Zane's deployable shield module skittered to a stop, holographic shimmer expanding to provide them both cover. She found it fitting, its wavelength of energy an iridescent purple, the panels doing well to protect them from splash damage and the weapons thrown at them by their rushing attackers. As plus, it allowed them to retain their personal shields.

Showers of sparkling metal erupted from dozens of weapons at once, spiteful fingers of fire reaching out for them in rapid succession. The bullets arrived half a heartbeat before their cacophony. A badass among them was walking ahead, his gatling gun cycling so rapidly, it sounded like a single buzzsaw roar, sparks kicking off Zane's shield as it absorbed the hammering blows. And there was the operative, stepping slightly forward and raising his pistol in one hand, eye patch glinting as he sent a round cleanly between the bastard's bloodthirsty eyes. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes.

Cocking one macho brow at her, the ex-mercenary gave his firearm a sexy spin around his index finger. Then he turned back to the crowd, ripping off the remaining rounds as fast as the pistol would cycle, sending bullets flying into an assortment of heads and hearts before he blew on the smoking barrel.

Well, if that's how Zane wanted it-

Amara was right behind him, kicking off the ground to crash into it with a furious fist, the street bucking beneath them. Zane rode the jolt with a short bray of laughter, watching as a channel carved its way toward their enemies and sent them flying in a massive eruption of energy. Even before their bodies hit the ground, Zane was back to fighting.

Amidst all the chaos stemming from her display of strength, it was easy to overlook the graceful, smooth composure of her partner's expertise. She could see the kick of his firearm as his body seamlessly absorbed the recoil, his stance shifting only to lock onto another target, and then another, and another in a pursuit to kill as relentless as hers. It never ceased to surprise her how many corpses dropped that hadn't suffered their end from her siren strength. The older man's operating proved that her excessive power could be matched by honed expertise and rapid execution.

Between her blasting fists and Zane splitting his attention between three directions of onslaught, the COV deafened the skies with their dying battle cries. Flashes of light captured Amara's attention even as she smashed ethereal fists through a building and sent it crashing down into a trio of approaching badasses. Between Zoomer's stabilizing wings zinging through the air in engaging acrobatics, the iridescent shimmer of Zane's deployed shield, and the sudden burst of blue consuming the operative, only to leave his digi-clone methodically gunning in his place, the battle royale resembled a morbid rave.

In that sense, it was _exactly_ the place Amara wanted to be.

In contrast, Zane couldn't seem to pick a spot. He hopscotched here, then there, trading places with his clone before coming back again, gunning down the offending COV that were logical enough to take cover. Though he gave the siren a wide berth, knowing damn well what she could do, her head still swam with trying to keep tabs on him.

For as much as she appreciated Zane's digi-copy, she preferred the real man at her side - and behind his own shield, damnit. Didn't matter if the one on his person was the best an operative could buy and tweaked to adequately covered all the handsome parts of him. She had no intentions of accidentally making a Zane pancake if she could help it. She didn't think he would survive that scenario to find it particularly amusing.

And, just like that, Zane's actual form replaced the quieter and consistent presence of his clone. He was reloading, reaching into his utility belt to withdraw a clip and discard his empty, flipping the fresh one before slapping it home.

"Break a sweat yet? No?" The man could hold a conversation with himself and often did, but he was also just as willing to boast about her, flashing her that striking smile of his.

It was about then that the large shield depleted, disappearing before them in a wink - and some asshole, who'd likely foamed at the mouth waiting for that opportunity, sent a rocket whizzing directly at them.

Amara needed no further convincing that Zane's long legs were strong - not with the force he threw himself into her with, knocking her clean off her booted feet. The massive _boom_ of the rocket detonating sent them flying even higher, and then her back hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her, furthered by Zane's body landing atop her a millisecond later with a strangled _Oof!_

Around them, the digital shards of the operative's shield rained down on them like dissipating glass.

It had all happened in an instant. One second she'd been mustering that searing lightening throughout her arm and then she'd been coughing, with Zane's goatee in her mouth, wearing his body like a leather and metal blanket. She'd still been spitting as he grunted and rolled off to the side, slapping at his ass as though to ensure it was still there.

The smoke was clearing as he reached down to assist her in standing - and then some his instincts, or his tech, or _something_ pinged and Zane was triggering the module in his hand, digi-clone overtaking him.

Half a heartbeat later, a stream of assault fire sprayed into the hologram's feet and chewed through the street beneath. Visibly unaffected and intent on his mission, Zane's blue twin raised his weapon and returned fire without so much as a flinch.

It could only withstand the onslaught so long. Knowing this limitation of the technology, advanced as it was, Amara used the corporeal clone to help lift her to her feet. She mostly did to prove to herself that it could be done - that the doppelganger was as solid as it seemed.

"Apologies!" Zane ECHOed at her, sounding breathlessly sincere. "Don't trust me shield not to break on me again after takin' that blast to me arse, firm as it is!"

She was about to speak when a grenade flew in her direction - only for the digi-clone to catch it single-handedly and lob it back along the trajectory it came from before disappearing in a flash.

_Damn_, the siren sighed, seeing Zane pursuing a flock and effectively increasing their separating distance. Until the digi-clone recharged, it didn't seem the operative would appear beside her anytime soon. That was, unless he wanted to vault down a story and take on enemies where they approached on either side. While Amara knew her partner could handle being sandwiched, she didn't want him taking any chances and was confident that Zane was more calculating than that.

They'd broken apart and it was only getting worse. This wasn't good. Wasn't like her heart was in her throat or anything but they clearly didn't need vulnerable angles, even if the COV were virtually forced to trip over the corpses the vault hunters had left strewn in their wake.

So they kept fighting, Zane mowing down a frenzy of female fanatics with his beloved Hyperion SMG in one hand, Jakobs pistol in the other in a professional balancing act. Amara did what she did best, mulching enemies with spiraling canons of celestial fists and following through with her steel-clad flesh, beating in skulls and cracking ribs and breaking limbs.

It all went without further hitch until it didn't.

She jerked her head around just in time to see Zane ignite into flames, incendiary fluid splattering to the ground at his booted feel. Immediately, _appropriately_, he began flailing violently, failing to bite back his screams. Could she blame him, knowing how rapidly the furious chemical fire ate through even the most state-of-the-art shield? Fuck no, but even then she was stunned by the severity and particular terror of his shrieks.

Awash in the scalding heat and raging flames, the operative was slapping at himself in a panicked race - and vanished in a pixelated flash, given no choice but to leave his renewed digi-clone in his place.

With wild eyes, Amara searched for Zane, whipping her head this way and that, ponytail flying as she tried to determine where he had transposed to - and she'd finally located him some three hundred feet down the street, scowling as he aggressively patted himself down to ensure he was done smoldering. When he lifted his bearded face, eye patch slit with that glowing streak, she was taken by the foreign_ fury _of his expression.

Zane appeared positively _pissed_, his mature features contorted in rage - and not at the cluster of weapon-wielding, flailing COV that were in rapid pursuit.

To her amazement, the operative's attentions were entirely elsewhere. He jerked his head back as though scanning his more immediate surroundings, searching for some unseen target among the rooftops.

The siren found her jaw slackening in question as Zane spun on his heels and began sprinting toward an alleyway, favorite pistol ready and raised. It took him but a second to leave her visual range, abandoning her in the process.

_That_ wasn't what pissed her off. What did was not knowing where in the hell her nearly-incinerated partner was going - or intended on doing.

"Ass," she breathed, too quietly to be picked up by the device linking them. And it was almost a shame, but at the same time a hefty enough clusterfuck of bandits came for her, violently demanding her attention.

Their cumulative number and firepower was no match for her. She drove one luminous arm up through the ground and smashed them flat with a fist of energy, leaving crackling tendrils of lightning and a massive indent in her wake.

The fact that Zane, his drone, _or_ his clone hadn't peppered the scene with supportive gunfire meant he was good as gone - and irritatingly unresponsive to her immediate attempts at hailing him.

Withdrawing her ECHO to search for his location, Amara ended up seething out a louder breath of frustration.

"_Goddamnit_, Zane."

No sign of him anywhere, even as she used the device's toggle to scrolled out and scan a larger area. That only meant one thing: that the operative had disengaged his tracker. She didn't even know _how _he could, being significantly more technically modest than her partner, but she knew that defeated the purpose.

Clearly assassin habits died hard. Apparently she'd have to remind him that he was retired - _loudly_. His team couldn't very well assist him without _finding _him - which evidently was the purpose. Still, he wasn't supposed to hide under his allies' radars either literally or figuratively.

Whatever his reasons, Zane was giving her one hell of a bone to pick with him. No doubt the others would join her on a forthcoming lecture on the definition of _teamwork._

It wasn't like she didn't trust the operative to hold his own. Many times, Zane had proven he was more than capable, living up to his claims of being a one-man armada. He had already survived as long as he had doing solo ventures and had his extensive tech quite literally at his fingertips. Furthermore, he knew how to best deploy it to his advantage. One killing machine could effectively branch into three. More than anything, she knew Zane's arsenal was intended to deceive and divide his enemies, allowing him the split second he needed to designate his priorities and engage them effectively.

But - Zane wasn't a siren, nor was he some AI that didn't register pain and he couldn't protect himself in a massive metal death machine. He was a human at the mercy of his skills and shield capacity - one of which she'd just seen splinter. She couldn't guarantee, especially after being subjected to incendiaries, that it was still functioning properly. And while the digitally-privy operative was most qualified to determine its functional defensive status, she didn't trust technology half as much as he did.

Amara could already _hear_ Zane rolling his visible eye at her, his incredulous expressions always just as loud and graphic as the rest of him. Ticked as she was, she swore she was going to punch that full head of silver off him - all of it. That would teach him an effective lesson, given how proud he was of it.

She wouldn't, of course, because she was a _considerate _teammate who had her partners' backs when they _allowed _it. But she'd damn well envision it the next time she set her sights on him.

Athletic as she was, the siren made quick work of leaping atop an errant cargo bin and slinging herself up onto the second story bridge where she'd last caught sight of Zane... which, like the rest of that damn city, lead to a maze of littered streets and alleyways that stemmed from them like veins.

The only gunfire she heard was too distant to be his, originating from the direction Moze and FL4K were designated. Otherwise, aside from Killavolt's taunts echoing over the speakers situated frequently throughout the city, it was unusually quiet.

Then suddenly, closely: a cacophony of bullets caroming against metal. The roar of additional weapons opening fire over angry cries of anarchy. Among them, Zane's vicious bellow: "Outta me goddamn way! _C'mere, ya sheepfecker! I'ma _**_kill_**_ ya!"_

Yeah, beyond a doubt _that_ hadn't transmitted across their ECHO connection.

Ricocheting off the concrete buildings and rusty vehicles, the operative's voice sounded wonderful to her ears - unusually bloodcurdling as it was.

Leave it to the Irish bastard for getting so far away from her. Fast as Amara was, she couldn't compete with his speed, but that didn't stop her from trying. She sprinted toward what she could make of the source. In her pursuit, her violet eyes couldn't thoroughly scrutinized a fresh smatter of blood on one cement wall. They could only shift ahead and catch sight of the bloody footprints smearing the length of the alleyway she'd entered.

It wasn't until she rushed on and vaulted herself over a cluster of COV corpses that she heard anything else. For her, there was no mistaking the sound of fist blows being exchanged - the dull, heavy thwacks of knuckles against flesh and two men grunting with fierce effort.

She took four more steps before she detected voices, their physical altercation having ceased. Straining her ears, she could distinguish two men talking, one that had to be Zane. Without his wildly fluctuating pattern of speech, he was a bit less obvious than usual but, as she drew two steps closer, she became convinced beyond doubt that it was him.

Faltering, Amara glimpsed at her ECHO again, both to determine there weren't any detectable COV nearby - which there weren't - and to determine that she definitely did need to kick the operative's ass for disabling his tracking. Curiously enough, the owner of the second voice was also absent, as no other body pinged the display.

Her dark brows were furrowing in earnest now, reflecting her irritation. Clearly there were ways of working around ECHO, leaving her to wonder why more opponents hadn't thought to avoid detection aside from most being outright insane. Was a jammer or something required? Or some override that could be implemented, and maybe most people weren't as tech savvy enough to use it?

Regardless of what it was, Amara was stalking ahead, more than ready to step in and flash her arms and remind Zane, and whoever had the misfortune to fuck with him, how things would be done from then on- and stopped herself when her mind could finally register the ongoing exchange between men.

By then, she could see Zane's familiar form towering over the fallen figure of an unknown man, sidearm drawn and menacingly fixed on him.

"Feckin' nerve ya have interruptin' me hot date with that fine lass back there," the operative was saying. "Doesn't need me to hold her own or else this'd hafta wait, but we'll make this quick like _gentlemen_ anyway, aye?"

Whoever Zane was addressing made some agonized grumble she couldn't otherwise decipher from her distance. It wasn't much, but her sure curiosity wanted to make something of it - until the operative pressed on, all business and a harsh absence of charm.

She could, however, make out the term _siren_ \- few as familiar with it as she was.

"That she is," the operative confirmed - and promptly dismissed. "Ain't any business o' yers."

"How did-"

"Third time, Anzel," Zane chided with no small measure of exasperation. "Ain't gonna stop, are ye, ya mad cunt?"

"That's not in the contract. You know that," argued the now identified man.

Amara's brows were pinching together again, quickly piecing together the situation: Anzel was a professional trying to collect the bounty on Zane's head...but for a third time? She found _that_ confusing because why would her teammate allow more than a single opportunity?

There could have been many reasons Anzel was quite evidently alive but as she clearly knew, Zane was a capable killer. Had he decided the asshole wasn't worth his time? Not that she pretended to understand the former mercenary and the methods to his madness, but still.

"Ya set fire to me, ya mulligan," growled the operative with a voice entirely void of humor, not even sounding like the same man. "Ya know I take _personal _offense to that, lad."

"Yeah, yeah," spoken knowingly. "….Sorry."

She didn't exactly expect to hear an apology, particularly one as honest as that. _And_ the one that followed, puzzling her further, that suddenly made her feel like she was invading Zane's personal privacy.

"I'm the sorry one, boyo. Gettin' a wee bit tired o' this game. Y'understand, don't ya, when ya signed up for this?"

"Yeah, I do," admitted Anzel, and she could see that he was shifting on his haunches, rising to his knees even with Zane's pistol squarely set between his bruising eyes.

From this new position, Amara could finally see the mess Zane's fists had made of him. She could never identify that face without the abrasions and gore splattered across swelling prominences. His disfigurement was nearly obscene already, one eye swollen behind recognition, his busted nose suffering the same. Blood poured from his nostrils and joined the tracks cascading from a split on his forehead.

"You gotta understand," the apparent hitman continued, trying to appeal to the older man. "I thought this would be the perfect opportunity, in all this mess. That you'd never know it was me."

Was _that_ supposed to be considerate? She snorted beneath her breath - then went silent, as she watched Zane slowly shake his head.

"Well it ain't gonna be ye," he said quietly. "We'll make this fast an' clean, me old friend. I'll buy ya a pint on the other side."

"Za-"

A single gunshot cut him off, punctuating and unusually deafening in the otherwise stale air.

Amara didn't need to see the aftermath. From between the spread stance of Zane's tall legs, she could see the man's body slump to the ground, lifeless as expected.

From the downward tilt of the operative's wild mane, she knew he was staring down at the man at his feet. For long moments, nothing happened. Zane didn't budge. Didn't holster his sidearm. Didn't do anything.

And then his square shoulders, always so strong and resilient, slumped as though from one massive exhale.

It was then that the siren finally saw the weight invisibly braced atop the operative. Saw it physically compress him in ways she'd never witnessed before and didn't think could even happen.

Inside her chest, Amara's heart started to ache at the thought of her teammate's doing the same. But was it? For the seasoned veteran, how did she know that that wasn't just business? Could everything so easily have been chalked up to some unfulfilled contractual agreement, just like that? Surely not everything for Zane could be all fun and games like he made everything out to be - but then she'd never seen him end anyone with the morose aftermath she'd just witnessed. And she knew his reaction would have never been as authentic had he sensed her presence. If she'd made herself known as she'd fully intended.

He would have laughed it off. Maybe cursed the man with a spit. Kicked the event under the proverbial rug and shrugged, never to look back at it.

She could never say for a fact that the operative ever _would_ think back on what happened or if he mentally filed it under "Finished Business".

Zane remained quiet, still, as he shifted to reach into his jacket for an inner pocket and shook out what appeared to be a handkerchief. From what Amara could make out, he put it to his mustached face. The cloth came away crimson - no denying the sight of fresh blood. She was far too familiar with it. Zane's audible scowl reinforced her perception before he blew his nose into the cloth and expelled more gory contents.

Amara considered, then, of coming forward and altering the mood of the space - but also felt, for some reason, that by doing so she would be violating a situation that was...sort of sacred. Even if Zane was still touching up his face as though trying to erase every vestige of violence, she couldn't bring herself to detract from his moment. Didn't trust that he wouldn't turn whatever he was feeling against her - even if she _knew _he wouldn't.

No, that wasn't it _at all_, she told herself. She wanted to give him that time to work through whatever he was experiencing. Give him an opportunity to digest it further, though she knew all too well that the mourning process was a long one.

She didn't want to make things between them awkward, which they surely would be - if not on Zane's end, then on hers. She wasn't as prone to laughing or brushing things off unless it involved herself. She was an advocate for understanding oneself and fearlessly addressing what most avoided. _That_ was how she handled herself. She expected Zane to have a far more aloof approach - don't ask, don't touch, don't tell.

Well, if it worked for him, who was she to argue?

Zane was kneeling now, doing something carefully to the corpse. When he stood up and began backing away, she could see that he'd arranged that swatch of cloth over that paling face, preventing that dead gaze from boring into the sky.

Then, with renewed purpose in his stance and scoped SMG held ready in his hand, Zane was beginning to turn back the way he'd came. Amara had only enough time to duck into a secluded inlet as he sprinted naively past, boots kicking up dust and flattening assorted detritus as he sprinted toward where he'd last seen her.

She had to make quick work of finding an alternate route, leaping atop a waste receptacle to scale a rooftop before dropping down in some half-ass shortcut. Had Zane reactivated his ECHO and noticed her some ways off the beaten path, he didn't say anything - but no doubt he'd honed in on her mapped position, his reappeared marker rapidly moving to reunite with her.

The bandits who came brandishing a plethora of rapid-firing weapons made it too easy for her to rejoin the fight like she'd never _not_ engaged their spit-flinging, flailing numbers.

Zane's voice entered her ear - upbeat, as always, and garnished with his garish accent.

"How ya holdin' up, me eight armed goddess? Left any arses for me to kick or did ya steal all the fun fer yeself?"

Considering he'd distracted her from their previous path, the mounting screams of bloodthirsty bandits behind them was answer enough. And that was fine by her, because she didn't exactly trust her tongue to be as keen as his was.

Later, after they'd cleared out those in pursuit of them and aggressively stormed the subway entrance, quite literally crushing bazooka-wielding Jenny and her supporters in the process, she felt up to prodding him - but not too directly.

"Glad to see you not slacking off for a change," she threw his way - about when he'd used one bare thumb to flip the token and catch it on the back of his hand like an oversized coin.

He fake scowled at her, expression still lined with amusement, and she could see that he was trying to shield his thorough scrutiny of her. Trying to get a read on her and determine how miffed she truly was without her knowing.

Zane, as expected, played his absence off on pursuing a bandit who'd been waving a particularly shiny weapon. To his credit, he had brandished one. Tossed it to her and hummed a singsong "_mm-hmm!"_ as she'd appreciatively inspected the sexy shotgun.

Incendiary. Hefty. Anzel's, presumably.

"Can't help meself," grinned the operative, scratching absently at his goatee - and she'd noticed the remnants of dried blood edging it. "'M like a moth to flames. Figured if I wasn't gonna use it, might offer it up to give ye some respite from all them fisticuffs ya been doin'. Ain't nothin' more badarse than your siren skills, but whaddo I know?"

Amara left that rhetoric untouched and followed Zane as he'd scaled the steps to surface level two at a time. It was there an amassed crowd of assholes waited, as always, to greet them.

Zane pulled all the stops as though making up for being a flake if her teasing was _indeed_ warranted. With the precision and speed he used to wipe the floor bloody with their enemies, her teasing was most definitely unfounded and their satisfied smirks proved they both knew it.

If Zane _had _slowed down by fifty, she couldn't begin to envision how he'd been as a younger man.

She'd resumed her usual onslaught as well. Fought with the same intensity of astral projections and ground-shattering entertainment that her powers bestowed upon her. Still, her mind was atypically elsewhere, lingering in that alley they'd long since left behind.

Even reuniting with Moze and FL4K, who'd brandished their own token of accomplishment, did little to concentrate her focus. Retrieving three more key items - batteries that Moxxi insisted were necessary - didn't stop her thoughts from gnawing at her like a fretful puppy.

Even beating down Killavolt wouldn't have been nearly as disappointing if she hadn't been so otherwise distracted. When Moze prodded the siren for her unusual lack of enthusiasm, she'd blamed it on having seen the bastard's hologram floating around and taunting them all day. She'd gotten tired of seeing his domed head, and punching it in hadn't relieved the tension she was feeling.

Annoyed the hell out of her, which was difficult to do. She hated that sense of impotence - the inability to act on her hindrances. She hated considering it _anxiety_, because she wasn't that type of person, and she most certainly wasn't incapable, just-

She didn't know.

She found herself watching Zane's arachnid-emblazoned back and rapidly bruising face more closely, even as he casually joked at her. Even his cutting-edge shield couldn't protect against something as close-ranged as a fist, if the contusion mottling his jaw and adjacent side of his nose weren't proof enough of that. To her, they were tangible reminders of how Zane's life was doubly at stake.

Had he even bothered with a hypo? Did he even _notice _the visible damage done to his self-professed handsome face? Or did she need to insist on him double-checking the expiratory dates on his injectables?

Either way, for as much as she loved purple, seeing it blemish his weathered skin made her _angry_ \- as if the hundreds of thousands of COV weren't persistent enough in trying to end them. Zane, more so than anyone, would have dismissed her concern off with a laugh - even as trained assassins targeted his back.

All she could see, in her memory, wasn't Anzel's lifeless face draining brains.

Instead, she saw Zane's.

...

Nighttime had arrived again. Their ragtag group had fallen silent an hour earlier, after they'd sat around the warm bustle of a trash fire and passed chunks of roasted skag meat among themselves.

There'd been the usual chatter amongst their hungry gnawing. Stories shared about particular loot they'd found or badasses they'd left dead. Moze had obtained a Hyperion assault rifle through violent means that she flaunted. There had been low whistles of impression among two of them and FL4K, well, he nodded.

The four of them took turns tossing the bones of their meal to Mr. Chew, who drooled profusely while gnashing them to teeny pieces. Seemed reasonable, given that skag dung had been abundant on Pandora and consisted heavily of assorted bones...but Amara wasn't sure if having the AI's pet cannibalize the remains was right. Not like their four-legged companion seemed to mind. He wagged his stub happily.

No one, to her surprise, mentioned Zane's bruises. They had no reason to suspect he'd sustained them under special circumstances.

Amara had done her fair share of talking before she favored a less verbal role around the fire. She tried to conceal the particular attention she'd given the operative among them, quietly trying to determine if there was anything _different _about him following the scene she'd unwittingly witnessed earlier.

But Zane was still very much himself, his mannerisms his chipper usual. He was all chuckles and smirks and besting Moze's every attempt at being witty. The two of them had taken up the game of affectionately ragging each, with the operator seizing full advantage of her soldier nature and the way she overly complicated her comebacks. She couldn't even begin to compete with his whiplash humor. He practically used it to dance around her.

After their idle talking had died down, the vault hunters followed the same routine they always did. With a pop of his knees and a grunt, Zane pushed himself up to his feet and plucked the binoculars off of his belt, off to search for higher grounds and take the first guard shift of the night. He was always glad to, having muttered something about needing more time to wind down the first time he'd taken the initiative. Meanwhile, Moze was eager to enjoy sleep as she always did and FL4K propped himself against a wall as he dimmed his lens, entering some mysterious state of standby.

Amara, personally, preferred to do similarly as Zane but meditate instead and recount the days events, along with any lesson she could learn from them.

She had a dozen other ways to apply herself than to mentally violate the operative's privacy yet again - if only she could bring herself to remember them. And she shouldn't have even regarded his current position. She didn't particularly care to know what Zane did out there while alone for hours. Kept watch, no doubt, because he wasn't as reckless as he seemed to be. For one, she knew he took that shift because his optical implant had night vision capabilities.

Maybe he closed his eye and took some sort of half nap, eventually? Not that she knew how _that_ even worked if his eye patch was always working. Either way, she was grateful that he always handed his snazzy binoculars to her when she arrived to relieve him. They couldn't all be so heavily equipped with tech.

Whatever Zane did to occupy himself, they all needed their privacy. She didn't think the older man was up there jacking off in hostile territory or tried otherwise philandering. And to her understanding, she hadn't heard him making out with his digi-clone or crooning sweet nothings to it. The doppelganger had likely heard all his pickup lines already.

Instead, the guns she _had_ seen him oiling had been just that: actual firearms. He was sometimes still assembling them when she came to take his place, and often he kept her a little more company before hunkering down until daylight. She had to remind herself for as chatty as Zane good-naturedly was, he was also surprisingly sophisticated. Among his arsenal was an extensive history in espionage. Between decades of experience in tracking targets and compiling evidence, Zane was second to none in reconnaissance. Keeping watch was a cakewalk.

It was a shame, really, that Pandora's madness didn't really cater to the operative's more enigmatic specialties. She would have liked to watch Zane do something more specific to his career element. If told that, he would have undoubtedly assured her that as a siren, it would bore her out of her mind. And maybe it would have since she so thoroughly enjoyed what she did but still, she was curious.

Between his honed judgment and whatever input his tech provided him, Zane could see far more than his untrained companions could. As it was, he always had some insight capable of seizing her proverbial leash when she otherwise preferred to dive head-on with brute force. Contrary to her history, Moze wasn't much different. FL4K was inhumanely, and appropriately, patient.

Despite having only one visible eye - and her not knowing the condition of the other, if there was even one there - Zane was as perceptive as a hawk. She couldn't attest for the advantages his optical tech provided him, if it even served that purpose. If it did, would he even need the binoculars he sported on one hip? She had many questions she hadn't yet asked.

Whatever his methods, Zane was good at what he did. She trusted him to keep them safe when they were sleeping and vulnerable as could be. That wasn't a responsibility she could designate to anyone beyond her increasingly tightly-knit circle of teammates.

Normally, she _particularly_ wouldn't give that honor to someone imbibing liquor like a proud alcoholic, but then nothing since becoming a vault hunter had been predictable.

Just last night, she'd gone out to gaze at the stars and had caught sight of him pulling down his upper lip and touching up with a straight razor - in the dim light of his ECHO, no less - and had rolled her eyes when he'd muttered, "No one best start shootin' an' messin' up this perfection." That had been so _him_ that she'd snorted. She'd watched with quiet fondness while he'd proceeded to snip at his goatee and equally stylish mustache, sending his trimmings snowing to the ground.

No doubt he was up there now tipping his flask to his lips - the same sizable one he'd passed around the fire.

FL4K had held it up to a hidden sensor and identified the contents. "Whisky. 95% ABV."

"Quadruple distilled!" Zane had boasted, gesturing for the AI to drink...before "_ahh_"ing and nodding to Moze, who reluctantly brought the canteen to her face.

One sniff failed her test. She immediately handed it to the siren to her left, glad to pass it away.

"Thanks but no thanks. Brings back some _really_ bad memories of some parties with my team. Trust me when I say I've had enough already."

Amara had given a little shrug and returned the flask to its rightful owner and connoisseur, telling him a tad apologetically, "I don't really drink."

Snorting, Zane had smiled graciously. "What can ya do? Oh yeah, drink! More for me!" And proceeded to do just that.

Amara was admittedly surprised that he hadn't finished it by the end of their little powwow, as she'd heard its contents roll wetly in the flask when he'd later pocketed it. He'd only withdrawn it in anticipation of a swig before they'd broken into the cafe, Zane having plunged cleanly through the lock with one half of his holo-blade.

"Lot more sophisticated ways o' breakin' in under me belt but who we impressin'?" he'd told them, kicking the door open with one metal boot.

Unfortunately for them, what food had been located on-site was either outright rotten or stale beyond edibility. It was FL4K who had withdrawn a cache of meat from god-knew-where on his layered body.

"The feck ya need that for?" the operative had questioned, Moze's jaw similarly dropping. "Ya got a fridge in there somewhere? How 'bout a beer?"

Amara was just impressed to see food. With her metabolism and so much muscle mass to sustain, she couldn't be picky.

"Foresight," the AI responded flatly. Then narrowed the span of his glowing lens. "And to avoid interacting with substandard food service bots."

"_Ahhh,_" the humans said in unison, follower by Zane's gruffer "Gotcha," and then his abrupt: "S'it poisoned?".

_That, _like so many other things the older man said, caused some interesting discussion. He'd tried waving them off before blaming his suspicions on habit.

"Plenty ways o' collectin' a bounty, boyos. Poison's one o' the most sneaky an' clean - _usually. '_S why I'm often poppin' pills," offered Zane in explanation, shaking a small, rattling vial he'd produced from some recess of his jacket. "Got me ol' man vitamins, me meal supplements, an' a cute lil' trick that stops most digestible toxins from workin' - least 'til I find meself some proper medical attention - providin', that is, I get a chance to swallow it 'fore I keel over," he'd said. Like it was the most common thing in the world. Then, he proudly specified: "Hasn't happened yet!"

Amara had chewed her lip wondering on how many occasions the operative had reason to use it. Moze appeared to do the same to her inner cheek.

As if Amara hadn't been concerned for his safety enough that day. The events that had unfolded earlier were still vivid in her mind's eye - everything from seeing the operative burst into flames to the way he'd regarded Anzel's dead body at his feet, his posture wearied and desolate.

She told herself to forget it. Lingering on things rarely helped anybody. She had more reason to be grateful for the shelter they had. Unlike the poorly erected shacks on Pandora, the Promethean establishment was better at keeping out substantial drafts. Helped that Zane, on his way out, had considerately shut the door behind him and kept the cooling air at bay.

Still, something nagged at her that Zane was alone _again_. Out there, exposed and it didn't seem to matter to her nerves that she was readily nearby..._not _asleep. Awake and ready. And evidently aware of him.

It wasn't like Amara to be shaken in any way. Zane clearly wasn't - ever, unless he was on fire. She had to remind herself that he'd managed to survive some fifty-odd years despite having a plethora of sworn enemies. That he'd already spent years with his head topping some intergalactic hitlist and still lived to tell about it.

Third time, Zane had said to Anzel. So he gave mercenaries multiple chances at his life, only to spare theirs? It didn't make sense to Amara why Zane would allow the risk and not finish what they'd started at that first attempt. But then, upon further reflection, she realized that there must have been a particular bond between the operative and the others. Some hidden kinship among assassins. It seemed counter-productive to her but then Zane had an extensive network of people he knew. Surely most of them weren't cold and malicious. If anything, they likely thought of themselves as professionals just doing their jobs. Men and women who could just as easily sit and share a pint without weapons drawn. In fact, Zane himself had referred to Anzel as a friend.

No one must have understood that dynamic more than Zane did. With her roots, Amara certainly didn't.

It seemed the middle-aged operative knew many but held onto none. Aside from their team, Zane didn't seem to have ever stood by any particular outfit for any extended duration of time - only long enough to satisfy his contract and move on. He even said himself that he skipped around a lot, and she suspected he'd hopscotched around long before the bounty was out for his head.

Maybe it wasn't until then that Amara more fully fathomed the lonely decades Zane had lived. She couldn't imagine seeing someone familiar for the first time in years, only to have to kill them... and worse, perhaps: having them try to end him. And for what - some quantity of payment?

She wondered how many associates Zane had had to exterminate throughout his extensive career. He'd been successful, having never been on the receiving end of a fatal bullet, but that invariably meant he'd had to kill so that he could live. In that business, if the Anzel transaction hadn't made it painfully apparent, there wasn't much room for compromise.

Sighing, Amara couldn't fathom the toll it would take on someone's heart to commit that act. As it was, she'd only ever raised her fists at opponents - people who had committed crimes and other atrocious acts deserving punishment. She never had to kick the ass of anyone she'd befriended - largely because she didn't like assholes.

How long had Zane carried that mounting burden? Strong as she was, Amara didn't think she could do it and live without a deep chip in her shoulder. If the ex-mercenary had one, he hid it well beneath all his benevolence. Maybe there'd been a time where he hadn't had the practice. No doubt he had undergone his own forms of conditioning.

Zane's violent expression was still branded in her mind. She'd never expected the easygoing, jubilant example of a man to have that capacity in him - or rather see it, in action, for herself. She'd never witnessed anything like it from him in all the fighting they'd done side by side. It suggested that the mercenary had a far darker, crueler capacity to him than she'd ever hazarded to guess. She could only assume he channeled the potential into other outlets. While she didn't know of them personally, she'd heard enough mentions of the Flynt bloodline to know they were infamous for committing deranged acts of violence and arson.

In other words, the exact kind of people she would have ended in her pursuit of justice. Had Zane been anything like them, she wouldn't have fought alongside him. Evidently among his kin, he was eccentric.

It seemed Zane was more composed and calculated than his brothers' reckless reputations. By the time she'd found him facing Anzel, that boiling anger had been banished. He hadn't exactly gunned his fellow assassin in cold blood, his hand having been forced by the circumstances. And he'd extended Anzel some respectful consideration that the bastard hadn't deserved - and likely wouldn't have granted Zane had the tables turned.

Where was the fairness in repaying a man, who'd tried killing someone with incendiaries, with a quick, clean gunshot to the head?

Would Zane have made some lighter sort of game out of the chase, she wondered, if Anzel's attempt hadn't distracted him from their Raider duties? For as easygoing as he seemed, Zane took his role in their team seriously. The attack had divided his attention between addressing his assailant and backing his partner, leaving the COV a hint of opportunity. He'd even expressed somewhat to his fellow assassin that he hadn't appreciated the forced conflict of interest.

As it was, Amara had never killed for money. One could maybe argue that she was some form of mercenary, as she'd fought for innocent people but had inadvertently received fame and rewards for it. In contrast, Zane had made a full-fledged, and ludicrous, career as a contract killer. He was a professional of the most elite tier and his experiences were admittedly extensive. He'd openly mentioned accepting jobs virtually spanning the entire contract spectrum. Not all were seek and destroy, even if those were the majority. He'd mentioned smuggling, for one. For as much as Zane spoke freely, he didn't make many substantial offerings.

As for killing former associates, Zane was clearly versed in that. He committed the act with deft intent, regardless of his considerate reaction. Lone wolf he was, it didn't matter now affable Zane could be with his buddies: survival took priority. He didn't value any head over his. The surviving Flynt clearly didn't have intentions of dying after opting out of countless opportunities.

Amara found herself curious as to what drove him. Adventure, most likely. The adrenaline he apparently craved. But money? He had an abundance and, implied by his retirement, was no longer accepting contracts. He hardly seemed impressed by some of the Eridian technology they'd encountered in the vaults. How experienced did someone have to be to snort at alien artifacts?

Back when the four of them had first boarded Sanctuary III, they'd discovered that the Crimson Raiders had done a bit of reconnaissance on them. Through some tech magic, their ECHO devices had been scanned and some stored memories had been pulled up when they'd come aboard.

The blatant invasion of privacy had been used to help determine if their intentions were a security threat. With the Crimson Raiders targeted by the COV, the insanely outnumbered group couldn't be too cautious. No one could blame them, and none of the four new vault hunters had anything to hide or had made claims contradictory to what they'd been saying all along.

Her ECHO log was of her talking to her rather seedy manager that _she_ had set her sights on Pandora, back when she'd learned of it. She'd been so excited to go somewhere her siren origins might have belonged.

Moze had been borderline challenging her figure of authority, fed up with her Command for leading her on while dangling Iron Bear - and some rookies' survival - over her head like a carrot. Upon learning of her assignment, she'd spouted more curses than Amara had yet to cumulatively hear from her directly.

FL4K's had been awkward, talking to some _Grand Archivist _he's apparently served as an indexing unit. With the bluntness of an AI, the bot had revealed his newly discovered self-awareness and fascination with death, the fulfillment of which had been his primary motivation for traveling to Pandora.

Zane's had been where the action was, and that had surprised no one. It began with him having retaliated to an assassination attempt taken by a familiar face.

The operative and his accent had sounded so _cordial_ about it all. He'd fluctuated wildly between seriousness and jest, performing an interrogation like it was little more than a game. Zane's rapid-fire rattling off of the largest entities throughout the six galaxies had replayed back, including the names of some that escaped her. He'd even insinuated that he had plenty more in mind to add to the options, but he'd politely allowed the other man to get a word in, likely preventing them from wasting all day.

When the assassin identified as Barnabus admitted that _all_ of the aforementioned entities had hired him, Zane seemed anything but surprised. True to himself, he'd laughed it off and promised his friend a drink...just like that. Like someone hadn't just tried to kill him.

Had Amara not already fought alongside Zane before hearing that glimpse of backstory, she would have had strong reservations about working alongside a man who was so flippant about death. Barnabus had spoke up to Zane as if _knowing_ the operative would spare him. She didn't know why familiarity would make a bit of difference to Zane or why he'd even fathomed sparing someone who'd had lethal intentions - merely for profit, no less.

At first, she'd considered Barnabus to be a weird exception. Did Zane's recklessness extend to others or would he give two shits about his teammates dying, she would have wondered? Was he mad in the head? Or was he overly confident to a fault? When they'd first met and made their hasty introductions, the operative had mentioned he was a man avoiding the bounty so casually that she'd thought next to nothing about it.

Over time, Amara had become more convinced that Zane Flynt was indeed a bit of a wanted man, but it was now more apparent that she'd underestimated the demand on his head. If anything, it was _too_ relevant now that she'd witnessed it first-hand.

How many hitmen were at someone's employ - just as Zane had been? The numbers were surely staggering. To think that the silver-haired operative had spent the last handful of years trying to dodge their crosshairs and dealing with the aftermath of landing in them must have been exhausting. As he'd said in the recording, in that more serious and sincerely irritated tone of voice, he hadn't even been able to enjoy a pint.

That, clearly, was _very_ important to him.

Frowning to herself, Amara couldn't imagine how Zane wasn't more jaded. Between his shit family and having the entities he'd worked for out to stab him in the back, the operative still managed to throw humor and smiles at anyone who was receptive - and throw his smartassed shade at anyone who wasn't, much to the amusement of his companions.

On a far more serious note, Amara had to wonder if Zane trusted them. If he trusted _her_. The thought of him having some reservations about his team's loyalty troubled her deeper than she dared to admit. It was difficult to think that he doubted them, as he was so..._himself. _But then as a professional assassin, wouldn't Zane conceal any suspicions he had as not to tip an enemy off to his awareness?

Surely he had initially expected them to shoot him in the back, as even those he had former relations with were liable to murder him. What Amara yearned to know was what she had to do to earn his true confidence. If there was anything indirect she could say through word or action that would gain his credence, she knew she would do it. He would be, and was, a valuable ally to have.

Considering Zane was, or had been, a killer for hire, was she foolish to invest so much faith in him? The way she saw it, any one of them could have made a threatening move by now. They would have had ample opportunities. They practically lived and breathed each other's air, as closely as they functioned alongside each other.

As for Zane, she knew he struggled to sleep but didn't think it was really from being around them. He spent a lot of time listlessly tossing and turning and sighing, and whenever he eventually settled, he was quick to wake. All those years of being a mercenary had ingrained in him the ability to go from resting to alert in a single-eyed blink. More than once, she'd been on watch only to see Zane appear with a pistol in hand, looking very ready for action. She'd had to remind him that had there been a threat, one of their own would have alerted him.

Most often than not, he had joined her or whoever was on watch, grumbling unintelligibly and scratching tiredly at his goatee, appearing particularly baggy in the face. For as responsible as he was, the operative was _not_ a morning person.

If anything, Zane was more functional when he was intoxicated, and even then Amara didn't think she'd really seen him as anything but tipsy. She just wasn't accustomed to witnessing someone chuck back potent alcohol to the extent he did - and then gracefully move to get down to business. The man drank the booze he kept on hand for _breakfast_, for fuck's sake.

That only _half_ accounted for Zane's reckless driving when he was so inclined to occupy their Catch-A-Rides, she suspected. The rest of his questionable decisions was all him.

_Wow_, Amara thought to herself. Her mind really was wandering. She didn't actively want to trade that for sleeping but couldn't seem to help herself. Physically she just wasn't adequately tired enough, though normally she would have passed her time thinking back to Partali, or how to better build on her reputation, or meditate to remove the edge from her day.

She was naturally intrigued by her teammates but until then, hadn't really thought of them very critically. Hadn't seen the point as all she needed to concern herself with was how well they collaborated in battle. Sure, it was nice to click with them since they were practically burritoed in each other's business for however long the Calypso twins would live. After that, who knew where their individual motives would take them? Until then, Amara preferred to live in the present.

With so little night left now and so much time lost that she could have been sleeping, Amara gusted out a breath of frustration. Seemed the only way to stop the subject from keeping her awake would be to address it with Zane, the prospect of broaching it with the operative not entirely intimidating. He wasn't actively trying to hide anything. _Omitting_ what had happened wasn't exactly deception. And he probably had no reason to suspect she'd care since the interruption had befallen him during the battle royale. He could have been off killing anyone.

Damn man likely assumed she'd been grateful to claim more of the COV slaughter for herself...which she may have been, under differing circumstances.

Amara could have played the entire scenario off the same was as Zane seemed intent to. Could have taken his lead and bought the shiny gun story. Given him that window of opportunity. In itself, the fact that she wanted to tackle the truth was a little unlike her. It wasn't that she was insecure about it - rather she was fine with letting everyone handle their own business. She wasn't anyone's manager or mother.

Uncharacteristically, she was distracted by the fact that she wanted to be in the older man's business. What more could she do but satisfy that itch? Laying there thinking herself exhausted was hardly working, so she belatedly rose to her feet and dusted herself off.

She found Zane there, long legs hanging off the overhead balcony as she'd expected. The glowing accents of his boots and accessories gave him away, same as the oddly reflective yellow lining in his jacket. Evidently he wasn't attempting to avoid detection with his loud appearance.

As if he could with his pale coloration. Between the gray-tinted ivory of his hair and his natural pallor, he practically glowed in the shadows.

What caught Amara off guard was the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air. Took her a moment of wrinkling her nose to recognize the offensive smell, mostly because tobacco had fallen out of favor with all but the filthy rich - those who could afford the expense inflated by resource shortages.

Amara had previously theorized the habit as potentially responsible for the hoarseness of Zane's voice but never actually _expected _it. But there he was, exposed in the act. Wisps of smoke rose in tendrils about the operative, catching her interest. She could faintly see the red glow of embers at the lit tip, flaring brighter as he took a drag. With her next step, two stained butts flattened underfoot.

"Didn't know you smoked," she commented, resisting the urge to make a face. To think of the unhealthy things it did to one's body - _ugh_. She was far too health conscious for it and Zane was definitely old enough to know better.

If the direction of his luminescent eye patch was any indication, he'd registered her the moment she'd stepped foot outdoors. Zane tipped his binoculars in acknowledgement of her before aligning them with his eyes, presumably scanning the shadows beyond them.

When satisfied with his scan, Zane snorted in vapid amusement, forcing the remaining smoke out of his nostrils. He then removed the cigarette from between his lips and reached down to extinguished on the surface below.

"I don't."

Amara could have argued that glaring contradiction but she didn't. Instead, she jumped to reach the ledge he was seated upon and hoist herself up, the muscles throughout her arms effortlessly enabling the process.

No doubt Zane and his inherent generosity would have offered her a cigarette from the crumpled pack beside him had she been anyone else. Instead, he put a fist to his mouth and stifled a cough before retrieving and tucking it into his pocket - or would have had Amara not intercepted.

Evidently the siren was trespassing all sorts of boundaries that day. She could care less as she crushed the cellophane-wrapped box in her hand and ground its unsavory contents into fine dust, letting it fall to the story below.

"_Aww,_" was all Zane offered in that moment, quirking his mouth bemusedly at her.

"Can't have you smelling up our camp," she warned. "Besides, that's nasty as hell and even worse for you."

His chuckle traveled through the air like lazy thunder. "Aye, but so's all this fun we've been havin' here - not that I mind seein' ya smush them COV twats on the regular, glorious sight that is."

"Smush - is that a technical term in the assassin biz?"

"Right-o, me badarse goddess, 'long with smoosh, squish, an' squidge."

Amara's quick smile considered wavering as she watched Zane tip his steel flask of whisky to his lips, washing down one vice with another. Seemed so authentically Zane of him. Would have been more endearing if it wasn't so unhealthy.

"So," he curiously began, after they'd spent a pregnant moment of silence gazing at the speckles of stars above - or in Zane's case, the nearest rooftops. "What brings ya out here? 'S past yer bedtime - not that ya need the beauty sleep. FL4K, on the other hand, _shite…_"

Zane trailed off with a smirk that followed hers, only after her lips had quirked with amusement. Then her expression became more thoughtful.

"I have...something of a confession to make," she admitted.

The older man's thick eyebrows winged up considerably, intrigue peaked. Then, his sudden raspy chortle was infectious and she didn't even know why yet.

What she did know was that she wanted to hear his explanation, sensing a story was brewing.

With his luminous aquamarine-sensored glove, Zane slapped his thigh once as though trying to ground himself from whatever nonsense entered his tufted head.

"Y'know, true story," he began, still unbelieving of his own memories. "Had meself a stint as a priest once. Benefactors were out to hire a mole capable of earnin' a church's trust an' dig up proof that the head honcho was milkin' the system for bribes an' kickbacks. Me brogue fit the native dialect, so would ya know it, I nailed it.

"Fun times, that one," Zane went on with a cluck of his boozy tongue. "Odd as feck - for me, at least. I sure ain't a law-abidin' citizen an' I sure as shite ain't religious, but got the job done all the same. Even wore the lil' clerical collar. Mighty uncomfortable, that."

With the high neckline Zane routinely wore, appropriately black if digitally designed, envisioning him in a dark suit and clerical collar was no stretch of the imagination.

Most badass priest if she ever saw one, though, with his eye patch. She _wanted _to say that but instead, she regarded him with skepticism.

"Really? Did you have to comb back your hair? Or shave?"

Zane appeared disturbed at the prospect while stroking his thick goatee with equal amounts of pride and fondness. "_God _no - pun intended. T'weren't _that_ tight-arsed or I'd've died - even if I'd been a much younger lad back then. Had some color to me hair 'fore I evolved to the dashin' silver fox ya see an' love today."

"I can't imagine," she half-tested and half-admitted - same as she couldn't really fathom a less aged Zane, as much as she knew one had to have existed. "What color was that crazy hair?"

"_Shite_," replied Zane in wonder again, thumbing one tip of his mustache and furrowing his brows as if in deep thought. "Brunette, I think? S'been ages. Must'a been jus' freshly thirty when I scared it outta meself, doin' all that crazy nonsense I did."

"Crazy by _your_ standards?"

"Aye," he agreed, sounding equally intimidated by the prospect. "Believe it or not, I've had to dial it back in me ol' age - an', y'know, 'cause I gotta pretend to've learned better by now."

Amused and convinced by his wording, Amara snickered beside him. No wonder they were partners; she thoroughly enjoyed his company. Knew many could claim the same. He was so appealing.

"That mission, though - that one there took me months. Somethin' like six. Maybe longest on me record. Talk 'bout borin' - couldn't even have meself a pint in public. How the feck did I live?"

As if chasing away his traumatic memories, Zane brought his flask to his thin lips again and, in a series of eager swallows, drank a substantial amount of his stash. His subsequent sigh was one of relieved relish.

Seated there besides him, feeling the lure of his warmth in the otherwise cool night, brought memories back to the forefront of Amara's mind. She invited them in, considering them to be among her fondest so far as their bonding went - somehow managed despite the initially _awkward _situation they'd participated in.

Back on Pandora, two of their four vault hunters had been adequately dressed to withstand the planet's excessive drop in nighttime temperatures. Neither her nor Moze, afflicted as they were, had been familiar enough with the environmental extremes to account for them.

Zane was a Pandoran, though the resemblance ended there. That had been one block of many he'd been around.

"Got tired _real_ quick o' freezin' off me tidbits - as a kid," he'd promptly clarified as he sometimes did - to avoid any _unintended _inference that said bits weren't currently intact.

Clearly he'd been as tired as they all had - except FL4K, whose functions still remained a mystery.

They'd tried hunkering down for the night in a shack constructed less perilously than the rest within stone-throwing distance. Even then, the poorly composed quilt of sheet metal and assorted scrap did nothing to prevent a draft from tormenting them.

Amara, personally, had almost been too tired to give a damn. She'd wanted to give her all to her sleep attempts, but even then she'd been brought out of it by Moze's teeth distinctly chattering. It hadn't been long until the operative among them had sat up and leaned over the soldier in concern, gruffly whispering to her in the darkness.

That was how they found themselves arranged rather _interestingly_. The fact that they'd trespassed the dangerous divide between dead tired and suddenly slaphappy made for more poignant memories.

Moze had been the worst among them and Zane, surprisingly sober.

Even back then, Amara had understood the operative enough by then to know he would have been more comfortable snuggling a bottle of alcohol, but instead he'd subjected himself to their whims. They couldn't help themselves - they didn't have all his layers or FL4K's imperviousness. They were damn near _frozen _and very much preferred turning COV into human-sized popsicles instead of themselves.

Despite Zane's grousing about his back, he had no choice but to submit as each woman tucked herself within either of his arms, conforming to his torso in order to best leech off his warmth. His jacket had also been reassigned as a blanket that night, best situated to enclose their combined heat and allow them that much closer to his lean body.

Zane's coat was surprisingly heavy - even more than one would expect given the layers upon layers of leather redundantly stitched together. Fortunately for Amara, she found its weight comforting. It was no wonder its wearer stayed warm, and having so much of him otherwise concealed in that heavily constructed undergarment further protected his skin.

Amara still remembered the peculiar feel of that hexagonal fabric clinging to Zane like a black second skin...and the wiry feel of his athletic build beneath, his upper arms broader than she'd expected. And his chest, well - he'd made a rather hard pillow and she hadn't expected to become so familiar with his heartbeat. She had no choice but to hear it against the press of her ear.

There'd been nothing indecent about the arrangement - not even Moze's position so closely mirroring hers or the way they intertwined their legs with Zane's. For as flirtatious as he was, the operative had been nothing short of a gentleman.

Poor Zane had shifted again and again, trying to manage some position that would alleviate his discomfort - and failed to find it between their added weight and the unyielding ground he was pinned upon.

"'S what _I_ get when ya leave half o' yer blouses at home, lasses. Lesson learned, here's hopin'," he'd grunted, quite possibly the only man feeling unfairly punished by his situation.

Just once, the operative had to go there. Apparently the toll of their cumulative two days of nonstop battling had gotten to him as well.

"This is _the worst _threesome I ever had. Jus' sayin'. Can't even feel me own arse."

"Would be better if Moze had a breath mint," Amara commented, barely offhand.

"_I _wish I had a breath mint," the shorter woman admitted, enamel no longer clicking.

"Glad to be up here then, long ways from all this talk o' stank breath."

Zane had _oofed_ as Moze's fist playfully impacted his abdomen underneath the shared spread of his jacket.

"'Ey, '_ey_!" he'd gone to complain, and then thoughtfully reconsidered. "Well, 'least yer fists ain't Amara's"

The siren could feel movement across from her but couldn't quite decipher the source in the darkness - only knew that Moze was acting up again and Zane started trying to placate her.

"Shhh, lasses. Settle down now an' sleep so I don't gotta suffer more attitude from ya in the mornin'."

"_Zane sammy,_" the soldier had sang gently, prompting giggles from both women - followed by a rare moment of exasperation from the older man.

"_Ooooookayyy_," Zane drawled, trying to stifle his apparent amusement. "She's a goner, that one. I ain't even gonna touch that with a- _y'know," _his chest had expanded and sank as he huffed out a heavy sigh at the renewed bout of snickers that shook either side of him, "-ain't even goin' there. _Nope._ Whose idea was this anyhow?"

"Robo-boyo," Amara had offered helpfully, using Zane's term of endearment for the AI. He sounded thoroughly pleased.

"Ah, finally someone speaks me language! 'Bout feckin' time."

Said AI was suspiciously silent. No doubt they were all wondering whether he'd entered his state of standby or he was merely silent in observing their peculiar human behavior.

A prolonged period of silence followed as each of them waited for FL4K to react - one Amara had expected to last. She'd all but melted into the coerced half embrace of her male partner. Compared to curling in a chilled fetal position, this was rather pleasant.

"Damnit, Zane," Moze eventually grumbled, sounding like she was holding back a sneeze as she flapped a hand near her forehead, batting the grunting operative in the process. "Stop tickling me."

"Oh _geez, _please accept me sincerest apologies that I can't jus' pop off me head fer yer comfort,_ ladies_," retorted the operative sardonically and then added, with a huff, "the nerve o' me!"

Amara had felt exactly what her fellow female had been referencing as the man between them adjusted to favor her side instead. That thick goatee of his brushed against her forehead, the operative evidently finding some comfort in turning his head.

Considering how long it had been since she'd shared such close proximity with another person, and even significantly longer since she'd slept beside a man, Amara found that masculine tickle to be rather comforting...more so than the scrape of stubble where her forehead brushed the bare hint of his neck.

Eventually, they'd managed to fall asleep, though the two spry women had had to help Zane up off the ground with no small degree of struggle - for him. With his vertebrae adhered together with a stiffness comparable to his hair, Amara had felt a little guilty at all the grunting snaps and cracks he'd worked out of himself before recovering physical functionality. But Zane never really complained.

Reminiscing as she had been, and registering a current hint of chill to her skin, Amara found herself weighing her options. She felt an undeniable urge to get close to Zane, and she couldn't entirely blame the dropping temperatures. She felt her empathy encourage her to fulfill a gesture she hoped would somehow benefit her partner.

Though he showed no signs of compunction, Amara felt inclined to help him. For as sympathetic as she could be, Zane always managed to be the one doing the most amount of encouraging and comforting. Was usually the fastest at sticking someone with a hypo. He was quick to lend a shoulder to whoever was struggling. Knew how to hum reassurance gently, with the right touch of positivity.

It made sense, didn't it, for him to provide support as a person who could so quietly relate?

The proud man he was, Zane wouldn't admit to suffering. Wouldn't divulge his darker feelings had he harbored any. And so she scooted over to his broader form, aligning herself alongside him so that she could lean her arms against his. Went to tip her head against the cap of his shoulder, regardless of the device positioned atop it. She wasn't so easily discouraged without making an attempt. She knew Zane wouldn't stop her. He was too friendly.

And so she tried - until Zane bit back a grunt and flinched. Amara would have assumed his reaction was one of completely unexpected rejection - until she felt the smear of fluid heat on the delicate skin of her wrist. She recognized and hated it instantaneously, only now inhaling the identifying essence of copper.

Only now noticed the wet glisten on his leather jacket - _way _too late. Was she _that_ shit at being a partner?

"Zane," she breathed, resisting her initial instinct to pull aside the afflicted flap and inspect the damages. "You're bleeding."

The operative didn't even blink his one eye. Didn't adjust himself to inspect the site of injury. Instead, he spoke entirely like he'd been perfectly privy to her discovery.

"Well looky there," he whistled lowly. "I'll be damned."

The hypo Amara always kept on her had been poised in her grip before she'd even intended to reach for it, but Zane's hand was placed atop hers, preventing her from using it.

"Ain't killin' me," he chuckled, the gesture so unusually hollow. She could see the faint glint of his teeth through the haze. "I'll fix meself up after I take a wee bit of time to learn from me silly mistakes."

Not entirely believing the jackass, Amara seized that nearest half of his jacket and eased it aside. Even in the darkness of night, the lightness of his shirt easily revealed the darkened blotch of blood. Her most determined gaze couldn't decipher, with the darkness and the operative's bodysuit, what was torn, how far the fabric had saturated, or even the exact source of the blood.

"Round grazed me side, s'all," Zane assured her, tugging his coat from her fingers and back into place, avoiding further scrutiny. "What's another scar, 'ey?"

She was hardly satisfied and more than a little agitated with his lack of reaction, particularly as they both had an assortment of hypos at their disposal for that exact purpose and many like it - but she'd done her time imposing that same harsh handling of herself before the mark of a siren had first glowed in her skin. Though she wished she couldn't, Amara could relate with his decision.

Pain was a hard, tangible lesson.

Since then, her abilities had helped account for her lack of subsequent injuries. She only wished her teammates were so fortunate, isolating as the life of a siren could be.

Presumably, Zane was wiping blood off his fingers and onto his pants before casting her a sideways glance. He preferred to keep his company as jaunty as he was and seemed to be weighing ways to further placate her.

Without her pressing, he continued after only a hint of thoughtful hesitation: "Got in a wee donnybrook with the wrong crowd when we were gettin' that token. Figured ya noticed. Wasn't anything worth mentionin' an' ye weren't askin'."

"Of course I noticed," she grumbled at him, violet eyes meeting his silver amid the darkness. "Kind of hard to miss when you're not around. There's considerably less cackling and gizmos around. And _you're_ always the one drawing attention to your face."

Pursing his firm lips, the operative gingerly poked at his face, evidently aware of where Anzel's fist had landed. "Good thing I got me clone to make eyes at, aye? Not many mirrors 'round these parts, shame to say." He went about tracing the ridges of his eye patch, much to her interest, violet eyes fixated on his bare fingertip. "Whatta twat, thinkin' he could give me a shiner in me metal eye, though I gotta give it to 'im - can cut me skin like a sonoagun."

Zane's chest was rumbling again, his fingers shifting to stroke fondly at his flared sideburn. "All fine observations of yers," he said, reaching to take a swig from his flask again. As if out of pure automation, he offered it to her that second time. His facial reaction was instantaneous, that scowl something she appreciated.

He tsked that hand, using his other to push it down and chastise it with a wag of his index finger. "Now listen up, lad. Stop doin' that. Ya respect her wise choices - but don't ya go learnin' from 'em or we'll _really _need'a talk."

Ah, yeah, that was why Zane was so easy to talk to. The man could either politely participate in a conversation or carry on one of his own. With him, there was no need for responding.

Amara, however, had curiosity that needed some degree of fulfilling. If she had any influence, she wasn't going to let Zane meander away from it with his frivolous behavior.

"Good to get that out there," admitted the siren sincerely before turning more directly to her significantly taller teammate. "So, who was he?" Straight to the point and, more vitally, direct - not that the master of deception couldn't wiggle out of it.

Zane regarded her levelly before shrugging, bringing the liquor to his lips to momentarily perch there, his intent apparent.

"Ah, him? A nobody. Dead like the dozens before him."

An understatement, no doubt. If she knew anything about Zane, it was that he didn't invite concern toward himself. The man avoided it like he did open flames - in ways that had nothing particular to do with his clever escaping of incendiaries.

Zane didn't sigh when he met her square gaze, witnessing her patient persistence. Instead, he lifted and dropped his shoulders again, finally taking that drink.

"In case ye missed the memo an' me _dashin'_ mature looks, I've been at this a long while. Never been a time when someone wasn't gunnin' for me. Comes with the territory."

That was more satisfactory for Amara, but she was determined to keep his momentum going.

"But you knew him," she pointed out, earning a curious raise of one white brow.

It seemed he hadn't expected her to have actually listened in on the conversation. Had he not kept so cool, she might have wondered if she'd revealed too much.

"Aye," Zane admitted casually. "Means nothin'. Spent half me time on that same side, fulfillin' me contracts. Bein' an assassin ain't personal - it's business.

"Everyone who's someone in the circuit knows who I am," he continued, sparing them both her inevitable flood of questions now that she'd opened that dam. "An' chances are, I've crossed paths with damn near all of 'em at some point or another. Ain't too many me former employers're willin' to work with. High standards an' all, so they don't waste their breath on anyone less than the best. Jus' how it is. Throw too many killers at a target an' ya lose the element of surprise - but they're long past that by now an' stopped givin' a shite.

"Ain't many proven contract killers who can demand the kinda payoff they're promisin'," Zane continued to explain, and it was clear that he was stating facts as opposed to inflating his image. "Problem is, the killers vyin' fer me know the benefactors're very much willin' to pay what they think me life's worth. I've killed someone - scratch that, _many _someone's - for _everyone. _To top it off, I'm a damn Flynt, so yeah...people wanna end me for personal grudges or money. That's the short of it. S'no biggie but they're gonna hafta earn it."

Opening her mouth, Amara allowed it to drift shut before her lips parted again. She exhaled a breath of protest - not at her teammate but _all _of it. It was a lot all at once - and just like Zane. The man was boundless.

_This_ was why she'd sought his companionship. Something in her viscera knew he would be like this in the here and now.

"Ya think I got any hang-ups with endin' folks I've traded pints with, ye'd be wrong, lass. I promise ya, I'd have never met ya on Pandora if that were the case. I've already dodged death _far _longer than I was meant to."

What a reassurance. She snorted from it. She did a lot of that on his presence.

"Ya likely haven't seen the end o' it, so...best get used to it or stay outta it," suggested Zane, more cut and dry than she expected. He was practically telling her to keep her distance. To specifically _not _do what she already had.

Amara wondered how much whisky was left in his possession. She didn't figure much could be. So close to him, she could smell the potent alcohol on his breath. Other than that, he didn't _seem_ too tipsy. He might have been sporting a buzz but it was hard to tell. He was usually _physically _composed and seemed capable of handling himself.

Still, Amara didn't know if she was detecting a hint of defensiveness or if she was taking some degree of personal offense. Maybe _that_ answered some of her previous curiosities - did Zane really think she could standby and let _any _assholes make attempts on his life? She couldn't do that as a teammate. If anything, she was already planning to intervene if the situation called for it - and even if they didn't. The next time, she vowed to herself that she would step in.

She could see the operative visibly rein something in, though she didn't know what. Then Zane made it apparent that he was misinterpreting her concern for frustration - or maybe doubt in him. He only proved it with his next words, as though assuming she somehow underestimated him.

"Look," he gusted out, looking very much like he missed his cigarettes as he leveled with her. "I'm not gonna drag this team down. If I gotta split, I gotta. S'fine if it's fer the best. Lemme be the judge o' that. 'Til then, I'm gonna have a crack at them vaults. See what we can scrounge up to make scrapin' those twin shite stains off the map a lil' cleaner.

"Gonna have a lot more problems if some star-munchin' monster eats all the real estate," he chuckled airily, sounding more like his usual self. "Gotta retire somewhere, y'know? Got me eye on some sandy beach somewhere, so long as it has some good liquor. Get shitefaced an' get meself a tan fer once in me life. Then again, might die tryin'. I've never been a cook.

"An' honestly, 'Mara," Zane continued, shifting gears again, "if one of 'em gets lucky 'nough to get past me tricks, good on 'em. They'll die a rich wanker. Not half as handsome meself, 'course, but there's plastic surgery fer that."

Amara's expression must have been one of dubiety - aimed at how casually Zane's mention of his own potential demise rolled from peculiar tongue. She was particularly struck by how he said her name, wondering if he had ever directly addressed her in that manner. And she'd lie if she denied that she liked how he pronounced it.

Made her feel...a little funny. Like she'd took a sip of the man's potent whisky and felt it warming her stomach when she hadn't.

She _liked _letting Zane lead the conversation. Not only did she get to appreciate the nuances of his accent but she felt she could get a better feel for him and how he connected with her.

Zane was grinning from ear to ear when he leaned forward to smack her arm affably, gaze regarding the swirl of tattoos encasing it.

"An' lookit me, lucky bastard I am. Not everyone gets to yuck it up with a siren. Only six of 'em in the universe an' I get the pleasure of knowin' what, two? Suspect there's gonna be more makin' their appearances by the end o' this. Even better - I get ta fight alongside ye. Of all the shite I've ever seen, ye lasses are the most intense. The things ya can do - feckin' crazy. The fact that ye've used it for good is real impressive. Compared to powers like yers, an ol' cuss like me is only here for comic relief an' me good looks, let's be honest."

Amara was no stranger to compliments. She used to soak them up like a sponge and let them inflated her head in the past, but had since gained such recognition and self-assurance that she had grown virtually immune to them and their frequency. That being the case, she didn't know why Zane's words of endearment caused her heart to swell. It was almost a foreign feeling by now. Whatever it was, she enjoyed it - maybe admittedly a little too much.

Sincere respect _was _an addictive substance, particularly given the fact that she knew he wasn't just spewing compliments to stay on her good side or win any other favors. He'd proven he didn't need that and didn't have to kiss ass for her to like him.

Zane _knew _everyone liked him, as he made so loudly apparent, even if no one found him more endearing than himself. Amusing as _that_ was, it only added to the effect. Hell, even hitmen out to kill him had been friendly with him.

"_Well then_," said Zane suddenly, slapping his palms on his own thighs in resignation. "I go on anymore, I'm gonna start fangirlin' like those Killavolt harpies. Gonna 'scuse meself an' take a leak. Leave me digital boyo 'ere. He'll keep a good lookout 'til I'm done," promised Zane, already thumbing his digi-structer. Then encouraged her, giving her a lopsided smile, "Catch some sleep, darlin'. Never know when yer gonna need it."

Zane set a comforting hand on her shoulder and hesitated - misinterpreting the shiver it sent through her. Sat back to give her a considerate look, brows knitted together in concern.

"Ye gonna be warm 'nough in them garbs?" he asked, catching her off guard. "Only be proper o' me to offer a lass me jacket. Shouldn't," he paused to inhale at the fluorescent neck, shrugging dismissively, "smell too bad."

The way Zane regarded her seemed unusually uncomfortable for him. He looked like he struggled with wanting to say more but he refrained. She looked down at herself, more than aware of her exposed state of dress and tilted her head to the side, smirking at him.

"Then what about you?"

His grin was lopsided, then he let out a hearty laugh. "_Ha! _I'd be jus' fine. Plenty o' hot air in this ol' man."

In that case, she_ should_ consider, only if his claims invited a challenge. But she knew he'd feel naked without it with how it never left his person.

"I'm good," she assured him. "Thanks anyway, handsome."

Zane's smirk was pleased. She'd struck the right note with him. If only the rest of the operative was that easily predicted.

"Suit yourself," Zane chuffed, then jumped down to the ground below with a barely discernible grunt. "Or don't. Ya can come take it from me if ya change yer mind. Jus' don't beat me too badly. Ain't as pretty when I cry."

Watching him trace an imaginary tear track down from his augmented eye, Amara couldn't believe how badly she wanted to kiss the smartass.

That was _not_ the way to comfort a man who didn't even begin to behave like he was remorseful about the events of that day - despite what he sarcastically depicted. Wasn't even _close_ to the start of it. In fact, was so out there that she felt like punching herself to ensure she hadn't fallen asleep and was dreaming up the urges conjuring inside her.

But unfortunately her desire didn't exactly come out of left field. Amara had seen Zane's appeal for some time. He wasn't really in the age range she was usually attracted to but she wasn't exactly opposed to that either - just hadn't ever expected that she'd form a taste for it.

She hadn't, necessarily. She could look beyond appearances and had on numerous occasions driven away men, motivated by a multitude of reasons, who had tried to get with her. Even before she'd inherited her status as a siren, she had reason to believe both genders found her appealing. Since gaining her abilities and reputation, the number of brave suitors had virtually dried up and replaced itself with adoring fans.

That didn't mean she was _desperate_ \- and certainly not enough to make eyes at her male companion. Generally Moze was more her type, but Amara had been so set on _not_ fraternizing with fellow vault hunters that she'd respectfully out-navigated the soldier's stilted advances. Because it seemed neither of them were ready for that.

Whereas Zane was so ready for _anything, _it was a bit scary.

She didn't know which of Zane's eccentric behaviors were for show and which were sincere. He was honest about a lot of things and loved to bullshit about others. He transitioned so fluidly along the spectrum that it kept the vault hunters on their toes, but it wasn't like they needed to be in any way accurate about their assumptions. Easy going as he was, Zane laughed everything off. That alone made him highly attractive - and sometimes equally aggravating.

And Amara was done thinking about it. She was _not_ going to do this. She wouldn't do it with Moze. Maybe if the chips fell in the right places after all was said and done with the Calypsos, she could spare some time debating the what-ifs.

As it was, Amara figured it was safest to take that tickle of attraction head-on and let it be done with. Let it run its course until Zane inevitably deterred her with his...zaniness.

God, if his parents had predicted the accuracy of their naming, she was thoroughly impressed. And she wasn't against believing that some people's fates were predetermined by their identities. Zane Flynt would be a prime example of that theory.

Amara found herself wondering how old he was - not that age was anything but a number, _particularly _in Zane's case. His energy put that of much younger men to shame.

_Whatever, Amara,_ she sighed to herself._ Just get on ECHOnet and see if he has a dating profile. Probably one titled: 'Ways to Meet Me Wee Friend That Isn't A Clone or Drone.'_

She couldn't say Zane was unattractive by any means, because he was. His face was honed from years of experience and structured by appealing genetics. He was undeniably masculine. The sharp chisel of his cheekbones seemed outright dangerous and she found his crow's feet indescribably endearing. And though she'd never been a fan of facial hair, she had to admit it looked as good on him as Zane knew it did.

Normally Amara would find his air of confidence to be off-putting, hypocritical as it may have made her, but for as forward as Zane was in his confidence, it was as much for show as the rest of him. He wouldn't have that swagger if he didn't believe so thoroughly in himself but he clearly had adequate reason for striking the poses he did.

And no, she pointedly did _not_ think of the contents of his pants. She didn't. God, she was badass but even going remotely there about her _teammate _was enough to make her blush. Amara had to remind herself that even Moxxi claimed she couldn't remember him - but how much did that mean given that the barkeep had so many sexual partners? Who _did _she remember?

She'd seen enough of Zane's hip work to put color in her face already, and she was pretty sure his intention behind his displays had been to show off his adroitness of shooting.

Oh god, just thinking of him that way felt like she'd been ogling at a friend's dad - because _that_ was relevant to their age difference.

Except he was Zane. He was a wildcard. Hilarious, even for her seriousness. And a total smartass. He had the tendency to spout bullshit at what _she _considered to be the worst of times and had nearly driven her to pull her own hair out by the roots on a couple occasions but she hadn't - yet. Which meant she wasn't fed up with him. She didn't think she would be for quite some time.

There was so much wit and natural charisma to nearly everything Zane did. He reeked of magnetism. His intelligence was undoubtedly understated and overshadowed by his antics. And he was wildly unpredictable at both the best and worst of times. In other words, he was a hot mess in an irrefutable charming and handsome package - and quite possibly, that was the operative's exact intention.

_Maybe? _Zane _was_ a Flynt.

He was also a drunk. And a deadly ex-mercenary. He'd exchanged money for killing and done it proudly. Amara couldn't tell if his accent was endearing or confusing. And he might or might not have still been banging Moxxi like half the galaxy.

For all the flashing neon signs pointing to Zane that read FUN TIMES and FLIRTY, he also gave off some very strong aloof vibes that said, "Have a go at me clone but I'm off limits." It was an interesting combination and clearly not one she had any business concerning herself with.

_And if you need to release some steam to anybody, grab a magazine. Read some ECHOnet erotica, for Christ's sake. His silent clone _is_ more your type._

At least Amara knew she could dismiss the attraction and recognize it for what it was. She wasn't head over heels as Zane would have joked had he known. She _could _help herself. In fact, she just didn't have that nature to be so into anyone. She was her own person first. And she wasn't bothered by her revelation of that interest. She could accept it and be on her way alongside Zane, whose path tended to be a bit more merry.

And again, she reminded herself that his private matters pertaining to his prior vault hunting activities were absolutely not hers.

Regardless of her reasoning, Amara would still find her hand inching between her legs when she had settled to sleep again. The needs of her body simply didn't _care_ about anything but the cauldron of lust she could hardly contain. She _had _to be ovulating. Only that drove her that recklessly crazy. Adrenaline didn't even get her going anymore, and if nothing else, she had every reason not to feel the hot pulse of lust in her blood.

_Ugh. _That had to be why she was so abruptly interested in Zane. He was the only source of testosterone around that wasn't blatantly repulsive and brainwashed.

As it was, she was a fit woman with an equally healthy sex drive. It had been a while since she had allowed herself to address it and even longer since she had satisfied it with another person. She had nothing to be ashamed of and knew it - so long as she kept it private.

She just needed a _little_ relief. Only a little. Turned her back to her resting partners and tucked her hand into her jeans. Found it in the swirl of a damp fingertip around her clit. In two digits she drew over her slit and then sunk to the knuckle. No one was looking, no one was listening, and she was free to rock her hips _just right_ while the others were oblivious. Was the closest to privacy she could hope for and _sweet god_, she used that precious time to chase the climax her body craved, biting into one glove as her eyes rolled back with it.

She didn't think of Zane as her pulse quickened and her head fell back. She didn't. Didn't think of his smart mouth and the handsome definition of his features. Didn't think of how they furrowed and the edges of his jaw tensed when he concentrated or his musky, leather scent. Didn't think of the masculine squareness of his shoulders or the cocky tilt of his slim hips. She didn't. She ignored the extra gush around her thrusting fingers and rubbed tight circles over her clit and breathed raggedly as those telltale flames licked up her nerves, making her shudder with her finish.

And spent the rest of the night, until her ECHO beeped at the onset of her shift, wishing she hadn't.


	5. Incandescent [Promethean Hotel - Meridian Metroplex]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut. Lots of it.
> 
> Had this done for a while but have been sitting on it beeeecause depression is stupid. Let's fix it with sex!
> 
> We are back again to our current timeline. Amara's taking the helm on this one...again. Even then, this fic is so Zane-centric, it hurts. But I love him.

Her heart in her chest, Amara had never been so excited to be at a hotel.

As for how long her and her partner could stay there, she was uncertain. What she _did_ know was how she wanted to make the most of it that they could without raising suspicions.

As it was, Amara had already spent that day _trying_ not to eyefuck the operative and had likely failed on multiple occasions. She couldn't help it - not after Zane had sauntered onto the ship looking sharper than she'd ever seen him.

The siren hardly had the chance to be irritated when she learned he'd gone off on his own, again - _unannounced_. From across the control deck's holographic layout of Sanctuary's current star system, she'd folded her arms and glared at his explanation.

"Don't need any of ye stealin' me barber!" the operative defended, flashing his charming grin, so evidently feeling ostentatious. "Can't let just anyone touch me glorious hair, y'know! How 'bout ye get off me arse an' appreciate this, 'ey?"

Zane Flynt was a lot of things. Among them, he was a particularly vain man. Could Amara say it was expected? He put a lot into his appearance. He methodically manscaped, as unnecessary as she privately suggested it was. She wondered what it stemmed from and suspected it had something to do with the patchwork of scars that tracked nearly half of his body. Faded as they were, their edges remained risen...and her natural curiosity wanted to inspect them further.

Either way, Zane had strutted aboard from re-materializing at the fast track station looking positively dashing and wanted damn near everyone to know it.

Apparently, for the operative, such an indulgence was therapy. That explained why he hadn't wanted anyone to accompany him, though he still scoffed at any suggestions of him needing security. Instead, he described his barbershop as _sacred_. That he needed his man time. Upon his return, he'd been freshly styled, shaved, and looking more refreshed than she'd ever seen him.

How her hands had twitched to touch that mane, but she didn't know what stopped her more - the fact that others would stare if she buried her hands in it like they were so clearly fucking or if the styling product arranging it was too nice to mess up.

When she finally had the opportunity to kiss the hell out of him, during one all-too-brief makeout session, she couldn't get enough of his hair. Zane had snorted at her, reminding her _again_ that he was such a handsome bastard, of course - and then proceeded to run his own fingers through the refined mass of it. More than anyone, he had been stroking and admiring it since, like he truly enjoyed the tactile feel of its crisp, clean edges.

Amara found the timing of it curious, wondering if he got gussied up for their approaching rendezvous. She liked him rugged but could also see the appeal of him being a little neater around his very masculine edges. Then again, the operative was very much into his personal appearance - and no doubt considered himself handsome regardless.

"Get meself a trim every week if I didn't get shot at," he sighed despondently, then cast it aside with a blithe, "Oh well! 'Least there's a hot steamin' towel to clean the blood with! - theirs, that is, as if I needed to clarify."

They'd been forced to break apart and resume the roles of two vault hunters walking along, talking about Marcus's inventory like they hadn't just been caught up in the other.

Hadn't been too long after that when they decided to take a chance. As it was, not much had been happening among the Crimson Raiders - and despite that, the same could be said between them.

Seemed like fate had it out for them. Every time they tried to meet, someone intercepted. Either Ava called on one of them or someone else did - or the gravity systems failed again. By Amara's count, too many days had passed since she'd last watched the operative tuck in his shirt and buckle his pants, rearranging the leather shift of his holsters. The _very_ revealing messages he sent her during those lonely nights made it clear he was feeling just as impatient as her, even if his visual cool had yet to start slipping.

As he was in every other way, Zane Flynt was a rather expressive orator, even through that disappointing ECHO screen. Never having partaken in _that _particular act, Amara had been in no way surprised by the operative's flair for it.

Frustratingly separated as they'd been, the operative saw no reason _not_ to build the anticipation for their next liaison. Seemed like for Zane, anything had the potential for foreplay.

She only wish she'd taken him up on his offer to establish a private channel between their ECHOs, somewhat surprised he hadn't done it of his own volition. Things _had_ been busy, but God, how she wished he'd been rumbling those messages to her in that raspy, rich voice of his. Wish she could hear him grunt and pant as he chased release with his own greedy hand, just as she had.

Somehow, among all the sexting, she'd managed to catch her breath and suggest they get away - an idea the operative had seized like he'd been thinking the same, having readily provided a location he'd known of.

As it was, it was difficult enough for them to arrange their rendezvous, what with everyone on the ship following different schedules. Made it darn near impossible to slip into the other's quarters undetected, but somehow they'd managed.

Everything had been good and ready - until Zane got tied up with assisting Ellie in relaying some of the vessels wiring per BALEX's idiosyncratically-worded suggestion. By Amara's understanding, the operative had spent five days knee-deep in access shafts and cramped maintenance tunnels, significantly more able to access locations that Ellie and all her heft could not. And for how badass of a mechanic and rocket launcher wielder she was, electronics were not her specialty.

Similarly, Amara had ended up particularly engrossed in her studies. Was hard not to be when her and her younger siren sister had finally managed to enter some sort of mind meld with each other on two exhilarating occasions.

Tannis had assisted, offering her clinical descriptions of how to best relay how she reached into others minds. While Amara and Ava weren't yet as adept with it, they could manage with enough success that they'd been driven to keep at it.

Still, Amara was a hot blooded woman and she had needs. She could only squelch them down for so long before they rattled at her like a hungry animal in a cage and distracted her from damn near _everything _else.

And Zane, well - his stamina couldn't take all the fuck and tuck they'd been doing. He seemed left wanting so much more when they separated, his satisfaction stunted by their need to hurry.

When the day had arrived for their plan to be enacted, she and Zane had made their deceptively composed way to the fast track station following a string of somewhat coherent placation and promises to the other Crimson Raiders.

_Aye, o' course we're not forgettin' Lorelei's coffee. Yeah, the dark roast from Eden-3. And wait, where's the espresso maker Zane bought her? There it is, uploaded to the system. Yes, we'll check in. Yer gonna know we made it when ye hear Lorelei moan from those beans - promise! Jus' wait for it!_

Even after they put Sanctuary behind them, their time was limited. They couldn't stay on Promethea, tangled up in each other, nearly as long as they mutually desired. They couldn't return to the Raiders with nothing to show for it, though Amara wholly trusted Zane's ability to fabricate _any_ story on the spot. That was among his specialties, after all. Still, he'd said, as they'd locked lips in one all-too-brief meeting on the stairway by Marcus', that they'd need to leave breadcrumbs to avoid suspicion. Little things that were convincing enough to suggest that they _hadn't _just been fucking.

How they'd avoided detection so far was surprising, but they were mutually careful. Had anyone seen or suspected anything between them, they'd know. Rumors traveled virtually instantaneously throughout Sanctuary. Had anyone known about their liaisons, no one said anything. Given how loud-mouthed and gossipy the Raiders could be, the quiet had been reassuring.

She and Zane had partnered up since beginning, so there was no cause for questioning there. Nothing out of the ordinary. And given that things had significantly died down among COV activity, four-manned teams were generally and wastefully unnecessary.

Now, it was just the two of them. Not in a cold cargo room. Not sneaking into each other's quarters at the ass crack of dawn. Not dry humping against some wall when she was frisky and Zane had had too much to drink.

No, _this_ was different. And that was why her heart was pounding. Both a swelling of titillated excitement and an overwhelming intensity of need were inundating her system. She'd never felt so giddy as when they had walked the last of those Promethean streets - all with Zane beside her, hands in his pockets, swinging his miles of leg like he had all day. Mister Cool, Collected Assassin.

Not so much with jealousy as curiosity, Amara noted how careful he was to cut the length of his strides, making it that much easier for her to keep up with her shorter legs. Made it clear that he had traveled with women before, making her consider the possibilities. Maybe for the first time, after all they'd been through together, she was only really beginning to recognize that Zane had a lot of history - and how she really knew so very little about him.

Something about _that_ was also alluring. Felt sort of dangerous. Zane was definitely different than the kind of man she expected to be sharing her body with. Somehow even _that_ realization had her craving him, thrilled by the abandon and spontaneity he triggered in her.

Was there nervousness? No, none of that. Not with Zane. Because of other vault hunters, maybe, and what they'd say or assume about the two of them - as if that would ever stop them.

They'd almost been caught, once - that they knew of. A refugee had wandered into the engine room - boredly, the two of them had later assumed, as he hadn't appeared to have been searching. Hadn't heard a revealing sound or had a real reason to investigate. He'd meandered lackadaisically away as the vault hunters remained frozen in the shadows, Zane balls-deep in her and protecting her decency with his shielding body.

Far less reserved than her, Zane might not have minded so much if they'd been discovered, but that was _definitely_ not a position she wanted to be compromised in.

She found herself questioning: Was there anything wrong with her wanting Zane inside her? Was there anything wrong with them being together however they were?

No. They had joined the Crimson Raiders, not a monastery. She didn't think they had rules about abstaining. Didn't matter if she didn't recall any of the enlisted vault hunters being in any publicized relationships. Her and Zane couldn't be the only ones among them indulging in sexual pleasure.

Would it have been easier to just let it out into the open? Prove she didn't give a damn what they though? Amara wasn't ashamed of sharing herself with him. Knew it didn't affect them as teammates. She only felt reluctance because she was prioritizing her personal needs for a change - and wasn't solely focused on the Raiders. She wasn't under oath or formal agreement to serve them at her personal expense. She certainly wasn't a slave to them.

And Zane _clearly_ knew he hadn't signed a contract. He referred to their duties as 'freelance' and 'voluntary'. He was an entire galaxy better than her about kicking back and enjoying his so-called retirement - but also made up for it when the time called and the orders were to have all hands on deck.

Now, she only wanted his hands on her.

Still, Amara didn't know how they could make it all work. As always, she was the one with all the doubts. It felt unfair for her to shoulder them, strong and determined as she was.

Now that they were on Promethea, there were two sides of the equation: they had to placate the Raiders _and_ Lorelei. How could they explain their whereabouts to her if they didn't immediate arrive at her base?

"We'll tell her all 'bout our _real_ long trip - all two seconds o' it!" Zane offered not-so-helpfully. "Can remind her I'm ol' an' knackered for a nap. She'll fall fer it."

If anything, that was quite the precise opposite of what they planned to be doing - plus Lorelei knew Zane enough to know better. Something about the intense attention the woman had given the operative previously suggested she held quite the flame for the man, old as he was.

Zane had even gone so far as to volunteer for being shot so they could pass it off as a botched assassination attempt having interrupted them. While Amara appreciated his dedication, she thought it was a _little _extreme.

Back then, when they discussed it, they really hadn't had a stable plan other than fucking somewhere _other_ than on Sanctuary. That would be a first for them. And given how missions tended to find them everywhere they went, they had intended to improvise. Zane was particularly good at that.

Still, Amara _had _contacted Lorelei when Zane had been off booking their accommodations. The aqua-haired spitfire had been delighted to hear from her and sounded as hopped up on coffee as always.

"Just you two then? Where's the honeymoon?" Lorelei had teased before breaking out into attractive laughter.

By then Zane had been waving a flashy key card at Amara and hooking his thumb at the elevator. Mission accomplished. She'd _needed_ to end the transmission.

And she pointedly refused to think of Zane taking some semblance as her older, silver-haired sugar daddy - a role he seemed glad to have given how he always paid for everything.

"We'll keep in touch," the siren had promised the Atlas affiliate and then all but ran into the operative's arm, where they'd nearly proceeded to christen the elevator.

To think that they'd fast traveled to Promethea, threw cash at a receptionist, and practically stumbled to their destination in a frenzied, _unbecoming _wrestle of kissing, was dizzying. That they'd made the journey specifically to have sex was even more ridiculous, and Amara wondered if she should have been embarrassed by her lack of responsible priorities.

She'd hardly had the time to notice their room when they'd stumbled into it. Might not have if it hadn't been such a slap-in-the-face contrast from the dark, dingy metal environment that constituted Sanctuary III.

Zane had been the one to choose their destination. Insisted he'd been there before and found it suitable. Nice beds, he said casually. Except he hadn't accurately depicted _how_ nice they really were.

Needless to say, the suite was far more extravagant than Amara would have chosen. She'd had her fair share of nice accommodations but _this_ place was ridiculously extravagant and no doubt excessively expensive.

It reeked of wealth. There were no two ways about it. Everything was sleek and opulent. In the white-washed space, textures added interest. Extensive marble surfaces shined at a high polish beneath modern pendant lights. The ceiling was high, inset with crown molding. The carpet had to have been the most plush, glorious surface she had ever stepped foot on, and the furnishings were equally as elegant.

She'd expected a nice room - not an entire penthouse. With the grand spread of square footage, she didn't need to see the floor plan for herself to know it contained everything. What she could see, upon entering the front door, was the grand seating area covered in modern couches and crystalline lamps. A kitchen that was bigger than the apartment she barely bothered keeping in Partali. A hallway that presumably lead to more bedrooms and bathrooms than the one she could lean to make out. And stocked bar meticulously arranged on grand display...which had to be the main attraction for her partner. She could just see him kicking back and reveling in the intoxicating assortment.

Standing there as Amara had, in torn denim and grungy leather, she had felt enormously out of place. Much like she was the occlusion in an otherwise sparkling diamond.

Even in his signature attire, Zane seemed to fit, and it wasn't only how he blended seamlessly with the high-tech Meridian Metroplex. From what she knew, the man was made of handsome charm and money. He routinely used his share of their cash loot to keep their campfires going, seemingly having as much of a concept of currency as FL4K did. Maybe even less, as the AI understood the value of trade.

Amara had money of her own but due to her meager upbringing, greatly appreciated what she had. She didn't spend it frivolously or literally set it aflame. It would strike no one as any surprise that she wasn't as affluent and impractical as her older male counterpart, who literally flaunted his cutting edge wherewithal.

Would anyone have judged them for finding such lavish accommodations? She didn't particularly care for them and they'd done their time camping in Promethea's ratch-infested subways before saving Rhys' - and Atlas' - asses. All she cared about was that there was a bed where they needed one.

And there was indeed - one many times larger and more comfortable than the mattresses back on the spaceship.

Amara knew, already, that she could get used to this. And that the bed awaiting them was one she would get thoroughly acquainted with. The same one she decidedly _didn't_ think of Zane having already shared with anyone, man or woman.

For Amara, it was hard to believe they'd already gotten off once already, having faltered in their journey to hastily detour down one of the metropolis' alleyways. Zane had filled her with gloved fingers and fucked her until she came and she'd just as aggressively fisted at him until he nipped at her neck and painted slick white over the anti-Maliwan graffiti.

Now, in private, they were equally as hasty. At least Zane had the mind to throw his ECHO across the suite, in the bathroom, so just appeared that they were resting and _definitely _weren't throwing themselves at each other as they did, where their trackers would have otherwise suspiciously stacked together. Somehow, he had managed to remain mindful enough of that. Had likely thought ahead, as he did.

Oh, right, _operative _\- and the siren was reminded of what he was with how effectively he stole her from her clothing.

Zane all but tore them from her. Had her vest not been leather and her sports top flexible, they might not have survived intact. Still, being so hastily divested of them made Amara feel like the whole situation was surreal. Like she was now thoroughly unprepared to fulfill the role expected from her as a Crimson Raider.

That proved to be a difficult feeling to shake given how long they had spent tirelessly fighting to save the universe - even as she helped him strip his gear off.

Amara felt only marginally better at helping divest Zane of his clothing, though his familiar hands were far more adept than hers. She was quick enough to push his coat back, allowing him to drop it from his arms while she unbuckled his belt and holsters, fingers brushing the bulge of him. He made the quickest work of his gray shirt, carelessly shucking it. The sound of his metal boots kicking off had her wincing bemusedly, expecting something expensive to break. Only Zane's mouth did in a smile, their hands collaborating to strip him of his pants and tighter undergarments, frustratingly clingy as those were.

Still, the siren wasn't as desperate by the end of it as she should have been, even with his mouth on her neck. Zane was quick to catch on to her misgivings, his kisses faltering, whiskers pausing against her sensitive column. Crap, that definitely wasn't what she wanted but also hadn't realized her focus was becoming so divided. The last thing they needed was to _work_ on Promethea as everyone expected - and not fulfill the actual reason they were there. In doing so, she would have fulfilled what the Raiders expected of her - scratch that, what she _expected _them to expect.

Made it hard to focus on Zane's touch when he was pulling away, trying to get a good look at her, eye patch glowing as always. It felt particularly piercing to her as he tried to discern why she wasn't fully submitting herself to his advances.

"Everything okay?"

Amara had bristled at herself. She didn't _want_ to be all talk anymore. She wanted him. Rose to her toes and brushed her hand through the crisp, shaven nape of his hair and drew him down to her. Her answer was a softer, longer kiss that Zane eagerly accepted. He bent down to her, drawing her close by easing his big arms around her. Teased the tip of her tongue with his own. She opened her mouth to him, accepting the invitation, and positively trembled at the wonderful sensation of being penetrated by him.

It felt so right to her that she _groaned._

When he drew back, Zane flicked his tongue along her open lips, tracing their purple-stained surface. It made her purr heavily, then breathlessly laugh at herself, wondering how many partners had fallen for his kiss.

"Do you do this with all the ladies?" she managed barely, scratching at his hairy chest.

He gave her a look, one corner of his wry mouth quirking upwards and answered, "Only the ones I sleep with."

With that, Zane pulled way. Amara knew her expression was one of confusion as the operative reached for his discarded jacket and started rifling through its pockets. When he tossed a handful of condoms and a tube of lubricant on the bed, she was even more befuddled - enough that the operative noticed her visage and faltered.

"What? Be foolish of me if I took anythin' off the table, wouldn't it?"

What she really felt inclined to ask Zane was what acts he had in mind to necessitated prophylactics. Instead, what bubbled up in her was amusement at the image that came to her.

"So, that would make things a little awkward if someone did kill you and condoms and lube showered from you."

"An' no one would even _blink - '_cept you," Zane laughed, flicking a foil square at her.

Amara caught it before inspecting the contents, tracing one finger around the encased rim. Then reached over to do the same to the lube, a warmth ticking the pit in her stomach.

"Must be what you use?"

"_Bingo_," he answered, and then added, shooting her one hell of a witty grin: "Could say I keep it on hand." Then crawled to her across the bed and caught her lips with his, all finesse and tongue and stylish mustache.

She purred as Zane hastily pushed her, and the lube, back onto the mattress and tugged at her jeans impatiently. She helped kick them off, unable to afford much further tears - not that she had much capacity to care but didn't need to explain a new pair had she returned to Sanctuary with one.

_That _thought flew out the window as Zane's hands seized her legs and shoved them open with a growl that sparked from her clit into her chest. He then grabbed her ankles and

all but folded her double, driving her thighs to her breasts as he pressed his face against the damp seam of her panties.

Shameless man. A visceral shiver ran through her as Zane drank in the scent of her, rumbling like a starving bear as he nuzzled her. Then again as he pressed his hot mouth to the damp fabric, tongue laving along the flavor of her.

Amara was content to claw at him and purr. Spur him on with an assisting spread of her legs, teasing her feet atop his shoulders. Tugged hard at the snowfall of his hair and sighed in sweet relief as he peeled the slick fabric aside and swiped his tongue, with a clever ripple, up the length of her slit.

After all of her anticipation, Amara was more than primed for his oral ministrations, contented to let him service her. She tipped her head to watch him from the corners of her eyes while biting and holding one fingernail between her teeth. She was certain her appearance was far more composed than the greedy pulse of her clit, even as Zane teasingly avoided it and instead, spread her entrance for his tongue.

The operative had never downplayed his love for her flavor. And he all but proved his addiction to it with how hungrily he burrowed his grizzled face in her.

Zane's hum of approval was rich, the sensation of it washing over her as she arched herself, needing him. He pulled back, much to her growl of protest - slid one hand down over her clit, teasing the bright and yearning bud between his fingers, using just the right pressure to have her hips moving like he wanted. Then he bowed his head to take a long, deep lick from her entrance to her clit, her groan positively grateful even as he softly sucked at that bundle of nerves.

Wasn't like him to go for the gold right off the back - unless he _had _to - but then the memory of her writhing in orgasm against that alley wall was still fresh in their minds and her body still glowed with the aftermath. Made it that much better as his mouth melded to her molten sex, dense waves of pleasure rolling over her. His tongue was swirling shapes around her clit, his mustache and goatee ticklish counterpoints to the softness of his lips.

If Amara knew Zane would do _this_ and test her patience, she would have denied him then so that he would - possibly - get down to business more quickly now that they had that luxurious bed.

Instead, Zane was perfectly contented to play with her like a maestro. If anything, the calm amusement of his expression suggested he would have performed this pleasant torture even if she hadn't stroked him to a recent orgasm. Was like he'd spent so much time anticipating this day that he would seize what he wanted one way or another, no matter the cost - _even _if she threatened to crush him in her fists. And from the sight of him rock hard and ready, Amara knew he wasn't waiting for refractory.

Zane was being self-indulgent as always, and oh, how she shouldn't complain.

Those callused fingers of his were dancing along the slickness of her folds, circling the sensitive skin along her entrance before he dipped them ever so slowly inside. He was smirking against her clit as he entered her an inch, curling his practiced digit along her front wall. He hummed at the feel of her clenching and sucking around his bare skin like a mouth, her greedy body needing more, _seeking, _as if trying to draw him more deeply inside.

That single finger wasn't enough of a stretch to hurt but the heat of it made her shudder. Made her press her hips against him for more, _needing_ to further that lewd tingle in her belly.

Instead, Zane withdrew, causing Amara to softly curse. Lifting her head from the bed, she glared at him - then dropped back onto the pillow of her arms when the older man began tracing his tongue around her clit in a firm, curling circle.

Before the siren could speak - beg, now, when before she'd wanted to threaten - Zane was pressing inside of her again, this time, deeper. His touch was still slow, delicious torture, the operative savoring every twitch of her around his stretching fingers. And the sight of Amara, her jaw falling slack, as a second digit joined the first in easing to the knuckle inside of her. Her eyes flew open as he hooked them up toward her belly, now firmly touching something inside that was almost as sensitive as her clit but in a very different way.

"Zane," she breathed baitedly, "Don't stop doing that."

"Mmmmm." His mouth was still working her but his affirmation vibrated through her body, adding to the sensations that had her hips rolling slowly. That new spot inside felt like nothing she'd ever experienced before, causing a deep rosy pressure to build inside.

Chuckling deeply, Zane kissed the tremor that ran through her, ticking the juncture between her vulva and thighs with a brush of goatee. Peppered three others further down the definition of her muscular thigh, mustache tickling and flared sideburn doing the same.

His fingers were beginning to work in earnest, still so patient but now, so thorough. The curl of them into that sweet spot inside had her sucking in a shaking breath and fighting to stifle the buck of her hips as sensation flooded her. He knew just the right angle, withdrew and twisted in just the right way, as he worked the nerves inside her.

Amara turned her head into her arm to smother the broken whimper he milked from her. The sight had him smiling, confident as ever. Had him pressing a soft, airy kiss to her clit - affectionate when she wanted _fire._

"No holdin' back now," Zane husked, shifting to mouth again along the seam of her thighs, then flick playfully through her wetness. "Love when yer noisy - love it more when it's 'cause o' me.

"Cocky bastard," she growled - all truth and equally a term of endearment, they both knew.

Seemed they were both speaking pruriently. "Ya like it," he said, and flashed her his most mischievous grin. It sent a hot pang of lust through her gut.

As if her body could deny it. In such an exposed position, she couldn't even begin to try - and never did.

_Not_ when Zane was sinking his knuckles to the hilt inside of her, scissoring them apart on his backstroke - all so he could savor the sight of her sheer wetness coating his fingers. His eyes were gleaming with primal need and yet he maintained his determined ministrations - pushing in again, working her with a variety of strokes that made her squirm.

One moment, he was fingering her deep and slow, then fucking her hard and fast. Within moments, his touch bordered languid and delicate. It drove her _mad_. She could _see _the blessed horizon of her orgasm, was reaching for it with each gyration of her hips and arch of her back. Zane was pushing her to the precipice - before he drew his fingers out, causing her to curse in frustration.

Zane was enamored with her, tilting his head to admire his handiwork. Amara was shivering all over, her pussy aching, sweat and juices clinging to her skin. Her petals were hot pink, her clit swollen and slit quivering. She was so close, she was nearly incoherent with need, whimpering and bowing.

Chuckling throatily, the operative resumed kissing the inside of her powerful thighs, pampering the skin with small, suckling blemishes. Will one hand still inside her, his other stroked past the ripple of navel and muscle and cupped her left breast, stroking and squeezing at its neglected firmness.

With his fingers, he took his time teasing her dusky nipples into tight buds. Pinched them in pulses, until they strained and ached. Worked them back and forth as her wetness pulsed around his embedded digits. Zane hushed her straining clit with a tender kiss.

_"Zane_." There was no hiding her impatience. She was _dying_ for movement, for friction, for _anything_ more than the hand that had moved to knead her right breast. She whimpered as he subjected it to the same pleasurable torment, sending bolts of white lightening into her cunt, her hips bucking with every roll of nipple between his scarred fingertips.

Amara was growling again, dipping her head to glare daggers at him. To threaten him with a flex of her thighs bracketing each side of that thick, silver hair she wanted to tear at.

And yet she whimpered, as he nuzzled at her slippery skin affectionately, brushing his mouth to her sex in a throbbing French kiss...that left his lips glistening when he parted from her, one thick brow arching in amusement.

"Someone forgettin' 'er manners, now?"

Oh that _bastard._

But somehow, between Zane's skilled toying of her nipples and the faint scissoring of his buried fingers, she heard herself give him what he wanted. The "_please_" that escaped her was pathetically pleading, and she bit her lip to stifle others from following.

Zane's single eye glinted in reward, his pupil taking on a deeper shadow of lust - and yet somehow, he maintained his cool, collected composure. Worked her as dexterously and seriously as he would repairing his technology.

Amara's eyes fluttered as he eased a third finger into her, gentle at first - just enough push to breach the resistance of her pussy that ached in lust but felt too sensitive to take more. Still, Zane Flynt was nothing but patient and persistent, crooning sweet nothings into her skin. With careful skill, he urged her silken walls to allow those three lengths to press tightly inside her.

She groaned, feeling so full - uncertain how, as Zane's member, so aching and straining and dribbling with his heartbeat, had already stretched her.

He was entering her now with shallow, reaching movements, twisting his wrist to open her. Tickled the pads of those knowing fingers along the front of her walls, humid breath warming her sensitive skin.

"Gotta warm up me girl," he crooned like a promise, and _oh_, if she didn't lift her hips in encouragement.

The sight of her abdomen furrowing deep and taught and tan against the backdrop of operative's white-silver hair and ivory skin had a hot pulse running through her...and then a hindering chill.

Despite herself - despite Zane and _everything - _she couldn't stay blind to his finesse. Knowing that so many women had tasted what he now offered was a thought that forced itself on her, feeding off her possessive nature.

Age alone didn't account for experience. How else would he so easily know how to play a woman like a fiddle? Who else had seen Zane between their legs like that, dripping hard, with eyes ablaze, tonguing at their pussy?

Had he done the same to Moxxi - a woman Amara would otherwise desire in her fantasies, but who had been ruined for her _knowing _she'd slept with Zane?

The sudden shock of Zane setting his teeth in her thigh tore her out of it, the bite not enough to indent but certainly enough to garner her attention.

"Stop," was all the operative said as he pulled back, and then he was locking eyes with her. Held her gaze for that long, tense moment before he half-crawled, half-leaned to kiss her.

He held her from the inside as his mouth moved with hers, softly at first. Almost like guiding her through the motions, keeping them soft and wet and languid. He knew what he was doing, as he did always - when he kissed her just so, she couldn't think of anything but the smooth slide of his tongue. The brush of his mustache. The tease of his nose. Even the feel of his sunken digits faded away as he kissed her breathless, her eyes fluttering closed until he gently pulled away.

His lips were equally soft as he pressed them to Amara's collarbone, the swell of her breast, and her nipples. Took in one pebbled tip and nursed at it gently, until she began arching into the pulls of his tender sucking, and only then did he let her pop gently from his grasp before subjecting the other to the same lavish treatment.

She rolled her hips as he nuzzled and traced down her hard stomach, kissing along the rippling contours of her muscles. Reverent, he took his time, furthering the tickle of his facial hair with his tongue, breaking into a wider smile every time she twitched and shifted. Their eyes met again and held as he flicked across her navel, then nipped gently at it, and continued downward to nuzzle her pubic mound.

Stretching her arms overhead, Amara made a pillow of them again. It felt good to elongate her spine and curl her toes, willing the tension out of her so she could sink back into her partner's blissful ministrations. Zane was working his fingers inside her again, kindling flames that licked up into her belly. She silently thanked him for bringing her mind back to them and only them...and to those addictive sensations.

She invited them. For as relaxed as she was, she _demanded _them, knowing Zane would fulfill her wishes.

"Make me come."

An ardent flash widened that single blue eye, quickly replaced by a satisfied sexual hubris and an undercurrent of thrill. "Was waitin' on ye to say that."

Amara wrinkled her nose at him, even as he laughed and pressed a sweet kiss to the pink site where he'd previously marked her. Something about it had her reaching down to pull playfully at his sideburn before twirling its longer fringe with her finger.

"You're the talker, Flynt. Don't expect that to change."

"Never has," he chuckled, and to her pleasure, leaned to press a series of kisses along the calloused surface of her knuckles.

Simpering, Amara used that same hand to reach pleadingly between her legs, grasping and clinging to his wrist. She was nearly writhing with need, desperate and sweating with it, and Zane chuckled as he shifted to hover over her. Continued wetly pounding into her core as he reached for her cheek and brushed the back of his knuckles along the fine line of her jaw.

Murmuring senseless nothings to her, Zane eased her into a gentle kiss that grew more searing by the second. He traced his tongue along her plump lips before gliding deeper, teasing hers into a fluid tangle of sensations and their intermingling pants for breath.

When Zane pulled back, she wanted to protest - but couldn't. Not with how the operative rumbled to her, his eyes burning into hers.

"Touch yerself for me, 'Mara."

The moan she gave was equal parts thrill and relief, her tattooed hand frantically reaching between her legs. Above the wet _shlick_ of the operative's thrusting fingers, relentlessly curling and working that blissful spot inside, she stroked her clit. Found it drenched and sensitive and _perfect_ to her own trained touch, her body jolting as the dual onslaught overwhelmed her.

Zane's other hand was on her now, pressing between her pelvic arches. Held her down, the span of his warworn fingers firm against her tensing skin. She swore, as he angled his thrusts toward her anterior, that he could feel where his embedded digits were. That he knew precisely where to pleasure her, in places she never knew had existed inside of her.

He kept his fingers thrusting deep and fast, curving upwards into the pressure of his other hand pinning her down, and it was all she needed.

Like she was braced at the peak of a roller coaster, Amara felt a moment of acrophobia, facing the inevitable fall - and then everything that had coiled tight and blazing hot inside her exploded, overtaking her. Caused her body to react of its own overwhelmed accord, her legs clamping over Zane's arms, her hips bucking and body writhing, her muscles shaking fervently as the room blurred in her periphery.

She could only feel her partner bearing down on her and the merciless pounding of his fingers. Could see his focus burning through her. Could hear his heavy breathing and slick, obscene sound of his fucking that grew wetter, filthier, as she thrashed through her release.

When she came to, her body was still trembling as though touched by a live wire. Zane was trailing hot, tickling kisses along her cheek, her jaw, her neck. Had just applied a firm suction to the pulse of her jugular before he pulled back with a rumble of disappointment, even as she'd instinctively offered that delicate skin for him to mark.

Even Amara sighed in disappointment, damning that necessitated restraint. It was short-lived, however, with her mind so elated with bliss. She had half a mind to care about the wetness drenching her thighs, dripping down along her perineum and to the soaked sheets below. Could feel the operative's fingers still deep inside of her, gently stirring and pulsing within her.

The moan she gave was weaker than she expected, her body sagging heavily. She felt like lead. And also like she'd never floated higher. The conflict of sensations had her pushing gently at Zane's scarred forearm, certain she could go no further. Which was a shame, to end this so early, but she felt so utterly drained.

She needed a minute - she just couldn't get her mouth to ask for it. Zane was obediently withdrawing his touch from her and kneeling back on his haunches. Through heavily lidded eyes, she watched as he took hold of his cock and used her wetness to stroke his engorged member, making the veiny whole of it glisten. Then he was guiding her legs back again, easing her calves atop his shoulders. He was lowering himself to stroke the belly of his length along her swollen folds, humming when she jolted and twitched at the sensation.

The lewd sound of skin on wet skin built between them as Zane slicked himself with her, nestling his hardness between her folds. Every swipe of that rigid, velvet surface filled Amara's belly with a with hunger - a wanton craving to be filled. Awash in it, her head lolled until her cheek brushed the sweaty spill of her hair, and then she was arching, sharply gasping, as he bottomed out in her with one deep-seated thrust.

Why Zane smothered his snarl, she didn't know - maybe to hear the way she nearly wailed, shocked by the sudden fullness of her body. Purple nails sought purchase, scoring his pale biceps a blaring red before sinking in to the corded strength in his hairy forearms.

"Easy, tiger," he chuckled smugly, straightening his body to pull back, only to thrust forward with enough strength to rattle the bed. With how slick she is, how soft and swollen, he quickly finds his rhythm, much to her delighted groans, filling the room with the meaty slap of skin.

It was all Amara could do to find purchase in her position: she held onto the sheets, her body involuntarily shifting with Zane's solid movements. His big hands gripped her hips, her ass, and moved her to his will. Kept them locked together and collected as he worked pleasure in side of her, brows furrowed and jaw held firm.

He thrust in a steady pace, rocking them both as the siren beneath him crooned and clung tighter at the sweat-damp linens tangled below her. The filthy sound of their hips colliding was all she could hear - the only sound Zane made as he worked in and out of her, his features tight with concentration.

With how soaked she was, how willing her body milked at him, it was only so long before Zane's patience frayed. He watched his partner lose herself, smelled her juices thick in the room, saw the cream of her pussy drip from around his plunging cock and smear between them. A shiver of lust running through him, he laid himself over the siren, her dark skin still braced against his shoulders. He was panting now, softly, as he worked in shorter, deeper thrusts, angling himself to feel her squeeze.

Amara moaned Zane's name and clutched at him. Invited the way he buried his face against her damp neck. Between them, the rich scent of sex and musk filled their senses, accentuating the pleasure pulsing between their merging bodies. Felt the operative when he moaned, low and rough, as he sought her nipples and latched onto them firmly, sucking the sensitive peaks and laving his tongue over them in turn, urging her to hold him tighter.

Zane continued rocking into hers, nuzzling his pubic bone against hers. It was the precise angle, the perfect pace - she let out a wrecked whimper as she clamped down on him. He groaned in response, thrusting until he bottomed so deep inside, she swore she could feel him in her throat.

Could feel his thumb nudge the side of her clit, the pearl pink and throbbing, and begin slickly circling it in time with his building pace.

_Yes, _Amara thinks gratefully, her mind driven to the precipice of blissful delirium. _Yes, just like this_. She needed him - the best of his pulse inside, the burning heat of his body against her, the coarse hair on his strong chest and between his flexing legs against her glowing skin. Passionately, she took him in, clinging to his pale skin. Panted open-mouth against the metal embedded in his neck, breathing in the masculine musk of him, the tang of his sweat salty on her tongue as she sucked sweet little bites along his corded muscles.

Zane pushed to the hilt again before pulling out slowly, steadily, before he surged back again with enough force to steal her breath. Without any sense of urgency, he moved, drawing out their pleasure. He rolled his pelvis and grinded at a pace that made the siren claw desperately at his back, lowering his head to tease her with his mustache and kiss at her panting lips to soothe her.

The way Zane rasped her name had Amara's nails scoring the tops of his shoulders, digging in as a sudden gasp tore from her throat. She scrabbled to tug at his hair, even as he pulled back to look at her, their molten gazes holding as sensation rolled over her body like a wave. Her body jerking, she could only breathe through the sweat and the heat as her core squeezed him so tight, it _ached._ Lavender eyes rolling, the siren shook with it, her body vibrating for a long and soundless moment before she drew in a breath and released a long thunderous moan.

Zane was there with her, her partner, swiveling his hips and urging her aftershocks for as long as he could stand. Could feel the urgent need coiling in his gut to push in deep - to pump mindlessly into that squeezing wet heat. He grunted in her ear as he filled her, his cock throbbing as he spilled against her willing, pulsing womb, fresh sweat breaking thin and glistening across the pale planes of his skin.

For Amara, watching Zane's face while he came was, and continued to be, one of the sexiest things she'd ever seen.

Amara purred as Zane stayed inside of her, buried deep. Pressed together, they worked to catch their breath, slow and satisfied smiles shared together. Even then, he lingered for one more long, relishing moment before carefully pulling out of her and rolling to her side, settling his tall body alongside her.

At the same time, the siren clenched her thighs tight, instinctively wanting to keep that essence of him inside. As much as she pretended she didn't, she craved a reminder of their pleasure together and felt there was no better place than inside of her.

Amara managed a satisfied sigh as the older man brushed back the damp cling of hair along her forehead, then pulled her more closely against him, allowing her to nuzzle against the heat still emanating from his skin. Her fingers curled themselves into the trimmed patch of his chest hair. At that, Zane made a quiet sound in his throat, his right hand entertaining itself by tracing faint patterns along the muscular shape of her shoulder blade.

They laid there like that, together, awash in everything.

...

Eventually, Amara recovered. Left Zane while she excused herself to freshen up in the bathroom, her last sight of the older vault hunter laying back against the headboard and idly scratching the edge of one underarm, appearing perfectly contented.

Sex was great. Laying together and touching afterward was better. However, certain elements of it sometimes needed cleaning. As it was, the sheets were already a mess - but due to the operative's anticipated thinking, the bed at their disposal still had a lot more dry territory remaining.

She was just finishing up when Zane's gruff voice drifted to her through the cracked door. "Want room service?"

To Amara's surprise, she found him standing in all his naked glory on the balcony overlooking the extensive metropolis. High up as they were, the breeze that filtered warmly upwards from the cityscape ruffled the tips of his ivory hair. He had his binoculars in hand, their darkness and texturized surface vivid against the contrast of his fair coloration.

Across the bare canvas of skin, Amara could see a plethora of scars, both older and newer. Faded knife slashes, divots of stabs that landed and bullet wounds...and an assortment of jagged, hasty stitches. Along them, other signs of repair. From her vantage, she could make out more systematic lines of adhesions, some more faded than others, blending into the ripple of muscle, while others were more evident. All across his back and along his left hip, atop his buttocks, was a paneling of flesh that reminded her of a quilt.

Whatever had happened, it was painfully evident that Zane had had extensive repair work done. She didn't dare ask questions, feeling as though his scars were the last thing she'd be wise to draw attention to.

She figured she knew enough, as some of Zane's former words wandered up from her memories. "_Me older brother was one feck of a pyromanic...an' jus' a maniac as well! Ya ain't ever met a bigger cunt than 'im!"_

Her mind returning to the present, she smirked quietly at the older man. What a way to do recon - though what he could make out in the city, she wasn't sure. They were high above most of the remaining scars of the Maliwan seige, the massive grounds of the lavish hotel largely spared damage.

Theirs had been a location Zane had insisted on, though whether or not from previous experience, Amara didn't know. And she didn't think associating him at it with another bed partner was the most beneficial course of action, so she didn't.

Instead, the bare siren sat on the bed and rolled her wrists to relieve her brewing tension. Considered her ECHO device where it laid among her discarded clothing, beckoning her and her sense of responsibility. In contrast, Zane was stepping back into the room, engaging the door panel to shut and lock it - mercenary habit, she supposed...despite how he'd just flaunted himself to the fullest to the Metroplex's bustling populace.

Given his earlier suggestion, she was surprised that he only then plucked the menu from where the handheld interface stood poised on the marble table available to them. She could see well enough to know he was skimming the drink offerings - what else? The only thing that surprised her was how he _hadn't _started drinking all that was available to them.

Had she forgotten to answer him? She'd been brushing her hair, after all. Serious business.

"Uh, no thank you," responded Amara finally.

Zane said nothing. Instead, he cast her a brief look before shrugging his broad shoulders in a way that appealed to her. Then he'd padded off to the kitchen area, his firm, compact ass flexing with each step until she could no longer watch it.

She heard him withdrawing a glass from a cupboard and fill it from the fridge. Could hear him swallow as he drank from it. She heard him repeat the process except this time, he brought it to her. She thanked him softly, lifting it to her lips, and wetted her parched throat while she walked to the portrait window.

She all but heard Zane's joints creak as he settled back on the bed. One glance over her shoulder and she noted his closed eye and the sight of his palm idly brushing his hard stomach.

Despite her intense attraction to the operative, Amara found herself staring at the bedazzled cityscape again, her viscera telling her to be with the citizens still wavering without direction, disoriented by lasting traumas of war and committing crimes to reassert their own misguided sense of power. To fight for those still rendered weak and disadvantaged by the Maliwan siege and help offer them both a sense of renewed hope and strength.

Something held her back. It wasn't Zane, who was lounging behind her, so insouciant about the persistent damage and healing throughout the metropolis. A year after the Maliwan siege, the locals were still struggling to find security and find their place among the lasting scars of war. They were still trying to establish their identity and shake the fear that more destruction was in waiting, preparing to ruin what they'd fought so hard to win back.

"Can't help 'em all," he commented behind her, pointing his toes in a full-bodied stretch before settling more deeply into the linens, rumbling contentedly. "Ye make that mistake, ya'll never getta live. Been there, done that, wisened up."

This advice coming from a Pandoran raised by a particularly insane family of bandits. But, as Zane liked to remind her, he'd been around the six galaxies and back again. The fact that he was intent on enjoying their indulgences was a convincing argument on behalf of their selfish decisions. The operative spent as much time as she did running errands and kicking ass for the Crimson Raiders. They never really stopped - until they did.

Clearly at the expense of her needs, the siren was drawn by her stronger moral aptitude.

Amara heard the bed shift before the older man aligned himself with her, breathing into the pheromones dried in her hair, his crisp goatee grazing invitingly along the shell of her ear.

His arms were strong around her as they embraced her. So much taller than she was, his forearms cradled the bottoms of her firm breasts.

"Know ya can't help herself, gorgeous, but ya gotta turn it off sometimes. Have yeself some time to decompress like this," he mumbled, more knowing than suggestive. "'Sides, those fellas out there, they get their sense o' purpose from fightin' their own battles. Can't count the times I've been contracted to take out some political arsehole an' have it make not a lick o' difference. That ain't change - it's a band-aid.

"Don't mistake this fer me langer talkin'," Zane only lightly jested. His breath made her skin prickle, nipples hardening again. "Ya want, we can bust this popsicle stand an' get out there - do what yer thinkin'. 'S fine by me. If not, I can still feck a marathon if that meets yer fancy."

There was so much Amara wanted and so much she didn't. She still thought of Lorelei and her team of Atlas soldiers. During their call, the green-haired fighter had seemed perfectly content to await their arrival whenever it suited them. She didn't _seem _to need their assistance like she had when they'd first landed on Promethea and cleaned up Atlas' mess. Now that she had a more stable supply of coffee, how could she complain? And with the Crimson Raiders now being some sort of caffeine delivery service, Lorelei would have more of her precious fuel when they arrived at her base.

Overall, Amara found that she still struggled to shake the chaos of the Calypso-ridden past. She had to remind herself that the universe wasn't currently at the cusp of cosmic destruction, though some part of her still expected the nightmarish promise to remain lurking under the surface.

That made it all the more important, as Zane had said, to appreciate the present. To find the joy in it physically or otherwise, while the chance existed. By coming to the hotel, they'd _made_ that opportunity, and she didn't want to be the one to cut it short. It wasn't fair to herself or to Zane, however easygoing he was.

Him so selflessly respecting her wishes only made him that much more desirable.

There was something so different this time around. Maybe it was the room they were in, so private and foreign. Whatever it was, everything was so pleasantly different than the last times they'd had sex. Perhaps it was because they were allowed to be more themselves and not two partners philandering around a dark, cold ship.

Or, as it were, two vault hunters who fucked like Typhon and Leda DeLeon. Just the thought nearly made Amara laugh, forever grateful that her partner was so much handsomer and taller.

As if to prove it, Zane leaned down from his height to kiss her. Amara stood on her tiptoes, arching her neck to meet him halfway. The way she licked into his mouth was tentative before she grew bolder, kissing him until she could only taste herself in him...and moaned at the tantalizing sweep of his fingers through her thick hair.

For her, doing _this_ was cathartic. A means of finally lowering her defenses and indulging in the physical release of it. As passionate for fighting as Amara was, using her body for _this_ was rewarding - letting go, and maybe more importantly, being _able _to in the presence of a partner who helped her best experience all her body was capable of feeling.

By now, she's used to letting Zane take control in their proverbial bedroom - but it isn't something he took lightly or for granted, always insisting on her permission. With him, she was unusually content to let the older operative do what he will with her. Throughout the rest of her life, she'd always been so on top, so in control, that the release from those shackles was something she invited, something she _needed, _even if they both enjoyed the occasional interplay.

She couldn't speak for Zane but knew the relief of sexual tension was delicious. Boosted morale. Broke the monotony. Made her heart race for something refreshing. And being there, without being under scrutiny or judgment or being expected to live up to _something_ was an aphrodisiac of its own, one she readily consumed like a drug.

She reaches out tentatively, spreads her purple-manicured fingers out over the muscular definition of his heated chest, shuddering when he slides his hands up along the swell of her hips, venturing along the swirls of her siren markings. He grasps the delicate curve of her waist, delicious friction over sensitive skin. She welcomed the increasingly familiar brush of hair curling white on his pectorals and stomach with a shiver.

They'd parted to breathe but now Zane's mouth sought hers once more and God, if she didn't think again that he was an amazing kisser. She sighed into him, her fingers dancing to trace every inch of her older partner within reach like she was memorizing him. With fingertips toughened from decades of weapons mastery and brutality, she felt him do the same.

There was no denying, she thinks dazedly, that they were familiarizing themselves through each touch and taste as their bodies melded together. And she certainly wasn't opposed to it.

Zane's eyes crinkled with his smile when their mouths parted, swollen and damp and sensitive.

"Gonna put me through me paces then, are ye?" he teased, and his voice was positively husky.

"Mmm," she responded, her hand possessively grasping that heavy length of him. He was half hard already and her touch only encouraged more texture to that velvet surface. "What else would I do?"

Without protest, and with a wicked grin, Zane swept the siren up into a bridal carry and took her back to the bed.

…

Amara didn't know quite how they got to _this _mood, calmer but just as heady, with her lying on her stomach amidst a soft sea of sheets. Zane was half behind her, half looming over her, and she was eagerly waiting for him to touch her.

She frowned as the tip of finger pressed against her - because she wanted _more_. Still, she knew best not to underestimate her partner...or what he could do to her body. Found her disappointment rapidly fading as Zane sunk that lube-coated digit slowly into her, taking his previous time like he was committing her to memory.

_"Calluses"_, he'd casually said while popping open that tube of lubricant before they began. Not conductive to good sex. She figured he knew his hands best, but then again, they were working to change that.

She decided she'd never understand men, as Zane gradually rotated his coated finger in her and drew it out painstakingly slow, savoring the pull of her body. She could feel that single eye of his scorching her most intimate places, feeling like every inch of her and her every reaction to him was put on lewd display.

She could hear the slick sounds of his fist working his member, languidly smearing and twisting in a combination of his own precome and smooth lubricant. As if she didn't find Zane touching himself arousing enough, the noise of it alone made her wetter. And it wasn't long until her partner noticed, pulling out his soaked finger.

Turning her face over her shoulder, the siren watched with a flush as Zane rubbed two glistening digits together. Saw his jaw fall slack as he spread them apart and a thread of wetness stretched down. She tensed then, nearly turning away before he'd fixed her with the intense heat of his gaze...and the deep growl of approval he gave her.

"That's me girl."

His fingers were in his mouth now as he sucked them clean. Then he bent with a wickedly sexy grin and pressed a kiss to the round of her ass before playfully sinking his teeth in.

She yelped more out of reflex than anything - and for the same reason, nearly kicked him. Zane snorted in aroused amusement, aligning his heavy member with the cleft of her cheeks before draping himself atop her, lips seeking to devour hers.

Though their height differences necessitated them borrowing a bed for the position she so deeply wanted, it enabled them to grind together and kiss comfortably over her shoulder.

Curiosity overcame her. From her position, Amara could see the small stash of condoms that had been hastily allocated to the nightstand. They piqued her interest because _clearly_ they hadn't been used, naturally leading her to consider why Zane her brought them in the first place. What he'd had in mind at the time.

She started to say, before faltering, "Have you ever, uh…"

Unlike herself, Amara hesitated. Swallowed, almost afraid to ask...and Zane answered before she could, as though reading her mind.

"Think of knockin' on ya back door?" he helpfully husked.

No wonder he made the connection, with how long ago he and his aching erection had settled themselves between her legs. He'd spent half of that time admiring the round of her buttocks, cupping the globes in his hands and squeezing to admire their shapely firmness. For the rest of the time, he'd teasingly traced her slit with his fingertips. Gently pinched her lips together and rolled her clit beautifully between them. Spread her vulva open with forefinger and thumb, gaze hungrily devouring the tender pink among her otherwise darker skin.

A few times, he'd brushed his cockhead against her. Smeared the beading tip along that silken glisten, causing them both to shiver in anticipation.

Not that Zane would, but there was no hiding what he was doing. No hiding _anything._ She'd felt the brush of his moving arm. From over her shoulder, could see his shifting as he moved his hand slowly over his shaft, thoroughly entertained by the woman he couldn't stop touching.

Amara was impressed, again, at the utter confidence and charisma Zane exuded. Made her feel that much more nude and exposed.

When _hadn't_ Amara, as a siren, been on some form of display, designed or otherwise? But never as exposed as this. Never as sexual. Never _nearly_ as sexual.

She wasn't anywhere as experienced as the man grunting gently behind her, further encouraged by the inviting wiggle of her hips.

_Hurry up, damnit. _Why did the operative have to be so damn patient when she didn't want him to be?

"O'course," and Zane was proud to admit it. "'m a hotblooded boyo, after all. Fantasize 'bout bustin' in like the law, honestly. But, prefer that on a man an' this," he didn't falter even as he brushed his blunt tip against her silken slit, _finally_ pressing just enough for her to feel that intimate stretch. "This, though...yeah, made fer me."

Clutching the pillow beneath her, Amara gasped as the heavy weight of his cock slid inside her, filling her in one deep, solid thrust. Zane was slender, supported the weight of all but his flexing hips, and yet she felt positive pinned as his heat bore down on her.

That was the first time he'd fully entered her behind. They moaned raggedly in unison. The angle, the stretch - new sensations between them. She was still reeling from the feeling of utter submission as Zane recovered first, stroking one callus hand down the muscular furrow of her back.

"'Sides," the operative grunted breathlessly, giving a savoring grind of his hips, shifting himself into all her recesses, sounding a little more breathless. "Can watch yer lil' pucker when ya come. Love doin' it."

As if to further his point, Zane withdrew before hilting himself again in one smooth motion. Sent a bloom of sensation flowing through Amara from where he stretched and worked inside her, through the firm clench of her silken walls. She could already feel herself dripping, each pass of his ridged tip milking her with each backstroke before dipping in to fill her again, sinking his every solid inch.

At some point, in her daze, she'd melted into the duvet. Zane had followed, aligning atop her, one hand easing between her curvy thighs. He wasn't thrusting so much as pulsing his hips, driving his last few inches repeatedly into the place that connected with her clit and send throbs of pleasure mounting deep inside of her.

Amara couldn't stop the carnal sounds that left her. Didn't want to - not with how Zane heard and responded to each and every one. Every baited hitch of breath. Each throaty groan. Every yearning purr. It built and built as he worked her with one hand and braced the other on the base of her back, the sure dominance of that gesture bringing yet another blissful end to her.

Even as she pulsed in ecstasy, there was nothing sweeter than the slow kisses Zane rained on her shoulders, her neck. Nothing more comforting than the pleased rumble in his chest or the smile he pressed against her moist skin.

For Amara, she felt in heaven. As if such a solace indeed existed and she had sprouted her siren wings to ascend to it.

He fucked her like that for a while - with slow, methodical thrusts. Like he was letting her feel the depth of every pronounced stroke. Wasn't long until she felt an orgasmic haze of delirium overshadow her - that need for _more _that she knew Zane understood but drew out, torturing her again with his patience. She nearly couldn't take it, her pelvis rising of its own accord, pushing back to further his motions and encourage his speed, but he was having none of it. The patient bastard, he only reached to gather her long hair and palm the thick mass of it...and then slowly, steadily pulled it taut with the rotating hold of his wrist.

She didn't even know she wanted his restraint of her hair until he took it, the blue ends of her hair luminous against the pallor of his skin.

By then, she was nearly snarling with impatience, hips pushing to fight the refusing stillness of his... but then, when she turned her head to lock her fierce eyes on his, feeling every bit the role of a caged tiger, he drew her head back harder by her hair. Firmly jerked until a curse escaped her - and then he crashed his cock into her, sensation nearly splitting her asunder.

The noise that escaped her was _primal_ as her need was finally fulfilled - that of a powerful feline sinking its teeth until the most succulent meat.

Amara didn't know what Zane did with his hips - only that he was ruining her for another man, stroking parts of her that she'd never felt before, girth grazing against all her tingling places. The weathered hands on her hips rocked her through his motions, and there had to be a pattern to his strokes, her mind too delirious to make sense of them - variations between deep and shallow, keeping her body guessing - withdrawing nearly to the tip before he sunk in again and he stayed there, against the mouth of her womb, pulsing his hips and stirring her pleasure into a strong, licking fire that gripped and consumed her.

She didn't know where one climax ended and another began. Only that the operative's hands were anchored to her hips with the strength of steel bands, and he drew her up until her knees barely touched she sheets, her weight pressing her breasts to the bed, and he was angling his thrusts in ways that suggested years spent in bed perfecting it.

Zane never ceased to impress - hadn't since they'd started this. Whatever the method to his madness, he knew how to propel her over the edge as easily as she'd seen him throw bandits off cliffs. With the way he fucked her, her fate was no different, except the freefall that gripped her stomach was one of exhilarating pleasure.

The wet _slaps_ of his impacts made her eyes roll back, same as the way her fingers fisted in the sheets as the waves of rapture inundated her, making her pant like a horse brought to lather. Her skin was drenched in sweat but that didn't seem to matter, just as nothing else did when a particularly deep, gut-wrenching orgasm sent her cursing and bucking like an untamed creature.

Her rider knew just how to handle her. To lock her in place and rein her in, that hand still twisting her hair _just right._ The way she arched back against the strength of his hips was utterly submissive, offering herself even as his other palm spread her wide and allowed him to watch in rapt attention the way her pussy swallowed him.

Amara keened at the way his other hand released its twist and locked between the junction of her shoulder and neck, furthering the submissive curve of her spine. Allowed herself to be so physically at his will and so fully trusting, relishing in the reward of it.

"There we go,* Zane growled, tone positively laden with infatuation and erogenous encouragement, the presence of which sent a hot knife of lust in her gut. "Look at yer cunt, comin' so feckin' tight 'round me cock. Pretty lil' hole winkin' at me."

Any other time, Amara might have slapped at him. Might have been overcome by some shred of embarrassment at his shameless audacity. Now, she was digging at the sheets like they were her lifeline, her knuckles bleaching with her struggle for purchase, jerking when the callus flat of Zane's hand came down on one side of her ass with a sharp, burning _smack._

Oh_ god_, how they couldn't have done that on Sanctuary.

Amara didn't even catch her breath before that tingle subsided and even then, her pussy continued throbbing with it.

In a sense, she'd given Zane advanced permission. He'd asked her, near the beginning, what she liked. Not exactly sure, she's purred to him, "_Surprise _me," knowing the older man damn well could. She didn't need to see the inspired glint in his eye to be certain of that. Still, so limited on Sanctuary, they just hadn't had the opportunity to explore more serious fucking.

That was why they found themselves here, wasn't it? To get away so they could indulge in each other more freely, with less restraint and chance of their teammates stumbling upon their fraternizing activities?

Zane's voice was gruff, grit out between jaws tightened in focus.

"Look how feckin' wet ya are, sweetheart. Feckin' _drippin'," _he husked, voice strained with arousal.

When he drew back his hand and spanked her again, Amara spilled out a keening groan. Felt the outline of the impact hot and pleasantly stinging on her ass - and felt grateful that, when he brought his palm across her buttocks again, he'd shifted just enough to spread the brunt of that sharp strike across her unblemished skin.

Zane's open palm smacked against her ass with a loud, satisfying crack of both sound and sensation. She gasped, unable to think at all, waiting for the next blow to come. And come they did, the operative varying his spanks from firm, stinging collisions to gentler slaps that made her squirm up against his hand in anticipation. Between each sharper strike, he lingered and gently rubbed at her heated skin and then slide his touch to the slick smolder of her vulva, teasing at the sensitive throb of her clit until she pushed back toward him again. She almost whined as he drew away, only to clap her ass again.

Amara growled as Zane abruptly pulled his cock from her, leaving her gaping and empty. Then gasped at the feel of his hot breath on the overheated skin of her ass, just before his skillful tongue drove into her dripping sex, causing her to moan out loud. She heard herself gasping and mewling as though from a distance, her head lowered to the sheets as he devoured her, manipulating her clit with two fingers, following her motions as she pressed back against his mouth, begging with her body but too incoherent to form a single word. The combined sensations of him tongue fucking her, the burn of her cheeks, the nuzzle of his nose, and the brush of his facial hair against her sensitive skin only heightened the pleasure building in the pit of her groin, overfilling her body. She came with a guttural moan that rose up through her stomach and left her throat in a breathless keen.

The siren nearly wailed as he grabbed both handfuls of her ass and used them to impale her back onto the deep pistoning of his hips.

Looking over her shoulder, she could see how his blue eye drank her in. How it scorched downward, where their bodies joined and his cock stretched her. Where those lewd sounds of wetness originated, smearing and slicking and smacking with each meaty slap of his balls against her.

Fuck, what was hotter? Imagining the sight he was watching or the sight of him, silver hair clinging wetly to his temples, the bridge of his nose furrowed by the fierce set of his heavy brows? That look of carnal lust and the rufescent flush of his beaded skin, his hard lips parted for each gust of breath turned ragged with sensation and his fierce concentration on it. Or the tension of his jaw, cording through his neck, the muscles of his chest and shoulders flexing with each slam of their hips. The sight of his scarred knuckles and furrowed fingers grabbing fistfuls of her ass, the top of her cheeks bunching firmly with each impact. All of made her pussy clench, her hole flooding with it.

She could her slick with each collusion, could _feel_ it smearing, could feel her wetness slap and stretch with each forward snap of Zane's hips. Could feel the gush of it seeping, clinging to her lips, to the hood of her clit, dangling. The cry that left her, when his eager finger caught and smeared it across her pearl was a_ warble, _her thighs tensing and then wavering as he circled and flicked across that precious bundle of nerves.

With nothing to stop her, Amara was free to experience her full-on release. Swore the picture-wall windows rattled with her moan, same as the pleasure coursing through her.

She'd barely caught her breath before the operative bent forward and embraced her, then lifted her up and back against him, still buried deep inside her.

"God," she breathed, "_Zane," _and she could do nothing to stop the weakness still shimmering in her voice - except kiss him.

And so she did, reaching back to gently fist at his dense hair and reluctantly interrupt the kisses he brushed along her neck. Bit at his lower lip until he rumbled from it and she nuzzled roughly against the thick fringe of his sideburn, shivering at the undeniably masculine edge to it.

Digging his fingers in her hips, Zane drew her back fierce enough to rip a trembling cry from her throat. She was oversensitive, the angle strangling her breath. Each molten flash of physical heat stole her breath and yet she slid her hand between her legs, circling greedily around her throbbing clit.

"Do it," she urged, dark hair clinging to her face, her neck, her back, her body surging against the force of his thrusts. "Come in me again. I want-"

Amara couldn't finish - instead, she dissolved into needy whine that melted into a desperate sob as she climaxed violently. Zane was surging into her brutally, so hard she could taste pain behind her teeth. All of it, from the way his cock urgently swelled and twitched inside her, was so consuming, so overwhelming.

Driven by that primal need, Zane shoved so deep, Amara flinched and yelped - and felt the immediate sweep of his hand along her hip in apology, even as he pulsed and kept driving, forcing her on all fours again.

_God_, if her eyes didn't roll and her jaw didn't fall slack as she savored it - the way his balls pulled tight and pulsed against her clit as he unloaded inside her, length twitching erratically and throbbing with his heartbeat. She could only grind back against him and whimper at the slick mess she could feel running out around his cock.

Zane hung over her, hoarse breath gusting from his chest. They were both panting like they'd sprinted a marathon and yet his ragged exertion she found particularly primal. She managed a shaky smile as he pressed his lined forehead to the small of her back, sweat smearing across her sensitive skin. Purred as his facial hair brushed coarsely along her dimples, her buttocks, her hips, before planting a series of lazy kisses along the supple skin of her tattooed side.

Amara hummed the whole while her partner shifted to press his mouth along her shoulders, her neck. Felt his warm smile in the nape of her hair before he pressed his face there, his broad hands passing across the satin skin of her relaxed abdomen. They caressed her in slow, reverent strokes until she was purring, feeling warm and pliant and buttery in his scarred arms.

She wanted to stay like that forever. Just remain there, in the moment, soaking in all the wonderful chemicals inundating her body and making her feel positively _glowing. _From the way Zane was resting against her, it wasn't a stretch of imagination to think he could relate. But eventually, after growing heavier, the operative pulled himself from her and settled to her side, the hair along his temples plastered to his sweaty skin.

She half-fell, half-lowered herself against him. Hardly had the energy to twine a leg between his, her tattooed arm tucking under his triceps.

Zane was breathless but didn't let that deter him. He still managed since, as the man he was, things just needed to be said.

"Really enjoy feckin'' ye," he panted. "Jus', so we're clear. Y'know, 'case ye haven't noticed."

As if the soreness of her insides and the spill of semen between her thighs wasn't proof enough. And it was. So much.

In her post-orgasmic state, Amara hardly had the energy to tip her head toward him, never mind remember her native language. So she let Zane take her lapse of reaction however, certain it would only bolster his confidence.

The operative was scratching the drenched span of hair between his pecs and looking positively self-assured, and shameless, as his spent penis leaked over his furrowed hip.

What the siren didn't expect was anything in the form of an apology but got one anyway, making her blink and finally turn her face toward him blearily.

"Wonderin' if I should, y'know...dial it back a wee bit. Got meself a bit o' an addictive personality. Can get a wee bit outta hand, I gotta admit. I mean, if yer all for it, I wouldn't mind turnin' ya inside out like this...more often_._"

While the siren's _body _might not agree with it, her mind was convinced of accepting his offer. She smiled at him, surprised at how _present _she managed to feel, while she still felt so high in the clouds...and simultaneously puddled where she laid, satisfied and heavy. Only after such great sex did that make sense, as she was discovering.

Zane...was being himself, somehow. Went on in that odd inflection of his. She wondered how quick she could render him unconscious, and blissfully silent, with her thighs around his neck.

"Don't get me wrong," he was saying so _conversationally, _and he was also rambling in that unique way of his, "I don't jus' like the kinky or rough stuff. I like it nice an' sweet too. I like _everything,_" he reinforced with a firm nod.

And then, almost a whisper and convincingly like he couldn't help himself, Zane added: "Everything is me middle name. Zane _Everything _Flynt."

What she wanted to know is how the operative wasn't flagging after what he'd put her through, but she was in no mood for any game, nevermind twenty questions. Nevermind _one_, but she'd make the exception for giving a single order, particularly one this important.

"Mmm, Zane _Everything _Flynt," she managed finally. Sort of irritably. Mostly not. "Shut up and kiss me."

Lucky her, he was just as eager to prove he liked that too.

That didn't stop Amara from fucking up that afterglow. From screwing up the time they had left to savor their privacy before they were forced to don their gear and _somehow_ function as vault hunters - when all she wanted was a nap. And Zane, naturally, looked like he craved the same - at least until the mood in the room changed, all when she ran her mouth in ways that weren't entirely rhetoric.

"How did Moxxi forget that?"

Zane could have left it at that. Snorted it off. Could have started snoring, older man he was. But like the tables were turned and_ he_ was a mind reading siren, he suspected similar thoughts had been churning around in Amara's pretty mind for some time. In fact, pure experience accounted for his awareness, the operative having walked that minefield countless times before. The expression on his lined visage, however patient he was, suggested he strongly expected her insecurities to come to head. As they did.

Amara watched Zane pinch the bridge of his nose, grinding into it. He opened his eye at her after a long minute with a tired sigh, looking more resolved than she'd recently seen him. His eye patch, metal as it was, revealed nothing through its luminous stripe.

"Ye_ really_ wanna talk about that? Nip it in the bud here an' now so it don't keep pestering' ya, providin' that's even possible?"

She did and she didn't even know why. The siren wanted a lot of things - like to punch herself. To crack a joke that she couldn't muster. Wanted to watch those proverbial waters run under a bridge, never to return. For as stubborn and strong-willed as she was, she was also somewhat young, still, and really lacked the experience necessary to grapple with her insecurities. She'd already tried so often to beat them down and render them destroyed beyond recognition but hadn't yet actually succeeded. As the Tiger of Partali, she'd never had to compete for anything - or against anyone.

The bed sheets seemed like a comfortable place to be as she buried the urge to frown. Kept careful control over her face. Didn't know what she was feeling but did know, for certain, that Zane looked positively delicious when naked and turned toward her, up on his side and half leaning his head into his hand. The blue of his visible eye regarded her with his full and honest focus.

He looked tired, for the best of reasons.

"Look, I'm not gonna lie - I've been around a lot," he admitted, open and entirely nonchalant. "Fecked far more people than ye can count or wanna know about... That fling with Moxxi, it was a weekend. We were blind as feck drunk for half o' it. The other I showed her a damn good time an' enjoyed meself...an' must'a fecked her to amnesia.

"Honestly?" the operative continued, sounding a bit in wonder himself. "Been _years_ since I've been sittin' pretty on that saddle. Might'a hopped on a time or two but nowhere damn near what I wanted with all those twats out for me head. Stopped listenin' to me langer forever ago with how it kept gettin' me into trouble, the bugger."

By that, Zane was clearly insinuating that he'd used his mind when deciding to have sex with her that first - and later times. That went further than he likely knew to reassure her - but then again, he seemed to know how much time Amara spent in her own head.

"An' don't ya go blamin' that neither," her partner told her, shooting her a single-eyed glare. "Me, Rosie Palmer, an' all her five friends get along jus' fine, if that lube is any indication. Not doin' ya 'cause I'm desperate or any such nonsense. I'm too old fer that.

"I like sex," Zane admitted with a poignant shrug, both seeming like he was so sure in his speech, he'd either given it before or had recited it in his head, at length, in preparation. "I like it with_ you. _And I'm likin' it _only_ with you. I'm not feckin', or otherwise sleepin' with anyone else. I haven't since we met. An' I ain't plannin' to unless, an' if, we decide to change that.

"Ya don't hafta think 'bout me an' anyone else." He was wrapping an arm around her now, pulling her nearer - so close, her hips drew half across him but still, they could face each other in that sincere, candid discussion._ "I _sure as hell don't think 'bout anyone else. I fecked 'em, it ended, it was over. Had far more one night stands than anything. That's what I wanted then. This is now, an' I'm pretty sure by bein', here with ya that I'm makin' myself clear."

His callus fingertips were stroking along her side now, lazily. Traced the scrollwork of her tattoos with a featherlight touch, making her oversensitized body tingle with goosebumps.

The intimacy of his touch was soothing, same as the sound of his velvet-pitched voice.

"Don't blame ya, 'Mara. It can't be easy comparin' yerself. I get it. Not to invalidate ya but I think it's feckin' silly. You're amazing an' if I was a younger lad, I'd probably start bashin' the skulls in o' whoever had ya 'fore I did.

"I said it again an' I'll kindly remind ya: I like feckin' ya. I'm gonna keep doin' it 'til ye stop me. I think we got a good thing goin' here - but clearly I got more work cut out fer me if I haven't screwed that nonsense outta ya yet."

Leave it to Zane to make what began as a flattering declaration of infatuation into the roguish promise _that _was. He had the siren smiling against the scarred texture of his skin, feeling her tension break.

At Zane's many words, Amara found relief. He was right - She had spent too many moments concerning herself with everything the operative had mentioned, and he knew it. If anything, he seemed to have detected it long before that talk. Quite possibly her insecurities, however much she'd tried crushing them beyond recognition, had pinponged between both of their heads at some point. Zane evidently decided it was time to address it.

The Partalian couldn't decide if she was simply predictable or if the operative had inevitably fallen into this situation more times than not, with partners privy to his history of sexual escapades. He wasn't exactly one to hide his hedonism. And while Amara was quite sure he preferred a partner as secure as himself, he also didn't seem to mind trying to assuage her insecurities.

Instead, Zane leaned in and pressed his firmer lips to hers, the hand that wasn't supporting her easing up to delightfully tangle in the back of her hair. Mouth moving in ways that were smoothed, fluid, and lazy, he reminded her of why she _should_ have been grateful for his experience. Not only could Zane kiss, but he could do everything.

Her lips chased his when he pulled back, her gentle smile coming into being a moment after his.

"'Sides," he murmured, licking his lips like he was already missing the taste of her. "Reckon _I'm_ the one who should be a lil' worried, seein' how much woman y'are. Not sure this ol' dog can keep up."

Amara wanted to laugh and gesture to herself. Remind him of all the times he'd made her come herself stupid and even enjoyed a few orgasms of his own. To her, it felt like she certainly got the better end of the bargain. Naturally that lead her to wonder how talented Zane's other lovers had been - how she stacked up and how she could better them. No doubt the bed partners who _had _managed to seduce him were far more experienced and sexually creative than she'd ever been.

Should she have given him more? Sucked him off? Fingered him? The more she thought of it, the more she regretted not having done any of it. She could have at least ridden him. Instead, she'd been more than willing to submit to his whims. Revel in his attention, which he'd been so generous in giving. If he'd wanted anything, she trusted him to have asked. Zane was, after all, very forward.

She wish she'd fingered him, at least, knowing how intense that was. Zane never suggest it but evidently enjoyed it and probably understated how much. In fact, the last time he'd snuck into her room, he'd eaten her out until she'd been oversensitive. Then, she'd repaid by fingering him. Their time in the shower had played over and over in her head and she'd wanted to try it again since.

For her, it was a fascinating reversal of their usual roles. Wasn't her writhing and whimpering as he had his way with her.

With renewed lust, Amara had watched him buck into his own hand and bite her pillow to stifle his moans, as if knowing they shake all of Sanctuary. The way he'd varied between masturbating himself with a tight, desperate fist and slower, twisting strokes had kept her enthralled. Sometimes, he'd stopped with a hard grip around his thick base and tipped his head back, cock visibly throbbing and thickly dripping from the ministrations of her penetrating fingers.

Zane was obviously a man who knew his own body. By the time he'd bucked violently in orgasm, his eye had nearly crossed. He'd come so hard, he'd painted his own front with semen and had chuckled while wiping some from his goatee.

Thinking back to that, Amara _wished_ she'd initiated that. She wanted to hear Zane's unbridled expressions of pleasure. Just thinking back to that time sent a dense pulse of lust in her gut. Made her want to jump him despite how, after three ejaculations, the operative looked thoroughly spent. In his tired condition, she really couldn't see him spending the rest of the day running errands throughout the metropolis. Then again, she knew he would.

Maybe, Amara considered, she _should_ tell Lorelei. She trusted that the Atlas loyalist would cover for them and open the window of opportunity for them to make more trips if she did.

Humming gently, Amara found herself reaching up to brush her thumb along Zane's bushy brow, then smooth it over the distinguished creases in his forehead, thoroughly distracting herself with them.

She didn't bring up _those_ insecurities of hers. At least not yet. They still bothered her, though, to think that she let Zane do too much of the work - enthusiastic and generous as he was - and didn't sufficiently repay him for his tireless efforts.

Amara had never doubted him and yet even after all that, she still had to readjust the former notions about older men she had. Clearly there was nothing about Zane's age that was holding him back - and if he was the exception, then she was beyond grateful for it.

He was yawning, however, and gave his mustache a little side-to-side twitch as he wrinkled his nose after it.

"Now," he said, "that I left ye good an' wet, fancy a shower?"

Even Zane's impressive hair was flagging, they were so sweaty. All the physical restraint he had exerted had left him glistening but it was a beautiful thing. Now, drying clammy as the two of them were, the room reeked of sex.

Amara was more than happy to accept his hand and be lead toward the shower. Even happier to see it was much larger and nicer than what they had aboard Sanctuary III. And happiest to let her partner fold her in his arms, brushing his chiseled cheek atop her head as they soaked and lingered.

She was crazy enough to wonder if they couldn't do just this and forget all the vaults. Wouldn't the Crimson Raiders understand? Couldn't she only come to her senses when duty called and she had to?

Despite herself, Amara knew this would have to end soon moment the two of them stepped out of that room, they would have to change gears. Resume their lives as two partners who weren't sleeping together.

If Zane could do it, and she knew he could, then she could, too.


	6. Robot Fingering and Drone Porn [Campfire Flashback - Pandora]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun little thing, hopefully. I'm not even going to pretend to know how the BL tech works but surely it's more extreme than what exists now. 
> 
> We run into a different hint of a pairing here. What will come of it, if anything? Who knows. Oh wait, I do.

[Before]

* * *

A fire crackling between them, scavenged from a parched and brittle building nearby, the vault hunters had settled for the evening.

Felt just the same as what had rapidly become their usual. Lacking reason to be mindful of any calendar, retired as Zane was, he couldn't be bothered to count the days since he had officially become a vault hunter. Didn't matter to him any, as he seemed to fit just fine with the Crimson Raiders and, more specifically, among the three others who completed their current foursome.

The lot of them had hunkered down in a makeshift camp, taking a necessary to breather and opportunity to fill their stomachs with the random foods they had scavenged while clearing enemy territory. They'd since sorted through the miscellaneous meats and compressed ration cubes, choosing what was edible from what was spoiled to the best of their abilities.

One valuable trick was letting FL4K's friendly rakks have a whiff. If they began to tear at it, it was time to relinquish it.

"Though they do actively attack, their nature is to feed, as carrion, upon decomposition," FL4K offered as explanation to their misplaced Vladof cadet.

"Lovely," she'd responded with no small degree of sarcasm, unbuckling and removing her helmet.

Far as Zane could tell, Moze and Amara had paired up to make quick work of what was _probably_ rakk jerky. Was difficult to tell in its shriveled condition. Given how they were on Pandora, it actually could have been a number of things. FL4K naturally didn't need anything for replenishment as far as their means went, and the robot hadn't yet educated them on exactly what he ran on.

As for himself, Zane carried a trusty stash of supplements that enabled him to run on all cylinders. He'd offered them to his team and shrugged nonchalantly at their refusal, popping a few of the pills himself. Before he had adjusted to them forever ago, he hadn't liked them much either - specifically the emptiness that remained as they metabolized. Just wasn't as satisfying as a real meal, but being his age, he could get away with it until he could get his hands on a pint and a double skag burger.

Sounded like that'd take a while, and he wanted the ladies among them to be covered - call him old fashioned. Selfish as he could come across, he wasn't. Was better for the lasses to fill up because life was more comfortable with food in their gullets, even if he had a deep hankering for more liquid sustenance.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, however - that much he knew. That was why Zane had preemptively plotted his first stop, upon returning to Sanctuary, at Moxxxi's when their current mission concluded.

Letting the women nosh, the operative busied himself by cleaning their weapons, keeping his eye on their surroundings while performing the autonomous task. Already, FL4K had his pets doing the rounds, but one could never be too safe. Besides, the stars and faint shimmering of diamond dust that wafted on the planetary winds was pretty.

Easily much nicer than the sediment and gunk he was systematically dislodging from of their weaponry.

Zane has been buffing out the bore of a rifle with a sturdy, narrow rod and a rag he'd torn from one of the less gored corpses they'd passed. With so many firearms stacked up between the four of them, it wasn't reasonable to disassemble each and their hundred pieces, so brushing out the sand and grime was the simplest way to improve accuracy.

Had to make sure his boyos were taken care of, he s'posed - or, more accurately, that the weaponry they covered his fine arse with was adequately maintained. Couldn't have his posterior take a bullet - not that his shield didn't sufficiently cover it. God knew that particular asset got enough attention. For as much as Zane wanted to think bullets deflected off his buttocks, he wasn't inclined to _prove_ it. He had, however, had a grenade or two bounce off it before he'd scrambled to kick that shite a far distance away.

Thinking of his teammates, Zane glanced up at them before resuming his self-assigned task. They were a good couple folks...and a robot. And a skag. Good conversation when they felt like having one, even if the soldier was a bit stilted and the siren was a bit too upright for his liking...and FL4K was an AI. Ordinarily the operative would have found that to be fascinating, but for as technically inclined as he was, Zane was disappointed that the robot had no installed sense of humor.

Was a shame, really - but he did have Mr. Chew, who was growing more interesting by the day, often rather literally.

"Look at that lad," gestured Zane again, tossing what remained of their trash pile into the fire that happily consumed it. "He's come of age, it seems. What a horny bastard!"

Of course neither woman among them said anything. Poo on them They didn't do more than roll their eyes to the sky like they awaited an anvil to fall on them, putting them out of their misery. FL4K wasn't any better, what with humor going over his steel noggin and sensor systems entirely.

"Indeed," commented the robot, stating the truth as always. "He has developed mature protuberances."

"Atta boy," said Zane, feeling like a proud pup uncle as he leaned over and gave the skag's broad frontal horn a firm, affectionate patting. At the same time, his other hand proudly stroked his own goatee. "Remember when I sprouted me first horn!"

The animal grunted, sitting back to kick at his side in a scratch that sent his other hind leg thumping. Then he nuzzled into the operative's gloves palm, searching. The older man smirked, shifting to give Mr. Chew's rough chin a good scritching before leaning back against their outrunner again, the hot metal still ticking faintly.

"Got nothin' left for ya, doggo. Sure yer boyo will take ya huntin' tomorrow, bright an' early as always."

Huffing affably, the beast settled flatly to the ground, let out a fart, and then released a long, bubbling snort, causing the vault hunters to look amongst themselves before snickering. With not a religious fool among them, they still prayed for a wind to whisk the toxic gas away and had their wishes conveniently, and mercifully, granted.

Damn good thing too, as chances were they would have otherwise had to relocate their camp in their need to breathe.

Grateful for the relief, the four of them sat in relative peace speckled with the occasional talk of nonsense. Moze said something about heading to the Splinterlands the following day. Amara made a comment to the effect of how ready to use her fists she was. FL4K kept to himself as usual. Same as always.

Zane found himself enamored by the flames dancing and reflecting in his remaining eye. Busied himself by picking between his teeth with a metal toothpick he kept among his personal effects. Couldn't be so charming with substances trapped between his pearly whites, could he?

It was all good and well. No one had shot at them for a while. Elpis was glowing above them. If there was anything to say for the shitehole of Pandora, it was that the wasteland and its lack of an established electrical grid made for one impressive display of stars. With no abundant manmade light pollution, it seemed every damn star was up there showing off.

'Course that could be said for most planets not worth developing, but what did that matter? What about _romanticism?_

By all intents and purposes, it had been a long day. Had been the same ol' same ol': shoot a whole lotta nobodies, recover some CL4P-TP components, intercept COV radio propaganda and exchange it with Crimson Radio broadcasts, dodge varkid vomit, stumble across some funky alien symbols, commit some grand theft auto and download Ellie's newest vehicle into a Catch-A-Ride…

Made retirement seem _reall_y lacking compared to his former career but that was the purpose of it, wasn't it? Zane preferred to remain hunched over a bar, naturally, enjoying a smooth and smoky bottle of fine whisky, but there would be plenty of time for that later. Soon, he reckoned they'd be breaking open their first vault and using its loot to feck the twins right up their dry holes and show 'em the ol' what's-what. Then be off to do whatever, wherever, that pleased them.

Which meant, for Zane Flynt, drinking. Reacquainting himself with Moxxxi's, specifically. And likely the prolific sex bomb herself. If not that, then he would probably sleep. Or watch some porn. Maybe develop a new drone. Develop a new drone while watching porn. Watch drone porn? Develop a porn drone? The options were limitless, but what a thought that was, projecting some holographic smut scene to distract the enemy with! They wouldn't know the dick that'd hit 'em!

Or maybe they would, providing the displayed pornstar was famous enough.

That certainly wasn't the train of thought Zane expected to have when his attention lingered on their presumably cockless robot companion. Wasn't until Zane saw the AI among them repeatedly rotating his wrist and awkwardly flexing one hand before he noticed something amiss.

The way he performed the action beneath his diligent attention had the operative lifting one skeptical brow, nodding to the bot.

"Gotta problem, lad?"

FL4K adjusted his green lens at the silver-haired man, centering him in its focus.

"Part of my armor appears to have been penetrated by a projectile. I have lost the functionality of a sensor in my arm. Ordinarily I would perform maintenance but it is proving difficult give the location of the damages."

Perking up, the operative gave the taller figure a once-over, unable to determine much from the layers of garbs draping over the wanderer. By now, the siren and gunner were also attentive, concerned by the condition of their own team member.

"That so?" Zane asked, standing to his feet and brushing off the back of his pants idly. "Why didn't ye jus' say somethin'? Mind if I take a look-see?"

The AI seemed to contemplate the offer, staring at him with that unyielding green orb. At one point, the upper rim of his optic flattened before resuming its circular shape, the robot slowly nodding.

Smirking, the operative began strutting over, giving a good erecting flip of his jacket collar.

"_Handsome bastard_ an' _tech extraordinaire_ Zane Flynt at yer service!" he boasted with with a bow - and proceeded to more nonchalantly fall to his metal-protected knees to FL4K's afflicted side.

"Tell me what I'm lookin' fer an' we'll get ye all fixed up. But," he faltered, looking at the concealing rags the AI had donned throughout his travels, "S'pose we're gonna need ta expose ya a lil'. I'd buy ye dinner first but ye don't even eat, do ye?"

Was quite intriguing how hesitant FL4K seemed to re-situate his favorite rifle and begin removing his immense jacket. Thinking to assist, the operative refrained while questioning if he was imposing too many human mannerisms on the bipedal construct. Wasn't like he wanted his teammate to feel rushed or otherwise put under uninvited scrutiny.

The fact that FL4K had waited to address his dysfunction until having his condition discovered suggested that he had refrained from admitting his malfunction - which was simultaneously relatable for the old man and also not, given his tendency to gripe about superficial problems for maximum comic effect.

Seemed like quite the process for FL4K to unearth his metal self. Already, he had deposited his sizable pack to the side, but then his wrist armor had to come off, followed by his shoulder holsters. The tattered red bandanna he wore was dropped to the ground, and only then did the robot actually reach the most substantial layers concealing him.

Zane did, however, reach to take the tattered coat from him, with an impressed grunt at its weight, and tossed it on the outrunner with a puff of dust and sand. He then reached to adjust his eye patch to maximize FL4K's visibility in the darkness, the robot dropping that last shredded veil of fabric.

"Alright lad," Zane began, officially tuning into the issue at hand. "What's it I'm lookin' fer - so, y'know, I don't go pokin' an' proddin' at all yer private bits. Yer arm, ye said? Oh, and 'fore I forget, in case ye needed further convincin' of me seriousness, I'll show ye this."

Man of his word, the operative pulled aside the collar on his coat to fully expose the glint of metal in his neck. Surely the robot could recognize the port installed below his mastoid process.

"Ye sure are lucky havin' a bloke on hand like me!" flaunted Zane again. "Been tinkerin' with electronics since I was wee enough to poke 'em. Lots of learnin' experiences! Now half me head is full o' it. An' I'm hardly kiddin'. Ye got any doubts, ye should see this direct data jack I got goin'. Means I take it _real_ seriously."

FL4K's lens appeared to zoom in on that point of interest, lingering for one analyzing moment before he nodded and said, "Indeed." Then, as he cast his eye readily down the length of his damaged appendage, added: "I believe I detect a point of entrance here."

With keen eyes, Zane followed that slender, indicating finger and nodded, leaning further in to inspect the damages.

"Ye'd be right on the money, Robo-Honey. Nice lil' knick ya got there. Good thing ye ain't a human or ye'd bled outta an artery. Lot cleaner, this."

Confident in how to initiate the repair process, Zane reached to the back of his utility belt and accessed the largest pocket, withdrawing a strategic set of tools he carried with him for similar purposes. After all, he never knew when his own tech would require on-site repairs. While he had a larger collection of resources installed in his digi-pack, Zane figured he'd see how far he could get with the implements conveniently and literally on-hand.

Zane just hoped his inventory could account for FL4K's assembly. He hadn't gotten a real close look at the robot, particularly given the massive wanderer garb he concealed himself with. While the operative felt he had a bit of everything at his disposal, he didn't doubt he would eventually encounter something new and unique...like Eridian technology.

Even then, if that turned out to be the case, it would only be a matter of time until he could locate capable resources or determine a way to successfully improvise.

They were on Pandora, after all, and Zane knew it didn't have much in the ways of advanced human technology. Overall, there wasn't any hope for the shitehole rock he'd been born on. That much hadn't changed and never would - of that he was certain. Sometimes he still couldn't believe he found himself there all over again or that he'd taken Barnabus' suggestion in the first place.

But, there he was. There was no denying it. He probably had sand in the last damn places he'd ever want it. That was a given - as if the wasteland and its inhabitants weren't bad enough to keep out of his arse.

On Pandora, it was a given that if anyone saw the fire at their camp, shite would have already hit the fan. Unless, of course, there was the rare event of a denizen actually utilizing_ strategy_ but, as Zane was very aware, that was severely lacking. Natives were often referred to as _psychos, _for fecks sake, which was perfectly fitting for the vast majority of the planet's population. Those Pandorans who managed to use their brains either utilized them to get off that hellhole through any means necessary or tended to become bandit lords. Even then, it could be argued that anyone who wanted to liege over the natives - including the infamous Flynt family - were typically lacking in the intelligence department.

'Cept he'd wisened up...supposedly.

Was exactly why Zane ditched Pandora and put that clusterfeck far behind him - at least until everything came full-circle, as things mysteriously did throughout the galaxies. Funny thing, that, but the only thing he currently concerned himself with was FL4K.

Zane could be confident that their team went undetected. They had arranged their fire by a number of discarded vehicles and set panels of corrugated metal around its sides, concealing what they could. Wasn't their intention to get attacked at night, not that enemies positions wouldn't be recognizable from their muzzle fire. Both he and FL4K, and the AI's beasts, could capably handle nocturnal combat. Though he couldn't be certain of it, Zane figured Iron Bear must have been equipped with some countermeasure or scanner, and Amara could use his binoculars assuming she could simultaneously wield them and shoot single-handedly.

Either way, no one had tried to sneak a grenade up their arses or ambush them yet - and even if they did, they would soon regret it. With so little on Pandora's surface, sound traveled far. For that reason, the vault hunters had strategically set themselves besides one of the larger rock formations, defended on that single side. Recent scans of the nearest bandit settlements ensured that they hadn't been re-inhabited yet, so it seemed they were sitting pretty. Was good because they needed to recoup, even if none of them yet seemed tired enough to sleep.

That was all fine and well for now, same as the welcomed break in fighting. FL4K regarded Zane and their environment with a different, calculated scrutiny. In other words, Zane didn't take it as doubt when asked, "Do you require an addition light source?"

"Got it covered," the operative assured while tapping at his augmented eye with one bare finger. "Just gimme a second to fine-tune this, annnnnd _ah, _there we go."

Now, Zane was peering more directly into what he could see of the crevices both of allotted by mechanical construction and the additional chipping caused by a bullet or shrapnel. Was hard to tell which. Shifting more fully onto his knees, Zane squeezed shut his organic eye in order to better focus on the area and then consider the arrangement of it further, quirking one corner of his mustache.

"Looks like I'm gonna hafta remove this here yellow panel, if ye don't mind. Depending on the damages, might have to disassemble this shoulder unit too. Whatever gets ye fixed, aye?"

From behind them, voices. As in, calm ones not screaming at the top of their lungs about meat puppets or God Queens.

"Aw, look at them," Moze wryly commented, pursing her lips.

"So cute together," agreed the siren, cupping her hands beneath her chin.

He could have said the same about the two women but didn't. Instead, Zane turned to flashed them a wink and then focused his attention on the mass of metal nearest him, grasping to open the lock on his tool kit.

"Let's take a crack at it then," he said with his usual air of confidence. "Nothin' I can't fix!"

Providing he had the necessary resources, that was. Even then, there was often some wiggle room for inventiveness and adaptation. If nothing else, Zane figured he could restore some degree of FL4K's functionality. Some improvement was better than none. The nuances of whatever neutral network the robot may have had might have taken a little more experimentation and gone well beyond Zane's ability to correct, provided one had even been integrated. He at least figured FL4K had some schematic of himself that he could access if needed.

Time would tell. While he didn't know FL4K all _that_ well, Zane was certain he had enough firewalls and security measures installed in _himself _to establish a hardline connection between them if needed. Wasn't every day he utilized the data port in his neck to access the database of a walking death machine, but it sure seemed like a fun time to be had!

That FL4K hadn't made any sort of offering or suggestion made Zane lift his heavy brows, but then again, he suspected the AI was trying to determine his proficiency without implementing any bias to the situation in order to accurately assess him. The assassin could appreciate that and would have done the same had the tables been turned.

"The lot of ye don't know how lucky ye are to have a charmin' lad 'round like meself," Zane was saying as he inserted an appropriate, and meticulously maintained, screwdriver into FL4K's outer shell. "I'm not _just_ the most handsome devil ye'll ever lay eyes on but am also talented as hell! Why, ye struck the lottery happenin' 'cross me, gettin' an eyeful'a this all the time. Don't know how yer hearts can take it, honestly!"

Behind him, what he _assumed _to be Mr. Chew let out a planet-quaking belch. Then again, Zane couldn't entirely be sure. After he eased his shoulders down from their shocked position against his ears, the operative tossed over them:

"_Manners_, Moze - or's that what a siren burp sounds like?"

Both women snorted. One threw something at him and missed, receiving a taunting wiggle of his slender posterior as a reward. It was then that everyone got a hefty waft of skag breath and shuddered in unison...except FL4K, who did not.

Zane was only just submitting to his need to breathe when he finally spoke again, feeling particularly considerate of his own personal safety.

"Not sure quite how ye work, boyo," he admitted honestly, accompanied with a submissive shrug. "Can ye initiate a power off or does that kill ye? Or at least cut energy to the systems I'll be workin' on? Don't feel much like fryin' meself or jump startin' me ol' ticker."

Whatever wattage and amperage FL4K functioned on, chances were it was fatal to humans. And at his age, Zane was pretty sure his heart probably wasn't up to par with the youngins behind him, sad as that was. He'd been jolted too many times, in addition to having stuck things in too many sockets as a wee lad. Was amazing, among other things, that he had managed to survive his own dangerous curiosity.

Would be a real shame to stick anything in anyone and die from it - even if the reality wasn't as sexual as the thought might insinuate. Of the thousand ways to die in pursuing the Calypsos and unlocking vaults, Zane had no intentions of calling it a day when performing an act of kindness for a teammate.

"You would be correct," FL4K confirmed, nodding his solid head. "I will initiate the appropriate procedures. Then you may commence without risk of electrocution."

"Good on ye, lad. Let's crack at it!"

That was exactly what they did. Zane performed exploratory surgery on the limb and found that, as he'd initially suspected, he only needed to detach the colored casing that housed the majority of the damage. Was far easier to see that something had indeed broken the set of wires responsible for the function of three of the AI's digits. Wasn't too massive of a cord harness to address, and honestly the majority of mending was something the operative could confidently perform in his sleep.

However much Zane preferred drinking while tinkering with his tech, he refrained from reaching for his flask. Didn't want to make his patient more nervous than he already seemed to be, if it was possible for a robot to exhibit survival instincts.

And for how much the operative would have blathered on about everything nonsensical and casual under Pandora's sun, he didn't treat his team to the beautiful symphony of his voice. The task ahead of him was an important one - to FL4K, specifically - and he wanted to stay on the death machine's good side, if one indeed existed. After all, the bot was a good ally to have, and Zane had reasons to be fond it him beyond the fact that he was a robot. And had one heck of an obedient skag who had recently undergone quite the transformation.

Casting a glance at their quadrupedal companion, Zane began biting the casing around FL4K's damaged wiring - and then reconsidered, utilizing his manual wire stripper to clip it clean off instead. Wasn't some rushed repair he was making nor was it his own tech he was wiring - not that the mech or his faithful skag would recognize the difference.

Zane Flynt was not one to cut corners. His mutton chops could attest to that.

Spread out alongside the robot, Mr. Chew had rolled half onto his back and was presumably sleeping, tongue lolling and jowls dripping. He wetly smacked his jaws on occasion, his chest rising and falling slowly until it wasn't. Erratically, the pet would begin twitching and jostling in slumber, clawed feet kicking and flexing. Seemed he was chasing a bandit - or a burrito. Whatever it was, Zane couldn't be sure.

What he _was_ sure of was his craftsmanship and the steadiness of his skillful hands. Was effortless for him to slide sections of minuscule shrink tube around one end of the clipped wiring and spreading the metal strands of each, interweaving them before twisting them tightly. A quick dab of flux later and he could heat the solder with his trusty iron and allow it to wick throughout wire, ensuring a complete and solid connection.

Took time waiting for each weld to sufficiently cool and work through the dozens of connections, but was little more than child's play. Hell, he'd been doing it _as _a kid. Was a fundamental basis to damn near everything he repaired or constructed, and his proficiency spoke for itself. Each repair was thorough and consistent, insulated and reinforced by the shrink tube he heated to adhere each section. Time would ultimately tell the strength of the bonds but he was certain they would hold. If they didn't, without a doubt the AI would let him know.

In the periphery of his concentrating, Moze and Amara were talking fondly amongst themselves. The sounds of their soft laughter and feminine voices were a pleasant backdrop to the task he was performing, particularly as the ECHO stream in his earpiece had gone silent hours before.

Zane rolled one ankle as he went about thoroughly cleaning and reattaching frayed wires, blowing off the debris before aligning and twisting the appropriate connections. Performing such detailed tasks was one substantial reason why he wore the gloves he did, bare index fingers and thumbs enabling that fine tactile sensation it required.

The things he could do with his digits - and there was no one around to appreciate it but a robot! Even then, it just wasn't the same. Oi, well, fine by him, he was doing what he loved best besides killing...and plundering...and drinking...and fecking. If he had to finger a bot, so be it!

"How ye doin', lad?" he asked the machine - about the same time Moze started giggling like she was very much in love.

Zane knew that sound well - and figured he would grow even more acquainted with hearing it from that specific lass, given how she was all but fawning over the muscular siren.

"Awaiting to regain function," responded FL4K in monotonous contrast.

"So, impatient are ye?"

"To resume my hunt, yes." the beastbot hummed, rotating his head to regard the skag snarfing and bucking while he dreamed. "With your assistance, I will be able to kill to the full extent of my physical abilities."

"S'at a vote of confidence I hear?"

"Affirmative."

Giving the bot a pat on his cold, steel shoulder, the operative chewed on his lip for a moment before he tilted his head, inspecting further damages.

Zane found them, squinting at a particular component situated near the taped-off wires. Could smell that telltale scent of burnt metal and ozone that bristled his mustache, however much he admittedly liked the smell. Was better when he'd fried something that wasn't integrated into a companion.

"Sorry to say, me fav bucket o' bolts, but ye also got a servo that's shot - literally," conveyed the silver-haired agent with a shrug. "Guessin' I can scavenge somethin' to substitute it from one of me extra Hyperion rifles. Can't say for sure but I'm thinkin' I'll find somethin' suitable 'til we get back to Sanctuary. Won't know 'til I gut 'em. Not sure how long ya figured this would take but it might be a minute."

Performing a calculating hum, the AI responded flatly: "So long as you have the stamina required to do as you say, I accept."

"Oi, almost sounded like an old joke," chuckled Zane, regarding the bot for a moment. About that time, he caught sight of the siren flexing one impressive arm and allowing the gunner to admire its unique, bright scrollwork.

Made him smile, it did. That little gathering of theirs seemed like the most homey one he'd ever found himself in. Was cute, really. Kinda welcoming.

And incomplete without a line of weapons laid out, which he'd promptly proceeded to arrange, settling back on his arse in the sand while thumbing through his inventory. The stats of his arsenal were simple enough to see on that glowing ECHO screen, his cybernetic implant maintaining a scan over their dark surroundings.

Former experience and a bit of analysis had Zane recalling two SMGs and one rifle, all of Hyperion origin, to his digital holster. He figured, of any, those were the most promising. If necessary, he was sure that one of the flirting girls would volunteer one of their firearms toward the cause, if needed. If not, and FL4K insisted, they could always forego their latest mission and backtrack to a fast travel station. Surely something on Sanctuary had what they needed. If not, the operative had extensive resources that provided everything his tech required and then some.

Keeping mostly to himself, the operative went about methodically dissecting the weapon assemblies. Studied them visibly before determining the likely location of what he searched for based on their functions. FL4K remained seated beside him, keenly observing, while Moze and Amara talked quietly amongst themselves. About what, Zane wasn't particularly listening to.

By the way Moze and Amara were still smiling and joking with one another, Zane wondered if he should give them more privacy. Kinda felt like he was invading some sorta display of young love. Figured maybe he should suggest FL4K and himself stay in another shack that night, though he'd likely have to tastefully explain _why _to the oblivious AI. Just felt like the right thing to do if the two gals were as into each other as they appeared to be.

Clearly it wasn't Iron Bear the gunner wanted Amara to ride.

Why not let them have at it? Who knew when the universe was going to end or the Calypsos were otherwise going to kill them? Better to let the gals live in the moment. Scrape up whatever happiness they could amidst all the bullshite. Enjoy a little R&R, given how they all needed it.

God knew it was difficult enough to manage a moment of privacy in their team. Zane couldn't speak from a woman's perspective but he'd been their age forever ago and knew how frustrating it could be to get so hard-up. Was agitating enough at fifty-three, but then they probably didn't get as riled up as he did from all the fighting. Wasn't all that satisfying to quickly stroke one off in some bandit shitter, particularly one full of sub-par firearms. He would know. A few times, he'd gotten tired of running around with balls as blue as his outfit.

He would do that, Zane officially decided. Sleep elsewhere, that was - not beat his meat like it owed him money. That was yesterday - he was good for now. If something came of those two lasses having some one-on-one time, good on 'em. If not, fine too. Wasn't like he had anything to gain or lose from it. He slept like shite regardless.

For now, he had a job to do. He was doing it, tooling away at one weapon and then another when the first didn't live up to expectations. The series of servos he'd gutted from it had been too small, which was unacceptable. Providing they could fit into the available cavity in FL4K's upper arm, he could utilize one of a larger variety, assuming it was strong enough. Wasn't the most ideal scenario, given how imbalances in structural systems could lead to further damage or, at minimum, break at the same point of weakness and result in an identical malfunction.

That outcome wasn't what he was going for and wasn't what FL4K wanted - and fortunately, it wasn't much longer until Zane was rotating an adequately sized component before his cybernetic eye, performing a close inspection.

"Think we got ourselves a winner," he told the robot, manipulating the sensor on his neck to further zoom in on the device. Looked structurally sound and likely was, given the firearm had functioned before he had disassembled it. He couldn't tell the exact characteristics of it but the same could be said for the one that had been broken.

The operative didn't see, beyond his squinting focus, the women who were suddenly openly curious about his activities - or rather the role his implant played in it.

"Bet ye a pint I have better for ye in me stash back on Sanctuary," Zane was telling FL4K, handing the robot that small yet vital piece of loot for him to study. "For now, we'll make do with this an' fix ya good an' proper when we're back aboard. Gotta keep on it 'fore anything else takes some wear and tear."

"This is like some weird trust exercise for FL4K," Moze commented before shooting the operative a smart smirk. Seemed her mouth was still grinding down the meat she'd saved from their meal. "That tech in your head help with that, old man?"

Zane looked to that soldier before glancing over at Amara who had removed a single boot and was knocking cupfuls of sand out of it for the hundredth time that day.

"What, this?" he responded, ears having remained open despite this focus on the task at hand. "Cybernetic optical implant," he answered, matter-of-factly. "Wouldn't see half as well without it."

The soldier tilted her head at him, appearing to almost ponder his appearance absently but with no small degree of curiosity before asking, "Why's it green now?"

Zane blinked again before explaining its current discrepancy from its usual yellow. "'S in night mode."

Moze _ahhed_ before adding: "Must do other tricks, knowing you."

"Aye _eye_," agreed the operative mirthfully, the differences barely discernible in his accent - which had to be why no one else laughed, damnit. Golden opportunity wasted. "Ye got that right. Clever lil' gizmo does all sortsa nifty tricks fer me. It connects directly to me digitech. Helps me clone see where I'm lookin' an' vice versa. Same with me drone. I can use it for thermal scans and zoomin' in on things, 'cept that ain't perfect. Can cause one heck of a headache if I don't close me real eye."

"So do you _have_ an eye under there?" Amara pitched in, boarding the intrigue train.

"Naw. Lost it when I was a wee lad. Had a brother who burned it outta me. Should tell ya 'nough 'bout our family relations. Most Flynts are major shiteheads an' he was probably the biggest. Was one heck of a pyromaniac, not that I can blame him, but he didn't like sharin' unless it meant teachin' me a lesson."

"But lemme tell ya," Zane added after a moment of their uncomfortable silence, seeing the disturbance on both women's faces, "losin' an eye ain't all it's cracked up to be, in case I gotta tell ya." Then he flashed a smile, leaning back as he remembered the days. "I was blind as shite 'til I could afford to do somethin' 'bout it. Back in me day, augmentations weren't cheap!

"Old as I am," he continued, "I never quite got 'round to fixin' it. Got used to it instead. Gives me extra character - just what I need!"

And that was that as far as he cared to comment on _that_ certain subject. Was easy enough to focus on boasting about the tech he so proudly sported as a part of him.

Seemed like Amara caught onto the segue he offered to another topic but still tested a similar subject, driven by that window of opportunity Moze had made.

"The piece in your ear, what about that?"

Much less personal explanation, that one. Had Zane tapping at it with one upped thumb.

"Installed that meself. It ain't permanent but ain't comin' out unless I make it. Comes in real handy, 'cause it lets me access ECHO without holdin' the damn thing. Real nice 'cause it keeps both hands open fer other activities."

Like cleaning guns and working on robots, who remained patiently waiting for him to finish.

And then there was Moze, who scrunched up her face, causing Amara to laugh when she said, "Gross, Zane."

"_Ha_! I don't mean it like that, ye perv!" retorted the older man with a pot-meets-kettle laugh. "_Geez_, ye were the ones askin' all the questions, but now that ye mentioned it, I'd say that's an added bonus.

"Anyway, that ain't all it does," Zane continued to explain. "Double duties as a mic that me digitech receives verbal commands from, and it does good at beepin' at me so I can keep track of recharge rates and that sorta thing. I can also use touch controls to redirect me gizmos' targets and recall 'em. Lil' more convenient than usin' me hand module but not as tactilely pleasin'."

Also made the tech available to him in case some sonoabitch knocked the digistructor off of him, but Zane figured that was implied. He was getting long-winded and worse, distracted from the task quite literally at hand. FL4K hadn't expressed anything to the effect but then the AI didn't say much not pertaining to death or his pets.

Both women across the fire from them seemed placated enough, which was fine by Zane. Allowed him to turn and dictate his next course of action, which would be to wire the servo and ensure the rotary actuator had sufficient insertion in its location before performing a trial run and ensuring the positional feedback agreed with its user.

Seemed easy. Was just a matter of splicing a few more wires as he had before. Gave him a chance to triple check the integrity of the other bits and make sure everything outwardly appeared secure. To him, nothing seemed out of order, but he couldn't very well be the judge of that, even if his eye patch could also scan electrical systems.

"Should be good to go," Zane announced, stroking the white hair of his chin while regarding the wanderer and performing one last metal checklist. "Unless ye need that casing on, ye can give it a whirl. Can't see any reason fer it 'cept protection. Either way, I ain't worried 'bout me workmanship any - just the substitution."

"We shall see," responded the AI, tone void of any anticipation that would have been exhibited by a human - like Zane, who was eagerly tapping his thigh in waiting.

There was a twitch of motion as FL4K re-engaged the full extent of his systems and, after a moment, demonstrated that he had indeed recovered the usage of the afflicted digits, repeatedly flexing and extending them a series of times before nodding in affirmation.

"Splendid, operative," the robot reported. "While my sensors indicate a need for re-calibration due to the new scavenged components, your repairs have been a success . It is my determination, based on what I understand of human social construct, to offer a means of offering a favor in return for your assistance."

_That_ was unexpected, but then something about the robot and his oddities always threw them for a loop somehow.

"_Ah, _think nothin' of it, lad," waved Zane dismissively. "Glad to be of service, honestly. Fixin' the likes o' that gets me own gears goin'."

Upon second thought, he realized the near-missed opportunity for an ego feeding. How could that be?

"Actually," Zane reconsidered with a mustached smirk, "Ye can thank me by admittin' I'm a handsome lad. Y'know, one fer the road."

"You are a prime example of refined masculine resplendence superseded only by your technological finesse," responded FL4K without hesitation, resulting in the operative blinking and then breaking into a thoroughly pleased mustachioed grin.

"I _like _that!" Zane guffawed with impressive enthuse, finger gunning both hands at the robot like y_ou-the-man_ when he evidently wasn't. "Hot damn, Robo-Boyo, where's ye bed? Take me to it!"

Turns out there was no bed.

It made Zane and his back sad.


	7. Underhanded [Drinking with B-Team Aboard Sanctuary]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zane does some drinking, reflecting and stuff (Amara is stuff).
> 
> Hope everyone who celebrated the holiday had a good one!

Another night, another day - not that either really had relevance in outer space. For all the times Sanctuary III had shuddered its way through warp speed, it really hadn't ended up much of anywhere.

Seemed like the vessel had rattled its way through hyperspace twice already that day. Made Zane's hobbies a little difficult to perform with the unexpected onsets.

Almost fecked up him precisely situating a microchip_ again_, the last time it happened. He'd been quick enough to jerk back his hands and tool from the motherboard he had been altering - then promptly slapped with his unoccupied hand to catch the wrenches intent on rattling themselves off his makeshift workbench.

Grumbling, Zane had opened the focused shut of his good eye, his augmented left having been hyperfocused on his task, and furrowed his brows in mild irritation as the quakes died down around him.

"Would someone make up their everlovin' mind already?" he muttered, rolling his eye heavenward.

Surely Zane couldn't be the only one perturbed by the lack of announcement. Still, he sighed as he dialed back the zoom on his eye patch and restored its normal functions, figuring he would resume his repairs when there were fewer interruptions.

"Sorry, me good boyo," he offered as an apology to the dismantled sentinel. "Gonna hafta patch ye up when Command makes its mind up. Ain't any point in doin' more harm than good to ye."

As it was, the vault hunters had been kept so busy by random activities that he'd hardly had the time to plug away at his projects. Seems Ava was always sending them out to save some cluster of nobodies or collect eridium or exterminate pests in a community they had some alliance with. Was always some such nonsense like that.

Even Sir Hammerlock had harped on them to hunt down some massive critter that basically looked like an earthworm on methamphetamines. Had a whole lotta spikes and pinchers that spewed electricity - like everything else these days. The operative swore his toes were still tingling from the energy that had sent their entire team erratically skipping and dancing before they had gunned it to death.

Unfortunately, nothing since had really been engaging. Just the same old, same old. Zane found it boring, as he rather missed getting sucker-punched by flying Maliwan mulligans or unexpectedly bitch-slapped by an Eridian guardian. And being knocked into the air by a teleporting anointed arsehole always got his spirits quite literally _up._

Why the feck his bruises had time to heal is what he wanted to know. Given how pasty his handsome self was, contusions lasted for a long damn time, so he _knew _their team hadn't been working their arses off.

Made him antsy was what it did, which was never good. Also made him drink too much, if _that's_ what he felt like blaming it on - but it sure helped entertain him. Meant he woke up with a splitting headache more often than he cared to. And that he was more likely than normal to practice target shooting in Moxxi's joint than the rinky-dink setup Marcus had. Zane figured he needed to spice up that shooting range with some holographic mayhem the next time he was up to his wrists in AI chips. Really make it worth anyone's time - particularly his own.

Leaning back in his seat, the operative scratched at the back of his disheveled hair. Soon, he'd need a quality trim. Helped him maintain his dashing good looks. Meant he'd need to get his arse away from Sanctuary. Enjoy a change in scenery. And preferably do it with a wee bit of lovely siren company, if Amara was willing.

What he wouldn't have given for her company right then and there. As it was, he'd been pining for her. Part of him occupying himself with his drones had been him refraining from lusting over the siren.

Whoever suggested a man's sex drive tanked after fifty was a filthy feckin' liar. Zane could only complain when he _wasn't_ getting any, and even then he had methods of keeping himself generally sane.

Except, his having a partner exacerbated his libido. That could drive him downright crazy - as if he wasn't bad enough on a good day. He had joked about Mr. Chew hitting puberty but knew good and well that _he_ was the horny bastard. Had been a trait that had tormented him since he'd started sprouting hair in all places.

Zane appeared composed by design but damned if it took every ounce of discipline he had not to stare at Amara's shapely hips and ass when they were on missions. Or straight-up pound on her door so he could pound her, sometimes against said door. It was a shame, really, that he couldn't always satisfy those urges.

His reasons were twofold: the two of them didn't necessarily want their fraternizing discovered and, probably worse, were his own limitations. Keeping one's composure was key in their little game. Few women appreciated having a man pant after them or hump their legs. Amara was clearly one who appreciated a challenge, and though she'd succeeded at seducing him, that thrill of the chase was best ongoing.

She tended to make it quite easy, given that she didn't actively try to tempt him. Responsible woman she was, she maintained a professional distance when warranted.

Was why Zane mentally tallied the number of times he initiated. Too many and he might risk coming across as desperate - which he wasn't. His sexual appetite was strong but he didn't need Amara confusing that for some sign of weakness. Didn't want her thinking he _needed_ her, though he knew she'd like the power kick, same as any other. Didn't mean he wanted to put himself at a disadvantage or hand her his severed testicles in an ice bucket. _He_ still owned them. She didn't.

The second women thought they had a man around their pinky, they tended to lose interest and respect. Took things for granted. Or worse - they started thinking they could get more from it. That they could demand things get more serious. Bad words like _commitment_ tended to arise, which inevitably resulted in red lights and a stop sign striking his genitals.

Zane couldn't quite tell what Amara wanted, whether she understood it herself or not. She was, for all the chaos of her ever-changing abilities and adventures, quite a stable woman. Very self-assured and sure-footed in matters that didn't pertain to sexual affairs. But she was also an aspiring vault hunter. She had her wits about her and ambitions - both of which he was proactively involved in but was by no means a necessity.

He couldn't do more than be there and back her, just as he had since their first encounter and as he still intended to do. That was, when the time called for it - which certainly wasn't now, and wouldn't be, when they were all wasting time and biting at the bit for some _real_ mission.

With too much time on his hands and no discernible end in sight, Zane planned to be on his way to get a drink - what else? - when Brick's massive fist practically dented his door and half startled the shite out of him.

"Biggun Boyo!" he laughed upon seeing the hulking man whose physical likeness he'd only seen on his middle brother. "When did yer beefy arse come aboard? 'S good to see all o' ya!"

The group Brick frequented was a nice sight as always, and Zane hadn't even known who all to expect as he backtracked into his quarters to snatch his jacket from the seat it had been draped across. He shrugged it on and flipped up the collar, winking to the behemoth of a man watching him.

Was hard for Zane _not_ to think of the fun they'd last had, back when the operative had rather shamelessly offered himself as a weight for the brawler's workout routine. Swooning, he had quite literally hung off Brick's massive arm while it had effortlessly lifted him, using him as a substitute for actual weights. _Might_ have reminded Zane of the times he had allowed himself to be manhandled by similarly muscular lovers throughout his past. Probably his frisky giggles had given him away, but damn, the older man had thoroughly enjoyed himself, not that he had actually provided anything but Brick's ego a thorough workout.

"Heavens knows, the more layers I pair with me pints, the safer it is! Plus, can't have me guns puttin' yers to shame, can we?" asked Zane with a flex of his arms.

Brick spat a baritone laugh. "Whatever you say, twiggy."

Turns out Sanctuary was about five vault hunters heavier than it had been the last time Zane had paid much attention. The Pandoran-stationed posse had fast traveled there not long before he'd been loudly summoned to join them. And it hadn't taken long for the operative to recognize Axton, the Dahl soldier, and stout, stalky Salvador occupying the green table furthest from his room, alongside the blonde and bunny-eared Tina.

"Come to the winnin' table," Brick offered, gesturing to the feathered and dreadlocked hunter who was happily pointing to all the beverages they had already amassed. "Those _losers_ over there are eating _food_. Can ya believe it! Nah, us _real _men are chuggin' our supper tonight!"

Brick wasn't much of a drinker, truth be told, but Zane and the sniper tended to get positively shite-faced together.

"I'd say ye've had enough for the lot've us," complimented Zane anyway, giving one of those ham hock arms a hefty clap and, as expected, finding it harder than eridium. "An' I'll take ye on. Could go for a buzz meself."

"Damn right! See, he _never_ lets us down unlike _those_ losers," Mordecai threw at the others, blowing them a wet raspberry. Childish, really, but what else were they? "See, I told ya he'd hang with us."

Placing a theatrical hand to his chest, Zane fluttered his lashes. "Aw, been fightin' over me charmin' self, have ye? Drinks must be on you then? Who brought the Vaseline?"

Truth be told, the operative felt kinda bad about drinking with Mordecai sometimes. He was one hell of a negative influence on the sniper, given the younger man's former struggles with overconsumption. Fortunately, his goateed boyo freely acknowledged it for the alcoholism it was.

As for Zane? Nope. He wasn't into labels. He couldn't deny that he spent more time than the average Joe utterly shite-faced and always tried to carry some potent alcohol wherever he went, but he felt he damn well earned it.

Mordecai was different, and likely wiser for it, and actually felt he'd had a problem. Had allowed alcohol to ruin relationships or some such. From what Zane had gleaned, the veteran vault hunter had taken Tina under his wing, _ha_, and become a form of adoptive parent to her, alongside Brick. Had used that strong sense of responsibility to stop imbibing himself blind and deaf - which was one reason to _never _have kids, in Zane's humble opinion, but he digressed. Was far too late for that!

Mordecai did Mordecai. Had his own unique thing going like all the other vault hunters did for themselves. Sure, the hunter had invited the older man to Rakkaholics Anonymous what, twice now? Disinterested and virtually impossible to offend, Zane hadn't bothered keeping count. As it was, he was trying to get shite-faced enough for that number to exceed his mental capacity, which was a tall order. But one he could reach with many more taller drinks.

As for Tiny Tina, who didn't so much live up - or down? - to her namesake anymore, she was a weird one. Even for Zane, the lass seemed positive _rambling. _Made _him_ and his accent seemed coherent, which said a lot. The operative would be pressed to admit that he didn't quite understand the youth in the slightest. All he knew was that she liked big booms and pizza - to which he could relate, don't get him wrong, but something about her mannerisms tended to overload _him_ and that was feckin' crazy.

For Zane, it was a relief to see Tina with the other gathering of vault hunters. He liked the girl plenty but _goddamn_, the two of them participating in the same conversation could prove dangerous, particularly with intoxication involved. He gave himself enough of a headache when he got too rambunctious and the bombmaker spouted shite he couldn't even understand sometimes. She spoke in bellowing, insane riddles that he could barely translate, in effect giving him a taste of his own medicine.

Amara, in all her siren glory, was hard to miss among the food-wielding group. Shame that was, but Zane wasn't particularly hungry. And she looked just as gorgeous from a distance, not that his visible eye lingered or treated her any differently than the others. He had his cool to keep, and the seat Mordecai and Brick had left clear for him was facing the opposite direction from her. One less potential distraction, as it is were.

Smooth operator Zane was, he slid his way into the worn leather bench and kicked back, graciously accepting a bottle in one gloved hand.

Didn't cross the operative's mind to even remotely consider the beverages he was only just beginning to consume. He only knew the bottles were of alcohol, and strong varieties of that. Some onlookers would undoubtedly consider _that _a sign of abusive behavior, but Zane preferred to regard himself as happy-go-lucky rather than reckless.

No one among them complained. Instead, the three of them talked shite. Shared stories. They rolled out of him like a river downhill. Memories of how he got caught with his pants down when screwing the wife of Redazian royalty - and strategically omitted how he'd seduced and bent the lord over. About how he'd once managed to lock himself in a closet and had to shoot his way through the floor to escape. All dumb shit he'd done - and thankfully learned from - or just hadn't repeated again.

"And aye," Zane told them at the end, "I sure have tied a target to bullet train tracks an' twirled me 'stache while it plowed through 'im. Them contracts have very particular parameters, I tell ye. Might've been one of the two reasons the lass hired me!"

"And what're those?" urged Brick, always hunched behind his massive fists like a kid gnawing in anticipation.

Zane proudly fingered one end of his silver mustache for good measure, adding the proper effect.

"One, 'cause I'm handsome as hell, and two, 'cause I'm handsome as hell!"

If anyone had expected the other outnumbering table to dominate the conversation in the room, they'd be sorely mistaken. At times, the others likely couldn't hear amongst themselves in their comparatively quiet conversations.

The trio's tipsy talks only escalated when they debated the nuances of sniping - which Brick couldn't really get in on. Wasn't the type. Had more in common with Amara, which was another reason she should have been seated next to him. Then maybe Zane could have teased the hints of bare skin on her thighs. Maybe he could have snuck an eyeful if she'd been in the range of his optical augmentation.

A man could dream - except when Mordecai was challenging him.

"I've seen you shoot. You're good, grandpa, but that eye patch is cheating."

"Bullshite!" the Pandoran-Irishman brayed, nearly sloshing his booze. He _loved _a good laugh. _"You wish!_ Has lots of nifty bonuses but it doesn't account for me weapon handlin'. S'all in the muscle memory, budgie banger. I ain't gone this long bein' clumsy. Ye know what, next time we're planetside together, I'm gonna disconnect it an' kick yer arse single-eyedidly!"

Then, after a swig, Zane tilted the mouth of his bottle toward the other men and added: "Don't forget, kids, I did everything the hard way 'fore I got wealthy. Half this shite didn't exist when I started. Y'know, in the stone age."

Mordecai flapped a yammering hand puppet at him, no doubt rolling his concealed eyes. "Gonna have to confiscate it from ya, geezer. Can't have ya turning the light off - not that I won't win regardless. It comes off, right, or should I bring some duct tape?"

"Sure does," the operative nodded, leaning back on his bench again. The two of them didn't need to continue banging their hands on the table and keep endangering their drinks. Hard to imbibe them then. "Not gonna demonstrate now but ye'll see, lad. Ain't pretty but can't have ye pissin' yer pretty lil' panties all o'er me favorite seat."

As it often did between men, everything became some form of competition. Wasn't long until the three of them slapped their shield modules on the table and compared specs. The operative knew he had them beat.

"Damn, 's like playin' poker with ye! Kickin' yer arses again! Bend over an' take it, lads!"

"_Hey_," retorted the hunter, jabbing an accusing finger at him. "We aren't all made of money."

"Fo sho, dude," Brick helpfully added.

"Don't be jelly, baby. Get on this here table an' start dancin'. Ye ain't that pretty but I'll be yer pity sugar daddy!"

From across the room, an immediate reaction: a series of "Don'ts!" and every conceivable variety of it sounded - except Salvador, who hooted and raised a dollar in one hairy-knuckled hand. Leaning out of his seat, Zane pumped a fist at the Pandoran before polishing off yet another bottle, marking his fifth. But who was counting?

Everything was warm and fuzzy, just how he liked it.

Felt really nice being able to kick back with a group that wasn't aiming at the back of his head - or the sides or even the front for that matter. Hell, with how rare that was, why wouldn't he make the most of it? Zane was nothing if not an opportunist.

Wasn't like back when he and Mordecai had met up at the Acropolis and had some quality bonding time in front of a stage of scantily clad - and then totally naked - ladies.

Zane happened to have _that_ establishment tucked away in his fast travel database, along with many others like it. What better way to drink, particularly during his younger days, than tip back a pint to pairs of jiggling tittles?

Or other parts, for that matter, but Mordecai wasn't into more _elongated_ forms of anatomy, shame that was. Not that Zane had any particular reason for wanting the sniper to be, even if they shamelessly flirted with one another. Or maybe it was just him who initiated it. Okay, it was nearly always him, but it was all in good fun and amusing to see Mordecai's laughing face scrunch up in peculiarity.

Like the last time they'd done _this _together, in the same exact place. They had gotten so tipsy, Mordecai had managed to pluck at the operative's mind so much, he'd managed to determine a lapse in the older man's social currentness. The sniper and the buzz he'd had going had assigned it his purpose to educate Zane on the "bro hug" - locking hands between a bump of their chests. Which had somehow evolved into them play humping each other and slapping ass from side to side.

Wasn't like they'd started their friendship teasing like that. Far from it. Carefree as Zane came across, he didn't intend to offend anyone he didn't hate. Instead, he tended to stifle his flirtatious nature until he was damn sure the target of his strange affections wouldn't adversely react to it. Honestly, he refrained from those extremes with all but his closest chums. Even for them, it had taken some time for them to progress to this.

Saved Zane a donnybrook or two to be so considerate, no doubt. While this region of the galaxy was quite accepting of a spectrum of sexualities, many still were not. He couldn't so easily flaunt his pansexuality on a silver platter elsewhere, though he never claimed to be one way or another. Mordecai was heterosexual, not that he was _remotely_ the operative's type, but he still entertained what he knew to be harmless and fun flirting.

Though there were exceptions, most people tended to like receiving that kind of flattering attention, even if Mordecai likely didn't find Zane particularly attractive.

Zane wasn't quite sure how the refugees on board managed to still take him as seriously as they did, though they hadn't _all _witnessed that drunken display of Mordecai dry riding his arse. Not everyone was blessed enough to see his hot posterior on submissive display like that, clothed as it had been.

Zane was pretty sure someone took pictures, even if they still managed to respect him when he passed them aboard Sanctuary, always spewing some "Vault hunter!" bravado. Was probably from all the blood the operative often had splattered on him when returning from missions. Tended to mean business for civvie folk.

His shameless flirting with his male companions didn't really _discourage _what he figured was the common interpretation of him, and that was that he was flaming gay. Wasn't that Zane minded any, being the cheery - and admittedly flamboyant - lad he was. Just meant more men than women tried to work an angle on him at Moxxxi's. Couldn't say he blamed them, handsome and charismatic as he was, and he even admired the two fellas who had put a hand on his thigh when he'd been three sheets to the wind while occupying one of the barstools. Them too, for that matter. Zane could never misidentify one's use of liquid courage.

Shame for them and their advances that Zane wasn't as impulsive as he used to be. He'd had many a fling in such a boozy establishment.

Always made for an interesting situation to be so boldly hit on, even if the attraction wasn't mutual. Zane could hand it to the lads - just not as they intended. He liked bold people and being propositioned was flattering, even if it tended to make him feel like he had to feck the shite outta Amara in the commons to prove he had a taste for women too. But then who deserved convincing? He had nothing to prove just because they misinterpreted his dashing looks, jovial disposition, and stunning refinement.

Though Zane could see the mental image clear now of him splaying Amara across the green casino table, in all her nude and curvaceous glory, and pressing the blunt tip of his erection where it very much belonged, announcing to the other vault hunters:

_"Friends, Crimson Raider family...we're all gathered here today to witness me feckin' the _everlovin' shite_ outta this beautiful siren…"_

Chuckling to himself and feeling that familiar heat in his cheeks, Zane leaned in to tip a bottle into Mordecai's glass, and Brick's, then his own before setting the empty bottle aside - then reached for another to pour himself a double. He trusted the other boyos to pass him their liquor if they felt like calling it quits. As for him, he was _nowhere _near done yet. Probably wouldn't be 'til whoever was manning the damn ship made up their feckin' minds.

Seemed Mordecai had women on the mind - _other _ones than Zane's, fortunately. Specifically, the ones they'd flung cash at back at the Acropolis, the sniper still fondly recalling the memories.

Zane couldn't blame him. They'd had a hell of a time 'til things inevitably went to shite.

"Man," started the hunter in that gritty voice of his, "We going back to the Acropolis anytime soon? I got some more loot money burning in my pockets."

"'S'at so?" commented the operative, suddenly feeling like he had to lay low. Of course he didn't, depending on how he chose how to address that particular situation - and that was assuming Amara was yonder, listening in on them.

From what he could hear, the other cluster of vault hunters was enjoying their own comparatively bland conversations.

"Not sure, honestly," Zane answered with a flippant shrug. "Not the kinda thing I plan, honestly. S'pose we'd have company, give how ye went an' blabbered on me to me teammates. Worse things than invitin' me favorite lasses. Always enjoy meself a lil' gal on gal action!"

Yeah, Mordecai had shot him in the foot with that one, not that it had mattered so much given that their outing had been a couple of months prior to Amara pouncing him. Zane didn't think the siren had been angry with him because of jealousy or anything - more because he'd risked his neck over a form of entertainment she found ridiculous.

It hadn't been Mordecai's best discretion when the seasoned vault hunter had proudly told everyone about their shenanigans at the gentlemen's club. For as tight-lipped as Zane preferred to be on the subject, the hunter found it fecking _hilarious _how an assassin had attempted to shank Zane when he'd been nose-deep in a drink - until his digiclone blew his brains across the stage, sending the patrons and security in a frenzy. As one could imagine, it had made their ducking out and evading the authorities rather entertaining but nothing either Crimson Raider hadn't done before.

Again, it wasn't like he and Amara had been screwing back then but she _still _hadn't been as amused as Mordecai had been. Zane, as always, had brushed off the assassination attempt and instead been mildly irritated with having his fun interrupted. After all, how often did he get to throw his money at naked, dancing bodies? Naturally his response - or rather lack of one deemed appropriate but the more serious siren - had made her eyes roll themselves into the orbit of the next planetary system.

He and Mordecai had even encountered Amara immediately after returning to Sanctuary and could have gotten off scot-free had Mordecai not opened his yap. In seeing the two men staggering and trying to use the plastered other for support, she'd admittedly assumed they'd gotten hammered at Moxxxi's.

Then again, Amara _had_ stopped to ask what shades of lipstick they had smeared all over each other. Both men had giggled like sissies and proceeded to trip over each other down the hallway.

Scary to think what she'd do to him _now_ \- or wouldn't. Zane didn't know what was worse. What he did know was that a trip to a strip club probably wasn't in the cards for him anytime soon - unless, that was, Amara was willing to partake in the festivities herself and let him treat her to all the female attention. He'd be more than happy to sit back and watch that.

Mordecai agreed with that concept but still looked at Zane with disbelief in his eyes as the operative said: "For now, I s'pose I should jus' lay low. Mind meself for a change."

The hunter didn't know what was more disturbing: the older man being more passive or him rejecting _anything _thrill-seeking.

"What's this I'm hearing? Zane, are you...are you _refusing_ me?"

"No, no, _no_!" responded the operative, quickly reaching to grasp the sniper's hand in his, earning a loud bark of a laugh from Brick. He petted the other man affectionately, cooing at him. "'Course not, me precious _Boo-Boo! _You _know_ I love you."

"It's just," continued Zane, slowly and _painfully _drawing his touch away from his beloved, choosing his words with care, "I get meself in enough trouble without leavin' this blasted ship. Me teammates _love_ gettin' on me arse from it. I'll tell ye what - let's go to me quarters. We'll have our own lil' club. I'll provide the booty _an' _the dollars. Me chest is a lil' flat but I give a _mean_ lapdance. Brick here can be the bouncer."

Grinning ear to ear, Mordecai grabbed a bottle and held it to the operative, who clinked it in a cheers. Brick joined them, shaking his head on that ham hock neck he had.

"Don't get you bros, but whatever!"

"_Bah! _Who does?" brayed Zane into his drink.

After taking his own swig, Mordecai set the silver-haired man in his curious sights. "That another job of yours?"

"Ye know it!"

"Damn," the hunter huffed, looking discouraged. "Guess that means I gotta find another wingman 'til ya stop being a sissy."

"Shouldn't be hard for ye, seein' as yer a birdman. Maybe ye wouldn't need one if ye cleaned up yer mug an' spiffed up. See, lasses _love _a sharp-dressed man."

If Zane's popularity among them hadn't been a clear indication.

"And one who reminds them of their dad, apparently!" chipped Mordecai with a laugh, earning Zane's snort and a 'what-can-ya-do' shrug. Then, to Brick the hunter said, "Swear I've never seen a single guy turn that many chicks! Whatever it is, they flock to him. Some were even fighting over his lap. Wasn't fair, man!"

"S'all in the charm, boyo!" exclaimed Zane like it was the most vital revelation throughout the universe. "Give 'em respect, shoot 'em a proper smile an' don't leer at 'em, 'cause they're gettin' plenty o' that as-is. Big stacks o' crisp cash make it more invitin'! Gotta help 'em pay the bills an' for bein' nice enough to take their clothes off! 'S a hard days work - get me drift?"

Zane went on, swirling his drink fondly. "Been to enough of them clubs to know the proper etiquette, boyo - though I gotta admit, that place was trashier than my usual haunts," he admitted. "Lot prettier lasses at the exclusive ones. An' ye can't o'erlook the fact that half prob'ly figured I'm gay as a feckin' rainbow since I'm so damn handsome an' behaved."

"Wonder where they'd get that idea," said Mordecai to Brick before the two of them looked at the third man and started laughing, to which Zane blew them a lash-fluttering kiss.

Collecting themselves, their tipsy little table got back to business. Zane popped another cap off a pint and took a long drag from it before wiping his smirking lips.

"Be glad, boyos. Ye got the better deal. Some days, I'd trade me charm an' me gear fer a younger body. See, crazy shite me team gets up to, I gotta have the best tech like that there," he paused, indicating the shields still on display, "'cause me age ain't it. Ain't gonna bounce back from a bullet landin' like me fresher cohorts. Bloody shame, too, but I used up me prime years with the best of 'em."

And damned if Zane didn't mean every word of it. Brick had his scars and no doubt Mordecai had quite the collection too, even attacking from a distance as he preferred to. There wasn't an unblemished vault hunter left. Even Amara had slashes healed over on her visage.

Thinking about her pretty face wasn't exactly the operative's best plan of action ever. He tended to get a bit amorous when he was deep in the bottle and knew he was well down the path to being shite-faced already. Unless he wanted the others to scrape him off the table or prevent _himself_ from dancing and stripping clothing, Zane knew he needed to hit the brakes hard and soon.

Was difficult, however, with such chummy company - though he more strongly craved that of a woman with a preference for purple.

Funny for Zane to think he had assumed Amara'd had eyes for the former DAHL commando. Not like he could've blamed her if she had. Hell, maybe _he_ had been projecting his attraction to the square-jawed soldier. Fun-loving and turret-wielding, Axton was his kinda lad. Had the operative not felt like he'd have intercepted Amara's interest, he might have had a go at him.

Fortunately, the Partalian siren had proven him wrong - and seemed to be gearing up to remind him of that...if the wandering of one ghostly hand suddenly brushing at his lap had something to suggest.

_What._

There wasn't much that caught the operative with his pants-down but that certainly qualified: the unexpected appearance of one mysterious hand pressing right where he wanted her - and hadn't expected to have right then and there, or _anywhere_ near it.

Thank god for his poker face - or at least his jovial smirking version of it. Seemed Amara had a way or two of catching him off-guard and one _hell_ of a way to distract him from drinking. Zane wondered if she had been keeping tabs on him all along, though it wasn't like she could see him in his positions. Chances were, she could judge his lack of sobriety from the slurring of his voice.

All Zane knew for sure was that, out of nowhere, there were fingers teasing through his pants. Warm and familiar, they silently glided up his thigh to trace at his zipper, pausing only to palm over the weight of his cock until it pressed up against his inseam. Never took much to make the lad friendly, after all, and no one present was as familiar with that fact as Amara.

The others thought nothing of it when Zane tipped back a bottle for a swig, using that momentary distraction to justify clearing his throat. That was his way of letting Amara know that he was onto her game, not that her cupping and caressing hand was anything to be mistaken. Made him wonder if she could feel with those magical extensions. As it was, he was surprised - and grateful _\- _for how tangible they were.

That whole situation was kinky as hell and he liked it - yet another benefit of pairing up with a woman gifted with such unique talents. As for the risk of getting caught, he couldn't quite give a feck…at least not when her smooth hand was patiently working open his pants. She pressed open his belt buckle, forcing him to mask its _click_ with a concealing cough.

To his ears, each tooth of his zipper had a loud release, prolonged by how slowly Amara drew the metal down. And he was sucking his stomach in the entire while, giving her more room to work.

Those celestial hands of hers were _warm_, Zane learned, as she withdrew him from his leather confines and granted him that much-appreciated relief. It had taken her no time to get him fully hard, and being seated with the other men oblivious to how he'd gone silent did nothing to deter him reaching full mast.

Zane did his best to join the others in their breaking into hearty laughter. Did his best to feign interest, even as the impossible pleasantness of Amara's conjured hand gripped him tightly before stroking him from thick base to sensitive tip.

God, how that frictionless heat of her hand made _everything _in him want to lay his head back, close his eye, and part his lips in enjoyment. He wanted to bask in it. Instead, all he could do was let his legs open wider, resisting his urge to thrust into that pleasurable attention.

The operative hoped to god the ruddy flush branding his pronounced cheekbones would be mistaken for all the booze he'd drank. Surely some smartarse among them would have commented if they'd remotely suspected what was ongoing. They practically lived for that, after all.

But no one did. Instead, the Zane forced down a tight swallow against the concealment of his high-necked jacket. He ached as that hand possessively grasped him by the base before stroking firmly up and over its head, swirling sensually in his slick drip. At the same time, he could feel another extension manifest in his pants, as clever as that was, and cup his balls in a massaging palm, accentuating his pleasure.

Any more hands than that and no doubt someone would notice their glowing beneath the shadow of the table. At least Amara had enough foresight to think of that, and still the former hitman tilted his hips closer to the bottom of that concealing surface, shivering as sensitive tip bumped along the underside of it.

He'd never imagined leaving a smear of his precome in the _commons, _for feckssake, but here he was, so intensely aware of the siren chatting idly with others across the room.

Even Zane had to admit that he found it quite amusing how Amara could play him like a fiddle without even looking at him, not that he could claim to know what senses her unusual abilities granted her. Wasn't like men were a complex puzzle either. It was, however, unfair that he couldn't torment her in the same blissful way.

That hand kept working him, tightening where it most counted, caressing to spread the slippery precome it earned from its tireless efforts. He felt every inch she covered, back and forth, keeping him suspended in torment where he couldn't react to the pleasure or frustration that heated his nerves.

He wanted to get off. Didn't seem to matter that he was in the predicament he was in. He wanted _her_, and there was agitation in not being able to return or act upon her touches.

Inebriated as Zane didn't admit he was, he felt less than patient, and god, the way Amara was jerking him made his balls feel heavy.

Made him want to fist one gloved hand in her glorious hair and aggressively kiss her. Made him want to use his other to slap firmly at her tits and grope them, his mind eagerly feeding him the fantasy of her leaning over him, the muscles of one glowing arm moving as she gave him that firm-fisted handjob.

Feck, Zane wished he could visualize reality better. He didn't dare cast his blue eye down at the fist so wonderfully stroking him. Took the whole of his willpower to refrain from admiring that surprisingly feminine, long-nailed hand. Even the thought of those siren scrolls gracefully curled around Amara's conjured fingers had his abdomen tensing, the heat of his lust rushing deep.

Zane found himself thanking every possible deity that Amara hadn't pushed her limits and at least a single slender digit up his arse, or he would have collapsed forward onto the table and whimpered, grinding half his face into the surface. And _that_ would have been a tad too obvious. Proficient as he was at forging cover stories, he didn't think he could fake _that._

Knowing himself, Zane didn't dare think of that scenario and make his circumstances worse - not with how his cock was throbbing, dribbling into the coarse hair peeking through his parted zipper. The way Amara was squeezing his shaft and twisting upward made him want to prop his brow bone against the wall beside him and breathe shallowly - but that'd be too obvious, wouldn't it?

Instead, something temporarily snapped him out of it. Suddenly at an impasse of sorts, Mordecai and Brick are having a bit of a disagreement. Zane didn't know about what - had been more fixated on the hands that had been keeping a twisting pace around his hungry dick and rolling his testicles - but he couldn't allow them to start a donnybrook and knock over the table in the process.

With a massive erection out in the open, how was he supposed to convince them he wasn't getting off on their arguing, assuming those devilish siren hands vanished?

"Hey now, ye two," Zane interrupted, sounding more perturbed than he was while fisting the bottle at his fingertips. "Knock off the shite 'fore I kick both yer sorry arses."

As if _that_ was allowed. Not like it was in the Crimson Raider handbook, so he backed off a touch, but not before clearing his throat and running a thoughtful hand over his facial hair. "Don't even know what ye boyos are grousin' about," he said more offhandedly than admitted, true as it was.

It was then that FL4K's large form stepped into the operative's view, fixing him with narrowed optics. Was attention-grabbing as hell, and they'd spent a good number of seconds staring at each other, the _inconvenienced _man shifting a little deeper into his seat under such unwavering scrutiny.

"Zane," broached that deep, robotic voice. "My sensors have detected an elevation in your body temperature and pheromonal output. Is there-"

"Robo-boyo!" the operative enthusiastically and _loudly_ interrupted, and goddamn Amara, she burst into hearty laughter from where she sat across the room. It made Zane grit his teeth, silently damning his two companions. "No need to worry! I ain't dyin'! Nothin' to analyze here, sorry'te tell ye!"

"What's that about, Flynt?" asked Mordecai, curiosity peaked as he fixed the older man in his goggled gaze. "I mean, he isn't wrong, you're looking a little hot in the face."

"Naw, that's jus' me bein' sexy," replied the operative flippantly, flashing a crooked grin, "Jus' gettin' a wee bit randy is all. Y'know, booze an' fightin' gets to me."

Seemed it was time to leave - except his erection hadn't waned. Was probably the first time in Zane's history that he'd ever so forcefully cursed it - and Amara for a second time for giving it to him. He found himself doing what he did best and improvise on the spot under severe circumstances, and that was to shrug off his heavy jacket. Felt weird doing that there, as he was always clad in that familiar leather and covered in sleeves, but feeling half-exposed in his bodysuit and gray shirt was preferable to having his dick out on proud display.

At least it was more socially acceptable to be jacketless, even if it was preferable to have his cock out breathing than having the poor thing suffocate in his britches - which it was unfortunately destined to do.

Zane nearly grunted in agony while he shifted his coat into his lap and, under the guise of searching through his pockets, painfully forced his erection into its uncomfortable prison. Took every ounce of his restraint not to sweat and grimace at the discomfort of it.

"Gonna go walk it off, I s'pose," he uttered as a vague means of explanation, not that anyone questioned it. Given that he didn't think either Brick or the sniper batted for both teams, he figured they didn't necessarily want to be caught around a lad thinking with his cock, especially with how easy the operative was reputed to be.

Then, grumbling out an "Aye, already paid!" like he'd forgotten, Zane tried as nonchalantly as possible to cover his bulging crotch with his coat. Was easy enough by holding it by the back of its neckline, like he was trying to display and sell the damn thing.

"I'll see ye later, lads," Zane bid farewell with a nod and did his damndest to walk like he didn't have a wooden peg for a leg. And like he wasn't half as drunk as he was, because he was _pretty _sure the route he walked was relatively straight, even if he staggered into a chair along the way.

Surely with how speechless the other vault hunters seemed, they stared after the operative's abrupt departure until he was beyond eyesight. That blasted saboteur robot remained with them, likely distracted by another blunt observation.

Needless to say, Zane had never hobbled so far with a boner _or_ without a place to use it.

Would have shown Amara if he'd just hightailed it to his room and masturbated himself to completion, but where was the fun in that - assuming she followed through? And while he'd jerked it to audiences in the past, he wasn't _particularly_ interested in doing it for the vault hunters occupying the commons.

By the end of Zane's uneven trek to the engine room, he was _far _less patient than he considered safe. But then Amara would be the judge of that, he promised, as the man she'd find was far less composed than she was accustomed to.

In Zane's unusually humble opinion, he didn't think them making their exits would be too obvious. He wanted the siren to wait a few minutes before following, maintaining an air of nonchalance while casually being on her way.

Of course, they couldn't continue their lewd activities in either of their rooms, seeing that everyone was literally loitering just outside of them...but they always had their contingency plan. The engine room, even more so than the cargo area, was less fair game for bored wanderers.

Last time he'd been there, Zane had had the foresight to prepare. No one had thought twice about someone leaving a footlocker besides the cargo bins. Things were damn near everywhere, after all. After his and Amara's former failed attempt at fucking from behind, and then easily appreciating the position they'd made the most of on Promethea, he knew he wanted to fill her full of cock again in that primal position.

He and Amara sure as feck weren't playin' a game of hide-and-seek.

Anticipation had kept Zane painfully erect throughout his walk and his lacking sobriety had made him agitated - so he all but yanked Amara off her booted feet when she eventually followed, enveloping them both in heavy shadows.

He all but groaned as he slammed her against the wall and pressed her there, and he couldn't quite get his rough hands on her bare midriff fast enough. He needed _skin_. Didn't need air. Didn't need anything but the siren and he was going to prove it.

The older man hadn't given her a split second to speak before he crushed their mouths together, his tasting sharp and bitter as moonshine. He nearly didn't notice the way Amara attempted to recoil from the potent alcohol in his mouth and certainly didn't care, greedily thrusting inside her with his tongue, the same as he wanted to do with his aching member. Felt his needs burn brighter when she managed a gasping moan and slipped her hand to his cock, squeezing him again through the leather.

With a growl, Zane tore his partner's hand away and pushed her, knowing she could take some roughhousing. All but broke the zipper of his pants as he yanked it down and released himself of its confines, cock bobbing and rigid. Didn't give Amara any other option but to slap her hands against the cold metal of a cargo container as he hastily spun her around and bent her over, immediately covering her body with his desperate own. At that same moment, he was rutting his bare cock over the fabric of her sash and moistening the back of her neck with his boozy, panting breath.

That softer, shifting fabric spared him the rough texture of denim, but it wasn't as if that lasted. Not with how his greedy hands violently unknotted the purple before flinging it far, then tugged her jeans down to her knees, ceasing only to shove his own trou below his flexing ass. At least he had a mind to lift the shorter woman long enough to kick the footlocker beneath her, elevating her closer to where he needed her.

Had Amara chuckling, impressed by his innovation, only to growl softly when she reached again to squeeze the thick length of him one her _real _hand, appraising the reward of her play. Zane bit her shoulder for that, right through the leather of her vest, the taste of it disappointedly not hers but erotic nonetheless.

"Get off on that, did ye?" he rasped, and then growled in a low, thundering promise, "Gonna fuck ye sore fer days fer that."

Zane Flynt was a man of his word and would see to it that he did just that, forcing Amara's hand from him as he aligned with her plump slit.

He grunted as he shoved into her tight heat, recognizing the smell of her when she was so willing. And she _was_ dripping, his jaw slack as he enjoyed that first hot plunge into her willing body, until his tip struck the mouth of her cervix and his balls slapped against the smooth lips of her delicious pussy.

The sudden fullness caused her to bite off a gasp of "_fuck"_, his own grunt of "_christ"_ roughly grit into the air.

There was no time for Amara to adjust - he wouldn't allow it, _needed_ her more than she deserved anything but punishment. He later swore, when all was said and done and his drunken haze had diminished, that he'd never felt so sexually disgruntled. He'd always been one for teasing, building up anticipation and the pleasure gained from it, but everything compounded nearly made him see red with lust.

So Zane slammed into her like he meant it, somehow managing to utter an apology easily lost beneath her yelp. Inebriated as he was, he wasted no time in clapping one gloved hand solidly over that plum mouth, his other shoving her legs further apart before digging deeply in her hip, fixing her firmly in place for a furious and relentless fucking.

Amara had two options, since he didn't have so many arms to restrain her with: hold him back as she instinctively tried when his thrust struck her cervix or prevent herself from slamming face-first into the cargo bin.

Across that solid metal, her hands scrambled for purchase on his next withdrawal, and feeling her fumble was so feckin' erotic, his inebriated mind couldn't handle it.

But for all his frenzy, Zane didn't want to risk causing her only pain. That wasn't who he was and wasn't what she wanted him for, so on the next slap of his pelvis against her firm ass, he forgave her. Pressed his body closer to let one hand seek her clit, circling and rubbing in a way that had her bucking her hips sharply. The keening whimper muffled by his palm escaped the siren's throat unwillingly, her rich voice deepening as his length pressed into places inside of her that she wasn't sure she could take.

But she could. He made her. Fucked the siren like she was made for it. She was built for manhandling. Strong and solid as she was, she wouldn't physically break, he was sure of it. Mentally, she was struggling to admit how intensely she enjoyed it, even as she submitted to his advances. All-powerful as Amara preferred to be, she couldn't help but submit herself to his dominance. Didn't stand a chance, having his cock stroking her deep and spreading her so wide, she saw stars from it.

Feeding on the expressive ecstasy escaping her groaning, quivering body, Zane pounded into her again and again, until he breathed raggedly from it. Until the sensitive skin of her sex and ass was vibrant pink from his striking hips, much like the flush of his alcohol-soaked body.

God knew _why_ he only then realized that between the LED accents of his outfit and the glowing whirls along the siren's body, there was no way in _hell_ the shadows would conceal them.

Zane couldn't seem to care, just as he never did. Nothing mattered except the way Amara's muscular body was flexing, the deep fissures of her spine pooling with sweat. He could _feel_ that she was biting her lip, doing her damndest to stifle the sounds fighting to leave her as he fucked _hard_ into her core, so much that each and every punishing thrust struck the firm divot of her cervix.

The slaps of their frantic copulation weren't the only thing filling the room - it was humid with the scent of their fucking. The operative couldn't bring himself to give a single shite over the fact that anyone who'd had sex _ever_ would smell it rich in the air for hours. Intoxicated as he was, he didn't give a feck who heard them - was too busy reveling in the filthy sound of their colliding bodies - the wetness of Amara's slit smearing as she bucked back and he rammed to the hilt again, her body swallowing him fully.

All he could hear was his own ragged pants and the harsh gusts of Amara's gusting breaths, the needy lilt of it as she moans _please, yes- _until her voice rose to a crystalline pitch. She jerked as she came, throbbing and sobbing through that bone-pulsing heat, her body collapsing forward as she shuddered and writhed against the relentless barrage of his hips.

Zane's own alcohol-laden breath escaped him in a guttural groan as he rode through her creamy contractions, his cock still painfully hard and pulsing inside her.

Didn't seem possible but he was snapping his hips harder, faster into her, rutting into her so violently, her sweaty hands squeaked against the metal container as she struggled for purchase. Her entire body was involuntarily jolting with his movements, his callus hands gripping the flare of her hips and the round of her ass and moved her to him, forcing her into each collision.

Fucking her as he was, he didn't care about repercussions of being discovered. Couldn't care that the sound of his hips slapping her ass was so unmistakable. Couldn't bring himself to dial back so that Amara's noises could be better stifled.

There was only abandon, his head thrown back in it, his glistening neck extended and flexing with his hoarse exhalations. A bead of sweat trickled down his burning face and yet all he knew was Amara, scalding and soft and amazing as she cinched around him, tilting her hips eagerly against the primal drive of his thrusts.

Isn't long until Zane felt his end smoldering deep in his gut, tightening through the muscles in his thighs and hips as he slammed his greedy cock into his partner's pliable body. He could see the shimmer of eager perspiration collecting in the small of her back. Felt her grinding back against him, her womb pressing flush his tip, focusing sensation as her cunt squeezed him tight, like a fist-

That was the end of him and _damn_, was it everything he craved, dizzy as it made him.

The litany of curses that escaped his gritted teeth as he came were strangled - so much that he dropped against Amara's back, bared teeth finding purchase as his hips stuttered, shoved, and _seized_ against her with a metallic stumble.

They throbbed together, her clit pulsing frantically against the pinning press of his scrotum. He was to the_ hilt_, fighting to force himself impossibly deeper as his cock swelled and twitched, ropes of semen painting her womb. Was nearly vision-whitening with how tightly he grimaced at the force of it, alcohol pounding copious and disorienting in his veins.

Zane didn't have much of a mind left to care that his teeth set deeply in the siren's leather-clad shoulder, or that his final instinctive thrusts were clumsy and filthy, or that his full weight was holding her steadfast to the bin she splayed across. Didn't think how his ruthless rutting would likely leave her sore for days. And how could he after the stunt she'd pulled? That was left for when he sobered.

Zane wanted to laugh at the intensity of everything inundating his body, feeling positively awash in that adrenaline high. His body shook with that and so much more as he pressed an apologetic series of sluggish kisses to Amara's dimpled vest, his own booze-rich breath burning him.

Drunk as he was, he still had the mind to care for his partner. How could he not?

Something about the way Amara murmured and shifted her head tiredly against the container permitted Zane to stay buried in that delicious heat a little longer. He wasn't one to complain, instead lifting his torso only to more fully appreciate the sight of the siren laid out and exhausted before him.

Just the sight of her shapely ass was enough to have him twitching where his body parted hers, earning a sweet quiver that ran from her neck to her toes. Awash in an intoxicated afterglow, he allowed his palms to cup those caramel cheeks and savor her shapely hips, so deeply reminded what he liked best about the fairer sex.

The sight and feel of Amara made him far too reluctant to cease his appreciative petting. But they couldn't very well stay there forever with his ass out of his pants and his cock balls-deep in the dripping siren now, could he?

Felt like he would never catch his breath, at this rate. Had him leaning over her again, lungs burning.

"_Feck," _was all Zane could manage in the aftermath, and she was turning her head toward his, cupping one scruffy cheek.

Amara recoiled from the scent of his breath again with a furrow to her face yet didn't refuse him as he leaned in to kiss her, open and breathless and messy as he gusted out her name, his low growl reverberating through their connected bodies. Their mouths moved together until their respirations slowed, embrace becoming more languid, more fluid...and tiredly sloppy on his part.

_"Jesus_," breathed Zane as their lips broke apart, still awash with the aftershocks. His hands were still anchored deep in her hips, and it took pure willpower to lessen his desperate hold. He couldn't help but grind his cock inside her a few times more, rubbing himself through the thick semen he had filled her with, prolonging that pleasant sensation. From the way she gasped, he knew her body would continue to tremble long after he reluctantly extracted himself.

He hissed and wavered as he did, velvet skin oversensitive. And naturally, his gaze was fixated on that wet subtraction, his heartbeat still causing his glistening shaft to skip as it continued to soften. Tight as Amara was, she was thoroughly fucked open, the slit of her snatch quivering.

Unable and _unwilling _to stop himself, Zane gave the siren's ass a quick slap with his semen-slick shaft before he tucked it back in his pants and fumbled to click his belt buckle with sottish hands.

The sight of her spilling had the older man quickly patting at his utility belt, hurriedly withdrawing one of the microcloths he'd intended to use on his electronics before Brick had come knocking.

Amara was eager to snatch it from him and tuck it between her legs, making something of an embarrassed sound. Seeing the pink still spread across her face, Zane did what he could to help shimmy her panties up her muscular legs. He couldn't, and wouldn't, help the way his fingers lingered on her pert cheeks. He only stopped to scoop up her discarded sash and offer it to her, helping her arrange the back of it before she drew it taut with a knot.

In hindsight, he should have bent her over and spread her legs again. Done her the favor of licking her clean, since he was no stranger to shoving his tongue into her and tasting the heady combination of their flavors. He'd done it with obedient gusto on a number of occasions, making a delightful game of lapping and sucking until their juices collected in his goatee. He'd always appreciated, afterward, the lingering scent of her filled pussy after they'd parted ways, and no one had yet to comment on having noticed. Amara was clearly in the know and always invited his generous cleaning. He personally figured it to be the most gentlemanly way to show appreciation for her taking his hot load deep in her sweet snatch.

Then again, he also loved the times Amara hurried back to her quarters, knowing her panties pooled with his come.

Wasn't the case for now. Even if Zane wasn't sober, he was still considerate. He could have ruined the moment with a quip. Could have made Amara's face break into a sweaty smile. Instead, he eased his arms around her solid waist and drew her into a kiss. She readily accepted it this time, all languid tongue and a soft sigh, her hands rising to touch his facial hair as always.

Lingering there was the last thing they needed to do, but there they were, milking those last moments of pleasure by chasing a few more. So what if, compared to their frantic fucking, those moments were slow and tender?

It made no sense to him. He only knew he enjoyed it when their noses aligned and his sweaty forehead brushed against hers when they reluctantly parted their kiss, their combined scent densely collecting in the shared air they breathed.

After they fully separated, Amara was still unsteady on her feet, bleary and starry-eyed. She tried busying herself by pushing sweaty hair back from her face from where it had fallen from its elastic.

"Look at the state of ya,' Zane fondly chuffed - then tugged her up to him again, pressing together their swollen lips.

Unable to help herself despite how convinced she was of getting drunk off _his_ saliva, Amara gave him a gentle push. When the operative was fully back within view, her eyes took him in with no small amount of concern, fully seeing his thoroughly soused appearance.

"How much did you _drink_, Zane?"

Sure, the siren had witnessed him tipsy before. What person who had ever stepped into Moxxxi's hadn't? Amara and everyone who had attended Sanctuary's post-war celebration couldn't forget how the operative had been so boisterously and outrageously sloshed, but since then, she hadn't encountered him nearly so inebriated.

It hadn't been Zane's intention to get so shite-faced. Hell, he wasn't convinced that he really was, so accustomed to the feel of abundant alcohol circulating in his system. He preferred to immerse himself in true intoxication behind the locked door of his quarters, but sometimes shite didn't work that way.

The operative chuckled and waved a dismissive hand at the siren, ignoring the fact that his breath could have shriveled daisies upon contact. The fact that he couldn't formulate a timely and sarcastic answer was telling enough, except he _was _moving to open his mouth when Amara asked him:

"Are you going to get back to your room alright?"

Everything about Amara suggested she was predisposed to disagree with any response he could give her, but he was _fine. _Christ, if he couldn't get back there, how'd he manage to get _anywhere_? Was like she forgot he was Zane Flynt.

"Bahh, I'll be fine," he dismissed with a crooked grin. "Ye worry too much, girly. Jus' admit it - ye wanna take this handsome devil back to 'is room an' take advantage o' 'im."

Amara's features were amused now, at least. Clearly they read: _So that's how you see it?_ Better than her being mad at him, though his own expression took on a hint of concern.

"Wasn't too rough with ye, was I?"

Stepping closer, the siren dodged his reflexive, and very interested, attempt to kiss her and pressed a quick peck to his stubbly cheek instead. In doing so, she dodged what she could of his besotted breath in the process.

"Don't worry about it, old man. Seriously though, I can carry you to your room so you don't trip up the stairs and break your scrawny neck."

However intriguing Zane found the mental image to both, he found himself more closely contemplating reaching over and grabbing her ass. Which he did. With relish. While using his grasp to draw her flush to his front and grind suggestively against her.

"Gimme some credit," the former assassin argued - then pouted as Amara pushed him away with a roll of her eyes. He dropped his hands with a huff of disappointment before using one to brace himself against the wall in a flirtatious - and swaying - pose. "Ye doin' that an' the both o' us smellin' like this - dead wringer of a giveaway, I say. Unless ye don't care, that is, 'cept I can manage. _Promise._"

Looked like Amara wanted to have her doubts but seemed to deduce that he was, in fact, old and experienced enough to know.

"Whatever you say, you drunk, but I swear," and her lavender eyes conveyed how she meant every word she said, "I'm going to drag your skinny ass away from Moxxxi's if I even see you sway that way. Got it?"

"_Yeah yeahhhhh_," snorted Zane, then pitched a snowy eyebrow at her. "Worry 'bout yerself, gorgeous. Might wanna get yerself all arranged again," with a lazy gesture at her amiss hair. "Ye look freshly and positively fecked."

Taking a renewed interest in herself, the siren began brushing and smoothing at her clothing. Tried collecting the heavy mass of her hair, somewhat struggling before Zane stepped in to gather the errant strands. Appreciating the assistance enough to forgive the pungent flavors of liquor, she secured her ponytail and then thumbed his goateed chin for a kiss.

It was nice. Pleasant. Lil' chaste for his tastes but then Amara didn't drink and he wasn't about to expect that to change.

Wasn't like them to linger, but still, they were.

"I have to go," she murmured regretfully upon pulling away, and he nodded in understanding. No need to explain _that_ one. She shot him a faint expression of apology as she drew away and hurried, with clenched legs, toward the rest of Sanctuary.

Watching her go, Zane felt inclined to cross his arms and lean his hip back against the cargo bin, not really caring to consider the _implications_ that wanted to roll around in his hazy head.

Instead, the oldest vault hunter accepted that he was drunk _and _proud. Let Amara go on ahead to get herself cleaned up, giving her a good few minutes before he strutted along with a little uneven dance in his step.

Zane didn't have much of a choice but to think too much for comfort, later, when he found himself unable to sleep after the scheduled lights throughout Sanctuary had dimmed and he'd sprawled on his cot, drumming his fingers idly over his bare stomach.

Contrary to what Amara had expected of him, Zane had made his way back to his quarters just fine. If anything, he suspected he'd sobered somewhat in the aftermath of sex. Had probably metabolized and burned off a lot of the liquor circulating through his bloodstream, which was both a welcome aftereffect and also not. Meant he tended to get a second wind instead of easily falling asleep as he'd hoped.

Was a damn curse when getting drunk made him more hyperactive and restless than anything. That_ particularly _shouldn't have been the case given that he had relieved some sexual tension, but then he tended to be a difficult man even for himself.

Regardless, Zane's mind intended to run off on its own direction. He wasn't yet willing to forfeit his odds of sleep by picking up where he had left off on any of his current projects. If he did that, he knew he wouldn't manage to put it down until the later hours in the morning...and then he'd sorely regret it.

So he laid there. He determined his odds of waking up hungover, provided he could doze off, were slim to none. He didn't seem to have much choice but to think of the woman whose company he recently and carnally shared.

Probably screwing Amara when inebriated hadn't been the wisest of choices. Wasn't him at his most appealing, particularly for a woman who didn't drink. Zane kind of grimaced for having subjected her to kissing after all he'd imbibed, not that she couldn't have physically prevented him. Strong as she was, she could very well tie his bony self up like a balloon animal if she were so inclined, and that was a fact he didn't overlook. Still, the operative preferred to be more mindful of his partners. Didn't want to turn her off, after all.

Amara was an amazing woman. And the sex was good. Great. _Stellar._ And he knew better than to read into the cocktail of post-orgasmic hormones that caused all those lovey-dovey feelings. That had got him married the first time. He'd been dumb enough to fall for tricks and black-out intoxicated the other times.

Did he feel something for the siren? Yeah - respect. He vehemently rejected every possibility beyond that. And even that might have had more to do with having Amara as a partner, which was substantial. And being half as impressed as he was by her had nothing to do with her status as a siren.

In all honesty, Zane wouldn't have looked at her twice if she hadn't been his teammate. Was that sort of thing that attracted him to individuals now. Maybe that was a sign of his age or even emphasized by how guarded he had to be. Either way, he was long past his days of fecking people for looks or other superficial qualities.

Did he want to keep fighting alongside Amara? Yes. Did he want to keep having sex with her? Also yes. Very much yes.

_Where is the problem an' why in the feck are ye thinkin' 'bout this, Zane boyo?_

"I don't _knowwww_," he answered in one drawn-out exhale, predisposed to wishing he hadn't drank so much earlier. Because that had to be to blame.

Thinking caused trouble. Thinking got him into trouble. He'd gotten into Amara and _that_ was trouble. And he fecking _liked_ trouble.

Seemed he _still_ had reckless moments up his sleeves. How was that even possible at his age?

_Ain't gonna hit _that _arse with a banjo. No sir._

Probably he shouldn't keep screwing her, but then Amara didn't put him off from it any. Still, Zane knew better. Knew he liked her a bit too much than what he considered to be safe, technically, because if it ended...well, he might have minded. Might not be able to abruptly cut off temptation and stop himself from feeling disadvantaged.

It seemed natural to be a bit _physically_ smitten with a woman who had it all. Strength, beauty, drive. But then he'd bedded many women _and_ men who had those going for them in abundance. Amara shouldn't have been any different.

Besides being a siren, she wasn't...except she was his partner. That added an additional layer of complexity that his dick tended to downplay. Seems it liked her _just fine_ even before he took their roles as vault hunters into consideration.

As Zane had recklessly admitted to the siren, after a good fecking and one hell of an afterglow, he would have been head over heels for her had he been younger and dumber. Probably would have made the same reckless, misguided mistakes with her that he had with his more long-term lovers or, dare he say, _marriages. _Fortunately, he swore he had outgrown that ignorance forever ago. Since then, he had mentally sobered enough to recognize that him wanting to flaunt Amara as his partner had everything to do with how impressive _she _was and nothing to do with _him._

Wasn't like he could _allow_ himself to act on that impulse. Again, he didn't think of himself as that man anymore. The vault hunter lifestyle didn't have a place for that. He could step aside and allow Amara to make literal impressions with her strength and put them on deadly display - and that was fine. Fun. _Dandy_.

Where was he going with this?

As for treating Amara to luxuries as he felt inclined to, Zane didn't think he'd be taking her out to some high-class dining establishment anytime soon. Just trying to imagine the Partalian in the required cocktail attire damn near succeeded in short-circuiting his mind. It simply didn't compute. And that was fine because he liked her half-naked, even if her vest was a little prickly. And he maybe thought the plugs in her ear _were_ a little too punk for someone his age, but that didn't distract from Amara's beauty.

She was no Moxxi, curvaceous as she was. Her attractiveness wasn't understated so much as it wasn't flaunted or intended. And she didn't drink alcohol, which he sort of found to be a shame, even if it was a personal preference he could respect. Amara was less likely to hang off his arm in some place like a casino and more likely to punch in someone's face if they haggled him. Or pinched her ass. In that case, he'd knock their skull in too.

Regardless, Zane didn't think anything of wanting to treat Amara to nice, expensive experiences or things. Contrary to what he'd told the black market dealer on Promethea, he tended to be rather generous among his friends. He just didn't view it that way, as he had more money than he honestly knew what to do with, and the siren was among his closer friends. The operative couldn't see a decent reason why he wouldn't show her a good time, same as he'd buy his drinking buddies their pints.

Why the heck wouldn't he? He didn't get lines crossed. Didn't mistake any of it for what it wasn't. Amara was a good sport. Enjoyed herself in his charming company. Wasn't like he wouldn't do the same for anyone else in his team. Sure, he wasn't getting in their pants, and he did use that as a reason to indulge a little more with Amara, if only because they needed some privacy. But even if by some miracle they didn't feck themselves silly, it wasn't like he ever regretted spending time with her.

Zane had had more than his fair share of younger lovers in his days. Compared to other age gaps, the one between himself and the siren wasn't all that pronounced. Wasn't any problem to him, but Amara hadn't yet developed a strong sense of confidence for as intense as her personal identity was.

What he wouldn't put up with from a pretty woman, he _might_ have endured with a teammate. To some extent, he'd already exhibited more patience with Amara than he would have with a casual fling. He sure as hell wouldn't have given her the little talk he had, back at the hotel, in order to try and ease her mind.

Unfortunately, Zane's main reservation was that he'd gone a little too far in trying to make Amara feel _too_ secure with where they stood. He could have just as easily used her hesitation as a means of ending things. Could have utilized her unusual lapse of self-esteem to convince himself that she was in no way suited for what they'd been doing.

Had she not been his partner, and had he not been fond of her as a friend, he wouldn't have bothered. Instead, he chose to be considerate. Had to try and be the nice guy - which he was, don't get him wrong, but his only intention was to physically appeal to her. The last thing he needed to do was encourage her to be more trusting. Or have her get more comfortable.

Even Zane understood the inherent intimacy of intercourse. Was part of sharing one's body with another. Most specifically, staring into a partner's eyes as pleasure overrode everything and hormones went blessedly haywire. He had to admit, that connection made everything better - and wasn't that what everyone was out for? Was only a matter of brain chemistry.

So, of course, Amara's eyes got all full of love for the sensations he gave her. And she returned his kisses like an old lover. Happened well enough with someone so passionate and practiced. He lead her through that dance of desire. Then afterward, like shelving a book, Zane put it back where it belonged. Let it collect dust until he needed to use it again. Didn't look back to it unless he intended to open it - but never with the intent to _read_ into any of those emotions.

They were an orgasm-derived fabrication, and he knew them for what they were. He'd dealt with them time and time again, so much he was numb to their seduction. He would even say he was immune, save for the most intense moments...of which he did share with Amara. How could he not? She was fierce and passionate in everything she did. Their sex was no exception, and yet somehow, he had enough confidence to think she wouldn't misinterpret it.

At her age and with her abilities, Amara was in her prime. If anything, Zane figured he should have been grateful she found it in herself to spare her sexuality any time. Hell, he'd seen first-hand how she struggled with it. Was kinda shitty for him to interfere with that, he knew. Selfish to some extent, though he didn't hold her back. At the Metroplex, he had offered her his full support. Was all he could do short of providing _only_ that...as the partner he should have been.

Zane held firm that they would have never began their affair had the Calypsos still existed. Occupying the universe as he did, he sure as feck hadn't wanted the twins to endanger it. Winning that war had been everyone's priority, as it should have been, but now, without the threat of annihilation, they could afford to live again.

His problem wasn't that he expected Amara to start wanting something deeper - more that he didn't want her assuming _he_ did. He _really_ didn't need her thinking he had any ulterior motives behind putting her mind at ease. He simply wanted her to relax into what they were doing. To not cockblock either of them. And to realize she had far more impressive elements to her than what their affair accounted for.

Zane supposed that if Amara wasn't _overly _confident, she must know that his attraction to her wasn't due to her siren status. Had she overestimated that, then she would have been significantly more confident in herself.

It had been so long since Zane had been sexually inexperienced that he really couldn't relate to Amara's insecurities. He also couldn't manage to think he'd pulled out too many stops too soon in their sexual partnership since...he really hadn't. Wasn't like he was trying to show the siren up - he only had her pleasure in mind.

What Amara needed to understand was that he didn't compare her to himself or anyone else. To be honest, Zane had had far more sexually vivacious and talented lovers than her, but that didn't mean shite. Chemistry, more than anything, was understated and what got him off the most. Skills and methods could be learned, and he was very willing to educate her.

Possibly she expected him to be less selective about his lovers than he actually was. Truth be told, the only insides he might have rattled aboard Sanctuary were Moxxi's. No one could blame him, even if he rarely dipped in the same person twice. Amara had come right out of left field. The old operative had _never_ expected the siren to have had any interest in him, the handsome devil he was. He was damn glad she did. Made Sanctuary seem like it had all the amenities.

Well-versed as he was, Amara was just as reserved as Zane had always written her off as. Her insecurities came hand-in-hand with the rest of her serious personality. That seemed inevitable, really. She was so stuck on being impressive and living to some unrealistically high standard, furthered by being a siren, that the girl couldn't chill the feck out. She judged everything she did against some ridiculous scale of moral aptitude - which was sweet of her but also severely restricting. Seemed she still had some coming to age to do before she was appropriately jaded enough to forgo that bullshite idealism.

While he was only planning to physically rub off on her, Zane knew any maturing Amara could do would be best left to her own devices and not inadvertently persuaded by the likes of him. Or anyone else, for that matter. He liked her as she was too much to voluntarily be a negative influence on her.

Yeah, he liked Amara and he wanted to treat her right. She wasn't anything like the trophy girls he used to keep on his arms. Her looks would have qualified her as such, even if the type tended to be waif-thin or half plastic. With her musculature and her bolder, more grungy look, she was unique to him. Hell, he'd even flaunted prettier male lovers, but the siren was more than that, she was beautiful.

Was he blind to her exotic status as a siren? Hell no, it was loud and clear and in no way what attracted him to her. Remove her tattoos and forget her powers and she still had a plethora of alluring features both to her physicality and personality. Zane tended to favor the latter, knowing all-too-well that superficial appearances were in no way stimulating or appealing enough to make up for lacking personalities.

For the sake of their affair - unless he really intended to end it - he didn't need Amara to form any detrimental ideas in her head. Just as he didn't want the younger woman thinking that he was too into her, he also didn't want her to mistake his interest in her as waning or wandering. If anything, her tendencies suggested she'd been with some shite-head at some point, man or woman - and if not, that she put a significant amount of her pride in feeling valued, if not outright unique. Surely the latter hadn't applied so much before she'd been a siren, but then he didn't know her backstory.

_Phew_. Zane didn't fecking like the depth his thoughts were taking. On the rare occasion that his drinking didn't completely numb him, he tended to get reflective like this and he despised it. He just wanted to kick back and get some fecking sleep. Wake up clear-headed and preferably not hungover in Sanctuary's implementation of morning, not that the concept truly existed in space. Truth be told, he might prefer a splitting headache to the mess he was currently in.

Made him want to go to Amara's quarters and feck her again. He knew that impulse wasn't healthy and certainly wouldn't be proactive - and he didn't want to come off as desperate. Instead, when he got like this, he tended to be outright avoidant.

Now, Zane knew he was simply drunk. And agitated. That resulted in him feeling frisky. Maybe, just maybe he was sick of that damn ship. Maybe he wanted another day of privacy. And maybe he wanted to fuck Amara good and proper in a king-sized bed again.

One thing he wanted was a damn hot tub to soak in. Was that too much for a retired assassin to ask?

_Maybe_ he wanted to throw Amara's legs up on his shoulders and suck on her toes. He most definitely wanted to put her on all fours and eat her out to his heart's content and _not_ have to wear knee pads for it.

He wanted to luxuriate in his partner. Make them both forget everything but pleasure. Let Amara climax as loudly as her body wanted. No more sneaking around and keeping to the shadows. He wanted her out in the open. Wanted to show her off to everyone around - except it wasn't just that. He wanted to proudly boast that she'd chosen him, and that they were good together, and could take on the world in ways that weren't limited to guns.

If these were the last of his best years, then why in the hell was he spending them fooling around in the shadows or acting like they had anything to be ashamed of?

Instead, what they needed was a clever selection of toys, a new bottle lube, and an ample supply of condoms. All in another extravagant hotel with ready housekeeping to clean away the bedsheets. That was the kind of sex he wanted. No limits - not of time or noise, space, or inhibitions. Just pleasure from every way it could be made.

Maybe then, he'd feel more satisfied and wouldn't be erect as he was. They'd practically just had sex and he was there, hard as hell leaking just thinking about all they could do to each other's bodies. How gratifying and exhilarating it could be.

Turns out he had more middle names than he'd ever shared. _Kinky_ was definitely one of them.

Oy, how could he still be horny? Happened after good sex, Zane had to admit. Sighing to himself, he reached down to palm the length straining against his thin slacks. Wasn't like his touch could compare to their recent foray. Made him sigh in frustration and fold his hands over his face, sparing himself the stars that shined beyond his bedside window.

Far as he was concerned, and he still didn't know why he was thinking it, but Amara deserved the best. Certainly deserved all money could buy. For all her fame and fashion, the operative didn't think she honestly appreciated the finer luxuries in life. Maybe that, for him, was part of the appeal since he'd chosen to live so wastefully.

His shameless profligacy had always been a reflection of his upbringing on Pandora and how he'd had all but nothing in that hellish wasteland. As he'd found the means to, he'd gone out of his way to refuse any vestige of that homeland lifestyle and instead amassed wealth, technical skill, and knowledge in order to distance himself from his roots.

After establishing his affluent career, Zane had spent what life he hadn't worked his arse off either deep in the bottle or chasing pleasure - most often together. He'd had his free choice of whoever he fancied, had brought one or three lovers in bed whenever he'd felt like it, had chugged himself stupid, and loved every minute of living that highlife of brazen sex and heavy drinking. Needless to say, having a plethora of contract killers after him had put a damper on that and retirement with the Crimson Raiders only furthered the effect.

He'd also had too many lovers try to spit poison in his mouth and shank him - and not in the ways he found enjoyable. When he'd found the nightmarish devices a woman had stuck inside of her, _well_, he'd had to cut back his trysts. There were a thousand idiotic and reckless ways for him to die and his dick wasn't going to be the cause of it.

Sometimes Zane could say he was tired of all of it and had experienced more than his fair share of fun and danger...but then Amara had kissed him and kick-started the cycle all over again. Wasn't something for him to get mad about but damn, his libido had been significantly less distracting when he'd been abstinent. Survival on his own had put both addictions in check.

Now, however, what Zane seemed to want favored the lesser extremes or was nearly...normal, dare he admit it. Sometimes he just wanted to enjoy a pint with Amara perched on his lap. He hadn't ever been one to allow a lass to come between him and his booze but he'd gladly make an exception for her, not that she'd be the type to like that.

Looking back, Zane found himself wondering if he'd been _too_ sober when they had gone to the hotel. He'd had a plethora of liquor at his disposal but hadn't drank a single drop of it...like he'd been dropped on his damn head. Wasn't like him. Sure, they did meet up with the Atlas folks afterward and run some errands for them, but he never passed up a quick shot of booze or two even when on a mission.

Huh. Maybe he'd wisely taken into account the fact that his balls would be thoroughly drained and how that had demanded he take a nap. Either way…

Zane suspected that was at least partially responsible for his...having spoken too soon, if that was what he could even consider it. He'd told Amara, quite literally, that he didn't have his sights set on anyone else. That he didn't intend to fool around on her. And while he knew the poignant differentiation between being courteous and things being _serious_, he considered if he should have been more diligent in outlining it.

Wasn't like he planned to sleep around, but Zane wasn't entirely against the notion. He and Amara were partners but otherwise didn't have anything constituting an actual relationship. They were, for all intents and purposes, friends with benefits. They got along and fecked. Not much to it.

So he'd said some questionable shite to the siren as encouragement, knowing it would put her and her insecurities at ease. Sure, it seemed like he'd rather have her not worrying herself to death than keep his options open. Until he happened across someone worth his time, there weren't going to be other choices. Not really, at least - or so he chose to believe.

Zane had never gone steady with anyone. He was a feck 'em and leave 'em kind of man. He'd been married, certainly, but those hiccups had been temporary. They hadn't made his dick obedient. And that made a shite-head of him, absolutely.

His older brothers had been a lot of terrible things but _he'd _been the heartbreaker. Was infamous for being the one who couldn't seem to keep it in his pants. Made him worse than them, given they didn't feck much with emotions. They only brutally tortured and killed people.

The problem wasn't with him being unable to resist propositions. Zane did that on the regular. He was a flirt by nature, but just because people wanted to have a go with him didn't mean he lacked standards. Particularly now with the bounty on him, Zane didn't anticipate that he'd ever get to traipse around and feck freely like he once had.

That wasn't to say he'd gotten involved with Amara because she was some sort of default or convenience. He hadn't lied a single word when he told her she was amazing. He probably would have been head over heels for her when he'd been young and stupid, just as he had other impressive lovers. But all those affairs, like every other, were merely temporary.

Zane recognized that he wasn't tied to the Crimson Raiders indefinitely. By nature, he never planned to stay. Impulsive as he was, he knew he'd go, as always, wherever the proverbial wind blew him. His accumulated wealth assured that he would never be pressed to earn another dollar in his life.

Damn, he was wandering off-track yet _again_, possibly because he didn't want to think about how he'd ran his mouth at Amara. He _had_, thinking back, suggested that they could mutually decide to keep open minds. Seemed sexual courtesy to offer his partner an out if someone else came along. In particular, Zane didn't like dipping into two holes if it would wreck his professional affiliations. As the wise Moxxi said, business first and _then _pleasure. It was a standard he agreed with, which meant maintaining positive relations with Amara was his priority. He couldn't very well piss his fellow vault hunter off and expect her to want to deal with him if she felt wronged or spiteful.

A good lay wasn't worth their partnership _and_ the great lay Amara was. And honestly, at his age, Zane wasn't as impulsive as he'd been at a younger age. He had made many mistakes since then and had learned from most.

Quite simply put, he respected Amara too much to risk alienating her.

Women, in general, didn't share half as well as men tended to. While there weren't people competing for his langer, the operative felt it best to reassure Amara that he wouldn't dip into anyone else without consideration for her. Her insecurities, try as she so evidently had to deny them, _seriously_ confirmed that she was as possessive as he had suspected. He didn't know if she would feel the same about just anyone or if her insecurities solely involved a sense of competition between women.

As a younger lad, he'd gotten quite the ego kick from having partners fight tooth and nail over him. Hadn't taken long for the thrill to wear off. Jealousy quickly resulted in a massive headache - one he had barely any patience for. What resilience he had was only reserved for someone like Amara, who he appreciated on multiple accounts.

Zane didn't _think_ Amara had a double standard so far as sharing went. Not that he'd been seriously scrutinizing but he hadn't _seen_ her making eyes at men. She and Moze clearly had something going on but nothing suggested it was serious or even physical - not that he would have minded. He'd shared many partners with women. As far as being poly with men - that got a little messier. Testosterone didn't always listen to logic, though it had been a long while since he'd taken that risk.

Some lovers, he hadn't cared to lose. Hadn't been any skin off his neck if shite happened. Some times more than others, though, his cock preferred to be the star of the show. His ego couldn't always figure out why a partner would need another if they had his.

That Moze element, though...Zane wondered if she was part of the reason Amara wanted to keep things on the down-low. He could see wanting people to mind their own damn business but saw less probable harm if their immediate foursome caught wind of it. Made him wonder if he was some stand-in for the person Amara really desired. She _had_ initially pounced him while under duress. But that didn't make any sense. Even a blind man could see that Moze was clearly interested in the siren and not one of them would have blinked if the two women spent some time in private together.

Huh. Well, Amara's reasons for seeking his companionship were hers. Wasn't really his business. Everyone had their own motivations for doing what they did. Truth is, she could just want a good time. Only reason he was even questioning _her_ reason was because doing so helped him adjust himself to her expectations. Was also nice to know the circumstances that could end their lil' rendezvous, though he was always prepared to send Amara off with a smile and his best wishes if she suggested they quit.

Zane was just glad his langer hadn't had to retire like the rest of him.

Him, he was just enjoying the ride. That's what he did. Was no different than why he'd hitched up to the Crimson Raiders in the first place. The opportunity presented itself and he seized it. Had seemed like a fine enough idea at the time and it was adequately stimulating. Having a go with a teammate was an added benefit. Wasn't something that usually struck his fancy, as he preferred to keep business and pleasure separate. But it was all a voluntary venture. He wasn't getting paid _not_ to feck anyone or mind his manners. He was also fully honest with himself in recognizing that any day could be his last, so why not take a chance?

Was easy enough for women to get all tangled up in their emotions and make a mess of things. That much, Zane knew. He hadn't agreed to Amara initiating the arrangement they had because he expected that from her. If anything, he trusted the siren to be more like himself: living in the moment, career-focused, and loot-driven. To some extent, she was probably still learning what she wanted - both out of life and her body. As a much older man, Zane offered her a good time but he wasn't suitable for more than a teacher or a learning experience. Eventually all the thrills, bells, and whistles ended and Amara would be back on her pursuit for whatever she ultimately wanted. There was still hope that she and Moze could figure something out among themselves, given their chemistry. Knowing and appreciating them as he did, he would be one of their top supporters.

Seemed he was getting ahead of himself, and not for the first time. He tended to be more of a planner than people gave him credit for, assuming they judged him by his outward behaviors. Zane couldn't blame them - he was loud by design and very capable of ensuring no one quite knew what to expect from him.

Even then, the operative often reminded himself to take his own proven advice: to live in the present. See things for what they currently were and react accordingly. Who knew when death would come for him or anyone? Wasn't like anyone else was his problem.

Was fine for him to think about Amara and where they could go from there so long as their direction involved casual, free fun. Which he liked doing. He tended to anticipate the what-ifs more when he had aspirations of any sort. In wanting to show his partner a great time, he saw no harm in doing a wee bit of fantasizing.

Kept his ticker going was what it did. Other parts, too. They sure hadn't fallen off after fifty like some folks believed they did - if his times with Amara proved anything. But everyone else remained none the wiser. Only downside was that it would be some time before they could take such drastic measures like indulging in a hotel again. If done too often, someone would notice. How could they not if the two of them insisted on being away in only each other's company? Yeah, anyone with at least one eye could make sense of that. Zane would know.

That outcome wasn't what Amara wanted, so they'd have to work around it. Bide their time. Made him realize what a shame it was that he couldn't just pass off his digiclone module to her and have her transpose him straight into her room.

If only things could be that easy, but then they'd be taken for granted, wouldn't they? Zane knew himself. Part of the lure for him was the challenge and the forbidden aspects of it. Had he a lover available to him beyond Sanctuary, chances were he would get over his excitement quite quick and lose interest.

He wouldn't say even half the fun of bedding Amara was due to having to sneak around, but it kept things interesting. Huh, maybe he was too much like that Chad fella on Eden-6. Zane liked the _danger_, though he had always known that. Wasn't like any of the Crimson Raiders were gonna force him out the airlock for fraternizing with his partner anyhow. What did they expect to happen between two attractive, sexually active individuals?

Upon further reflection, Zane decided he was figuring out the real problem and the main reason he was behaving so atypically. Seemed that without his career, he really didn't have much direction. The whole vault hunter spiel wasn't as cut and dry as getting a contract, completing it, and getting paid, only to repeat the process. Meant he had more time to get laid and do stupid shite - like sleep with an associate.

After subjecting himself to that notion, Zane sighed and more heavily fell into his bed, absently tweaking his mustache.

Made sense his identity would be fecked up. That he'd lost whatever direction his stint as a mercenary had provided him, even if he'd quite literally gone every which way to satisfy his benefactors' every need. But now, he wasn't pursuing profit or some prolific reputation. He'd been Zane Flynt, Corporate Hitman, for so many feckin' years, he didn't know what was left beyond that. Needless to say, he hadn't quite gotten a handle on Zane Flynt, the Vault Hunter, however easily he adapted to it. And he certainly hadn't fully grasped Zane Flynt as a teammate, even if he managed it well enough.

Was like all he knew was killing, thrill-seeking, and sex. While those made for some great living, he somehow still felt a tad out of his element.

Made Zane wish he hadn't been forced out as a mercenary, for one thing. He wanted to flip two birds to the bounty on his head and just ignore it - or rather keep dealing with it, on his own, as he had. As a ruler among hypocrites, he definitely didn't want someone to profit off his demise, so...what in the feck did he do with all that?

For one, it drove him goddamn mad to think of _anyone _misinterpreting him hitching up with the Crimson Raiders as cowardly. He didn't do it for the security. Didn't remain on that feckin' ship to stay on the move. And he didn't need any of his teammates to suspect he might have.

What else would other corporate killers think if they knew he was keeping that kind of company? Would they wrongly assume he was cowering behind his teammates - one of which happened to be an extremely badarse siren who, quite bluntly, could punch anything to death? Then there was a soldier who controlled a practically impenetrable mech. And another inhumanely strong AI who kept a pack of creatures at his disposal.

What was Zane compared to them - an old man with some tech? Some good looking guy with some flashy tricks?

If anything, Zane preferred to remain underestimated. He could allow fools to think he was relying on the brute force of his team. Anyone recognizing his age should know better - and shouldn't assume he had spent his long life hiding behind others. He was all too aware that his advantage wasn't physical. Still, god help those who survived still when he stepped in to take charge because by then, he could enact the demised he'd designed just for them.

The veteran operative might occasionally let his fellow vault hunters storm on ahead, if only through acknowledging how to best use them for their cumulative advantage. Him, he could clear out a base with his own methods. He knew one's true proof of skill rested in one's ability to elicit the most damage while exerting the least amount of effort.

Wait, why in the feck did he even care what others thought of him? When had he started that shite, terrible mistake it was?

That train of thought was how Zane ended up at Moxxxi's, two bottles deep and still going. He had risen from bed, hastily thrown on his gray shirt, pulled on his pants and boots, and brought his jacket. One glance at his rough self in the mirror and he knew he needed another drink, his hair more erratic and face baggier than usual. Normally he wouldn't go out looking like _this_, naked as he felt without his bodysuit, but feck it. Let the ship see the abundance of chest hair that showed through the low neck of his shirt. Worked wonders in snagging him numbers at gay bars, putting on that show, but that wasn't where he was headed.

The woman working Moxxxi's got the best eyeful of him as he dropped himself on the centermost barstool. He'd seen the cute young gal on a number of occasions, and from the way she did a double-take at him, she remembered him and his more refined appearances.

Beyond that, he didn't pay the buxom lass any further attention. Just told her what he wanted and for her to keep it coming. Ignored her visible misgivings and her ability to clearly determine a drunk when she saw one - until she tried to act _responsibly_ and deny him.

"List'n, sweetheart - 'm sure as feck ol' 'nough to know better an' I don't feckin' care," he'd gruffed at her, putting on display the stack of bills that would more than cover every tab remaining on their books. "Do me a favor an' lemme live the short years I got left like I wanna, 'kay?"

Money was convincing. So was his visible maturity, apparently. Wouldn't surprise Zane if he looked every day of his age, feeling as he did. And him being one heavy hitter of a vault hunter, with the respect it got him, also won him the rare favor.

All Zane knew was that he wanted to drink until he couldn't feel his own feckin' mustache. Or 'til he accumulated enough stubble to give a shite about shaving. Just had to be like that sometimes. Didn't even matter that the barkeep knew he was past his limit when he'd initially sauntered in. He tipped her so generously - likely a month's wages - that she couldn't say no.

And that was just _swell _because he didn't feel like arguing with anyone, particularly himself.

Damn good thing he found himself there during Moxxi's off-hours. Her 'no' would have meant _no_. Chances were, she would have stuck the business end of a corrosive shotgun in his face, not that a woman like her would have actually used it. Appreciating beauty as she so clearly did, she wouldn't do damage to such a handsome mug. Besides, he was a loyal and well-behaved patron most days.

And it was even better that Amara wasn't awake or otherwise aware enough to make good on her recent threats. Then Zane knew he would have been in a world of trouble. Honest as the older operative was with himself, he knew he couldn't physically resist her - even in non-sexual matters.

The coast was clear, and so Zane made the most of it. Sat there staggering shots, pints of beer, and a random assortment of mixed drinks. Even drank a feckin' martini and hardly noticed until he nearly choked on the olive. Wasn't until he coughed out the damn thing that he actually _saw_ it, not that he could really make out what it was with the blurring of his eye. Even his cybernetics didn't do him any good when his brain was bobbing in a sea of alcohol. Didn't matter that his ECHOeye relayed him crisp images if his mind couldn't make sense of them - even if he sat there for a number of minutes inspecting the olive like some jeweler analyzing a priceless gemstone.

Zane kept on thinking about the mess he found himself in - which just so happened to coincide with him being on that shitehole of a spaceship in the first place.

He didn't do it _attachment _for a multitude of reasons. Hadn't stayed in a single place as long as he had on Sanctuary. Wasn't like there was any point in putting down roots at his age, anyway. He'd never had any reason to, given his established profession. Considering how many vault hunters had met their untimely demise, it didn't seem their walk of life was all that different. As it was, Zane hadn't even maintained bonds with the blood family he'd been given. He had shared professional and polite acquaintances with former employers but, well, now they were trying to kill him.

He just wanted to take everything one day at a time. Didn't mind doing it with the lot of folks he shared the ship with. Minded less because they were all in it for the loot and didn't judge others for their reasons. And maybe he was just glad enough to be accepted as-is. By people who didn't know what to expect from him, even. Folks who didn't know what would come outta his mouth at any given moment. People who laughed at his jokes - 'least the good ones.

Was really all a man like him could ask for since he had all the money he needed in the bag. And maybe, he expected, he would cut ties first - like he virtually always did. Maybe vault hunting wouldn't keep his interest. Maybe the loot wouldn't prove good enough. Maybe some insane, borderline impossible contract would come up that was too good to pass on. Maybe people would stop trying to kill him he could go back to being an assassin. Sounded good enough for him. He hadn't really wanted to quit when the bounty had been put on his head.

Hell, if Sanctuary III hadn't had a Moxxxi's aboard, it just wouldn't have worked for him.

He would be lying, though, if he ever said he didn't want to keep tabs on that ragtag group. He was quite interested in watching Ava blossom into a strong woman and achieve success in her position. She impressed him enough with how young she'd taken to it. He wanted to see if they ever could determine Lilith's whereabouts. Wanted to keep drinking with Mordecai. Wanted to keep groping Brick's muscles. Really wanted to see what Amara would accomplish, given the proper training and support, with her siren powers. He wouldn't put it past her and her strong ethics to be the most impressive siren yet.

Zane also knew he'd like to attend a few more weddings in his day, provided they weren't his own. Watch some happy couples do their smooching. See 'em have some kids. Watch all that from a careful distance. Live a little vicariously through them, he supposed. Observe how the better side lived. Wasn't like he'd seen it when he'd been growing up. Virtually no Pandorans did. Hadn't been any opportunity for all that happy crap when people were too busy killing and eating each other. And fucking anything with a hole, human or skag.

As for him, he didn't plan to pass his prime but who was he kidding? Few more years under his belt and his back would probably give out. His hairline, though, that would stay strong. Was all that mattered. He figured that if things went downhill fast, he'd find some crazy way to go out with a bang - not that he could compete with Lilith's spectacle, providing the brave lass was actually dead.

Zane hadn't flaunted it to the other vault hunters, but he already had a job lined up provided he was interested in it. After saving Atlas' keester, he and Zer0 had reconnected like the old days. Over a pint soon after, Zer0 had admitted to having passed his ECHO details to Rhys. He'd hit the Atlas CEO up to talk some about potential business ventures, with the other man offering him positions in security _and _tech development. Not only had Mr. Strongfork been impressed by his sentinel and digi-clone, both of which Zane had designed, constructed, and coded on his own, but he'd also come from similar circumstances as the sword-wielding assassin. _Everyone_ knew how vital Zer0 was to the Atlas Corporation, and evidently the former vault hunter had put in a good word for him.

Zane learned early on that it was always wise to keep at least one option open in each hand. The price had been right, along with the benefits. Really couldn't be better, given Atlas' success. But then he had busted his balls for equally enormous entities. The offer, as it stood, just wasn't for him and he didn't quite know how to request the pot be sweetened. Rhys assured him that the opportunity would stand - and that he'd admittedly be a bit desperate if Zer0 turned in his notice.

They'd talk then, Zane had promised. Until that happened, he had a few schematics he planned to shoot over to the CEO for the fun of it. They weren't anything big but the number of side projects he'd compiled over the years was admittedly ridiculous. After all, he was a compulsive tinkerer.

In the event that he did ever split from the Crimson Raiders and pursue his own ventures, Zane would have to ensure he communicated with them that they could hit him up as needed. That, other responsibilities withstanding, he would gladly offer his services if they needed assistance. Again, keeping his options open, because who knew what kinda crazy shite they'd offer him.

If he broke due his age before that? Eh, maybe he would volunteer to be siren target practice. Or be on the receiving end of some Tannis experiment. The possibilities were endless!

Hell, maybe he'd even reach out to his first black ops unit. See what the others, providing any were still living, were getting themselves into.

Better yet, he could follow-up with all the folks he'd promised drinks. By now, that number had amassed so high, surely that would keep him busy 'til he died of old age and he'd be shite-faced along the way! Win-win!

Feck, maybe if he got crazy enough, he'd touch base with his sister and see how she'd been entertaining herself. He could even grow a full beard, strip down to his skivvies, and head back to Pandora to start his own bandit gang!

Zane should have known, given the strange direction his thoughts were taking, that he was on the verge of falling asleep. Tended to happen when his brainstorming got its most entertaining. But he didn't remotedly detect it. He was too boozed up for that or even for him to notice the barkeep asking, sweetly, if he was okay.

Was a funny thing to not notice himself nodding off at the bar...or even registering the barkeep tapping him on the shoulder. Wasn't until Zane jerked with a snort that the world shifted and he woke up on the floor with a knot forming on his scalp and a pain in his arse.

Somehow, he managed to wave off two sets of hands grasping at him, half-snorting, half-grunting nonsense. Still insisted he hadn't needed assistance, because he could feckin' _stand_, damnit. And if anything, his staggering made him haul his own arse outta there, leaving a massive amount of cash wadded up on the bar behind him.

The following morning, it was Moze who found him half-naked and collapsed over the toilet, snoring with saliva and vomit drooling from his mouth.


	8. Blackout Allegory and the Morning After [Wrong Room - Sanctuary]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much for a one-shot - I don't think we're even halfway through the story this is set to be based on the work I've done so far.
> 
> That said, if you could help this author out, could you let me know how I'm doing? My drive could benefit from knowing what y'all think. I have my doubts whether I'm going in a decent enough direction with things like humor, dialogue, and the characters...things like that. I could always use the extra pep in my proverbial step to ensure I don't burn out. I'd like to complete this!

Through a confusing muddle of images, Zane Flynt ascended toward aching consciousness.

Claptrap was harping at him, in that grating voice, threatening to send him back to basic training. His own gloved hand was reaching down to help the Firehawk off the ground, her skin pale and her powers drained. He was squeezing Ava's shoulder and looking at her tear-tracked face, promising to sing Maya's praises alongside her until their throats went hoarse. He was planting his boots atop Tyreen's mutated body and pumping an entire clip of incendiary rounds into the wet globe of that bloated, veiny eyeball. He was holding a naked woman in his arms, and when the moan left her lips, the velvet voice was Amara's, and when he brushed back a dark curtain of blue-tipped hair, it was her amorous face.

_Shite,_ was Zane's first thought as his consciousness crept up from slumber. He'd drank too much. His head hurt and his mouth was parched with that all-too-familiar taste of dry mouth and stale liquor.

Followed closely by _Oh shite, ohhh shite_, as reality truly dawned on him, and he realized that he was indeed accurately registering the warm presence of a body beside his.

Zane's eye snapped open, his optical implant flashing to life. _Last night. _He immediately, yet reluctantly, rolled his head to the side, and there Amara was, lying on her back with one tattooed arm above her head and her hand relaxed atop the red sheets concealing the rest of her. Her firm breasts were fully on display, dark nipples exposed in the cool air.

The sight of her like that, naked in bed next to him, and the smell of her sex on his facial hair, made his morning erection swell painfully from base to tip like he was a feckin' teenager again.

Despite how proud that should have made him feel, Zane instead experienced the opposite. Another occasion, another place - _any other _\- and he would have been one happy chap, but instead, he wanted to bury his face in his hands. Rub the collected tension in his temples. So he did, silently scowling when easy relief evaded him. He didn't even bother determining his own condition, with a thoroughly convincing amount of his skin bare among the same sheet haphazardly thrown across him.

The memory of Amara riding him flashed through his mind. The recollection of her face, wanton and flushed, as she lowered herself onto his erection made him shudder with desire. Even then, he felt like a feckin' idjit - swallowed dryly, feeling well and truly fecked, and not how he preferred to be.

_Damn_, this was not a situation he wanted to find himself in, and if he did, he wanted to be significantly more hungover than he was. With more of a minor ache resonating in his head, Zane most definitely remembered _most _of the events that resulted in the current predicament he found himself in.

_In his memories, he's not half as drunk as he seems, he swears - despite the fact he can barely stand on his own two feet. Didn't stop him from finding his way to Amara's room, incapable of giving a shite if anyone's around or that he nearly bowled over Pippie, that pipsqueak saurian, who runs across his path._

_Had Zane hastily catching the edge of a chair, chuckling before he smothers a hiccup. S'not that bad, he thinks. Maybe he's a little tipsy, but he's surely soberer than he seems. Takes more than what he had at Moxxxi's to kick him on his ass...didn't it? However many that had been._

_Didn't matter! He slapped at the call button anyway, alerting the siren inside...assuming she was there. He hadn't the mind to consider if she had been sleeping, as most were in that hour, or how indiscreet it was for him to be seeking her company as he was, out into the open to any prying eyes. If caught, he could blame it on the whiskey! Was already doing it in his head - sort of!_

_Okay, so he wasn't._

_After a moment, Amara responded, knuckling rest from her eyes. She opened the door dressed down for the night, in thin shorts and a tank top. Something about the way the slinky strap to the latter threatens to slip down her shoulder and the way her nipples tease through the material was making his cock jolt tonight._

_Had Zane flashing her a crooked smile, even as she arched her scarred brow and scanned him from silver head to booted toe before settling on his hooded, unfocused eye._

_Her response was a sigh. "How much did you drink, old man?"_

_How often, lately, did she have to ask him that?_

_Even in his intoxicated haze, Zane could see her checking the commons behind him. Hard to miss when she took a single step beyond the barrier to cast a quick glance around, all while he shrugged and leaned heavily against the doorframe, trying to lay on all the charm._

_"Not 'nough fer whiskey dick," he husked finally, languidly caressing her with his gaze._

_In his condition, he wasn't half as concerned - or hadn't been at all? Couldn't find it in himself to care as he reached for Amara, palming the curve of her hips in his hands and rubbing his thumb over the silken skin there. Felt her tense and shiver in response._

_That time of artificial night, nearly everyone who remained awake were at Moxxxi's, hitting the slots or chasing the demons that kept them awake with rakk ale. Others tended to wander in the outer corridors of the ship, but otherwise, there wasn't much there for them where the vault hunters resided, few daring to risk waking their war-winning heroes._

_Made it all the more convenient for Zane to stand there, reeking of booze breathe, not that he could detect it. Amara sure did, tilting her head to look more directly at her intoxicated partner while sighing at him._

_He knew he wanted her - as if his bold and damn near forbidden presence at her doorstep wasn't convincing enough. He wanted her to taste the scotch on his tongue, thick and sweet as it was._

_So he said as much, mumbling at her, "'ll ye lemme kiss ye?"_

_And then grunted as she seized the collar of his jacket and all but yanked him clean off his booted feet, into the privacy of her room_.

He also remembers her hushing him, vocally inebriated as he had been. Wasn't sure who stuffed her panties in his mouth to muffle him but knew the style was more his. Remembered feeling disappointment, the flavor of her on the fabric not as strong as he wanted, so he'd promised himself to find a pair from her used workout attire so he could breathe in her musky sweatiness when he jerked off. Use them to remember her by when he fisted them around his cock and came all over them. At least, at the time, that had been his master plan.

All he could think of now, for one groggy moment, was what one hell of a tangle it must have been to free him from his bodysuit when he had been so thoroughly intoxicated.

Drunk and heavy-handed as he'd been, the two of them had made the most of it...if the vague memories he had were any indication. And his nude condition, present in that tangled sheet, was further reinforced by the fact that he was _clearly_ in her room. And on a bed that definitely wasn't his and technically wasn't even hers.

Yeah, Zane didn't need to crack open a single reluctant eye to know he wasn't where he should have been. Place smelled like burning candles and earthy incense. And half looked like a forest, with two bright red trees rustling gently in the air outputs. Personal effects were damn near everywhere, and the punching bag was a dead giveaway among many others...and _his_ quarters definitely didn't have a large ZEN sign embellishing any of its walls.

Funny...wasn't what he felt despite all the therapeutic crap arranged around the room and it wasn't even how he viewed Amara, uptight as she was.

Did little to comfort Zane that he could spread out more on that circular mandala pad she kept. It was massive and certainly more comfortable than the actual mattress situated by the window. Fit his tall frame better, even if one of his feet still hung off the side, his toes touching the metal floor. Had no influence on his overall discomfort.

Nope - that had everything to do with the siren sleeping beside him. The same one breathing steady, slow breaths that meant he could probably slip out of there and spare them both the awkward waking together. Seemed best for everyone involved, he just...had to make himself move.

Should come as a surprise to no one that he didn't make his best decisions when inebriated. Quite the opposite, in fact, and he had amassed quite the collection of unflattering mugshots to prove it. He'd been forced to sober up in many a slammer and pay the ridiculous bail in countless cities, back when he'd been younger and too headstrong to avoid getting caught. Happened to be back when he'd been a valuable commodity to his employers and not yet regarded as a liability.

Was a bit surprising, given his extensive records of public indecency and drunken disorderly conduct, that he'd still managed to make a name for himself among the prolific heavy hitters in the corporate world - but then not, as his work spoke for itself. Wasn't virtually ever that the likes of Hyperion and others bothered with a reckless drunkard like him, but if they wanted shite done, they knew they'd best hire him. Wasn't like he had drank while working at official capacity - unless it was to their benefit because, honestly, shite happened.

_This_ current situation had the potential to be bad, particularly if anyone had noticed it. Or if someone like Moze had detected his absence in his own room...but then wouldn't someone have eventually hammered on the siren's door if they'd searched for his whereabouts? Likely.

Regardless, he had to figure out how he was gonna get the hell out of dodge without detection. Wasn't like he wanted to camp in the siren's quarters until his ECHO showed that his coast was clear. Did he even _have_ his ECHO? He couldn't recall. He tended to ditch it on his workstation when he didn't feel like lugging it around.

Oh, wait...his eye patch. He still had that. Didn't think he'd have spent the night fecking without it. He wasn't his most attractive with it absent. Funny how he hardly noticed the augmentation, it had become such an integral part of him. But then he'd had it for years, or some previous version throughout the last four decades. Made him wonder if it was time to upgrade it again, though he was always fiddling with it, pondering ways to advance the technology.

Ah, god, thinking of it made his head hurt - even worse considering he was thinking less and less about his current predicament. What in the feck did that mean? Because he _cared_ that he was up Shite Creek without a paddle. And despite the enhanced functions of his ECHOeye, he didn't see himself playing unconscious until Amara woke up as being an option.

Wasn't like he had anything against her_. _His hang-ups weren't personal...he didn't think. Or were they? Not for _negative _reasons, at least.

Intimidating ones, maybe. He didn't know - it had been a long while since he had woken up to someone like that. He'd laid closely beside Amara, and Moze, and even FL4K during their travels - but only to conserve body heat in harsh environments and, of course, when fully clothed. _Nooothing_ remotely funny about that business, though that'd been back before he'd started making more jackarsed, rash decisions.

Considering it was Amara in bed beside him, Zane figured he should count his lucky stars instead of curse himself. Jesus, he had to get a handle on himself before he does some shite like wake up next to FL4K after a night of reckless interfacing and find out the AI made an unauthorized installation of digibaby.exe or some shite. He heard enough screaming voices in his head and didn't need a squalling infant among them.

Or before he wakes up suffocating between Ellie's behemoth tits. In other words, before he puts his dick somewhere he might actually regret. Which he'd already done a shameful number of times.

Or he wakes up buck naked, arse-over-end, in a Catch-A-Ride with nothing but some grenades and a kazoo...like that _one_ time. At least now, his back hole didn't hurt.

Bad shite happened to drunk Flynts, if experience had taught Zane anything. And it had - at length. On many, many _avoidable_ occasions.

Resisting his urge to grunt, Zane finally, _finally_ shifted a little more upright and blinked the remaining bleariness from his eye before seeking out his discarded clothing. Ah, there they were, thrown in a haphazard pile somewhat nearby. Holding his breath, he eased as smoothly from the mat as he could, the gristle of his joints popping and trying to sabotage his stealthy efforts, but he succeeded. Amara didn't shift. Didn't bat an eye. Didn't even sigh in her sleep, allowing him to quietly pad over to his gear.

The temptation to slip into his underwear and high-tail it out of there was an intense one. He could've made himself just barely decent, gathered up his gear hastily in his arms, and slunk off to his quarters. Sounded more like something he would have done two decades ago, but old habits died hard. The distance between Amara's room and his just so happened to be the furthest, because fate was a filthy rotten bitch to him, and there was no way his white coloration wouldn't glow like a fecking neon sign if he tried rushing across the commons.

Meant he had to appear _slightly _more decent than that. One brief manipulation of his implant showed that there were a few bodies wandering around the off-branches of the commons, and there was no telling when someone's attention would just so happen to wander down them. At least by having himself in order, he could appear to be casually leaving his fellow vault hunter's company. Doing that in a state of haphazard hair and undress would guarantee an accurate depiction of their philandering. Nothing short of having his dick swinging freely between his legs would make _that _more obvious except, of course, having Amara around it.

At least there wasn't a paparazzi of people waiting just beyond the door, or a band of other vault hunters crashed on the nearby couch, armed with buckets of popcorn, _waiting _for him to make an appearance.

Meant he probably best get himself fully dressed and make a detour to the connected bathroom to straighten himself out. Tame his undoubtedly crazy hair a bit - and hope Moze didn't need to take a piss as he did. What time was it, even? And could he even open the damn door without waking the siren curled on the bed?

Shite, what a mess. One thing at a time.

First things first - underwear. Was in his discarded outfit somewhere. Had him bending down, pasty arse on full display, and rifling to pull the boxer briefs from the leggings of his bodysuit. He spread the hem and stepped his feet through them, ensuring they were arranged properly and had them halfway up his legs before a voice made his blood run cold.

"Don't make this weird, Zane. Get your ass back here."

Amara sounded sleepy and mildly irritated that he had subtracted himself from the warm spot she'd snuggled herself into. Hadn't even opened her eyes maybe more than a slit when she addressed him. Instead, she looked perfectly contented, her defined body and the sheets covering her making her look like a marble statue.

Man, had his spine stiffened in shock as much as it'd seemed to? Sirens _were _scary strong, particularly this one. He'd never followed a demand so obediently and that said something considering he'd been a highly coveted and eminent mercenary. Still, Amara's stern order didn't seem the only reason he reflexively hurried back to the bed, underwear at his knees and- up or down? Did he finish putting them on or not?

When in doubt, and in the presence of an attractive person, underwear off.

Gradually, Zane lowered his boxer briefs and stepped out of them, returning to his former state. Sidled next to that cozy form, lowering himself onto the cot as to not disturb the comfortable tiger there. And he sloooowly turned to face the nearby door, because he at least wanted to visualize his simple route of escape…until Amara murmured and pressed up behind him, her siren arm sliding to embrace his waist.

To say the situation was _different_ than how he envisioned was an understatement.

Wasn't like he'd _never _woken up alongside a lover. Did most often with women more than men, who were better about getting the feck out without him hassling them. And for as much as he loved screwing a good cock and ass, he tended to keep more women in his bed. They were softer, smoother, and didn't snore half as much as men did.

Didn't trouble him any that he genuinely couldn't remember the last time he'd bothered keeping anyone around. Might've been before his last marriage...that he remembered. Maybe even before that. Either way, he was currently receiving a refresher course in it, as unintentional as everything had been.

Had he a choice, he would have woken in _his _quarters, warm and aesthetic as Amara's was. Clearly he'd gotten a bit over his head between inebriation and sex and had remained unconscious since. Took quite a bit to knock him out so cold. He couldn't claim to remember at what hour he'd stumbled to her room and make the Sanctuary-equivalent of a booty call, but he was convinced he'd like slept better last night than he had in a while. After all, he hadn't been kept awake by his own harassing mind. He'd gotten off so hard, while so shite-faced, that he'd probably passed out. And other than this minor inconvenience of waking alongside company, he didn't have all that much to complain about.

...Except there were more than the immediate implications of this, one in particular that dawned on him finally. His mind was sluggish and his throat was dry, and both sounded just like it when he spoke up.

"They're gonna know," he managed finally, mentally grunting at himself, _Whose fault is that again_? Captain Obvious was he. He sounded like a feckin' idjit. Both wasn't and was just like him.

"Mmm," was Amara's only response as she settled more deeply against him, nuzzling her nose into the shaven edge of his hairline. A delicious shiver ran through him.

Against Zane's chest, her hand moved. She began lazily petting at the patch of hair between his pectorals. At least now, he felt like the feline...even if those sexy varnished nails of hers proved she had claws.

All of it felt...nice. Particularly when he let himself finally relax into her caresses. This whole situation just wasn't something he did. Wasn't part of his modus operandi. But neither was fucking a teammate, his conscious conveniently reminded him. _Thanks, boyo. Now shut yer trap._

Seemed he was getting soft in his old age - or worse, for a particular woman. _Nope_ \- old age it was. He was a feckin' fossil among assassins _and_ vault hunters, after all.

Even to Zane, that seemed hella backward. Made him feel like a mulligan to have even considered ditching Amara like she was no different than a hooker.

For one, there wasn't a single woman more amazing than his partner. She'd proven that time and time again. And it didn't have anything to do with status. She was tough as nails. Braver than anyone. Could hold her own, with passion. And she _was _a siren, but her confidence was more impressive. And _she_ had initiated that whole thing. Had it been up to him, he would have maintained their natural flirtations.

He would have behaved himself, damnit. For once in his life, perhaps!

Instead, he'd been impulsive and invited fun. He _loved _fun. And folding her into a sexual pretzel as he had the previous night had been _lots_ of fun. And this?

Well, he could get used to it and _that_ was the problem.

Didn't bode well for his playboy status for him to seem, in any way, domesticated. And while settling down in post-orgasmic bliss, to a tangle of lazy kisses, had been responsible for this predicament, that didn't make him obedient.

Wasn't like Amara had Typhon DeLeon's glowing whip around his neck, like a leash, not that he hadn't initially felt so strangled when their arrangement dawned on him.

For one, there was that little reflexive niggling in the back of his head that said _She could have killed ye in yer sleep._

To which the other half of him laughed incredulously. _Who's afraid of death, Zane boyo? An' ye do realize she could end you anytime, aye?_

Yeah. Couldn't forget that. As if the arm slung about his hips and all its siren calligraphy wasn't a stark enough reminder of her immense capabilities.

Admittedly Zane found it more pleasant waking next to a willing body than a bottle of his preferred lube and a clammy tissue - though there had to be a wet spot somewhere. Must've been on her side.

Even despite that, Amara seemed to be enjoying herself. It wasn't like she was asking for a marriage proposal or demanding his answers to profound life questions. She was contented the moment - which is exactly what _he _was good at. And wasn't currently doing. He had to put an end to that. Stop the mental equivalent of varkids from flying around in his noggin.

What he _should_ have been doing was formulating a plan of how to work a larger mattress into his quarters without drawing too much suspicion. He could almost hear himself now.

_Bigger bed? Ye bet I've earned it! Bad back, old as feck, yadda yadda. This tall and dashin' fellow ain't fittin' on that small excuse ya gave 'im! An' yeah, s'heart-shaped! Compliments this divan ye thought made me gay! God forbid a man knows his furniture terminology! Sod off, the lot've ye - 'cept Amara! She sees my vision! Gonna give her a tour of me new an' improved love nest! Ain't suspicious at all!_

From behind him, Amara's more alert voice interrupted his thoughts.

"...Does this bother you?" And then she sighed, immediately and verbally rolling her eyes at herself. "Yeah, like I really need to ask that."

Clearing his throat, Zane tried to give a flippant shrug. Noticed his own disappointment at the fact that Amara's hand that had been leisurely petting him had ceased its pleasant motions.

"Ah, I wasn't _intendin'_ on stayin'."

_I just don't do that, _he wanted to say. _It's nothing personal. I'm a bit of a coward, honestly. Y'see, I don't want ye to get any funny ideas of thinkin' I _meant _to 'cause I'm not that guy an' I'm never gonna be and why in the feck am I ramblin' even in me own head? Okay, can't complain - safer keepin' it in that way._

He had gotten his point across, even if Amara did sigh from her place tucked behind him. Her heat shifted away, leaving him shivering and drawing the blanket higher up himself.

In an attempt to soak up her remnant warmth, the operative rolled onto his back and finally turned his head to look at his partner. Caught a glimpse of her sullen visage before she turned to face the other way...and noted that she looked more than physically tired.

So his stupid chest ached at that, just a little, and had him following her. Was his turn to be the big spoon, which made him feel a bit more masculine...and better suited their measurements, his body more easily curling around hers. Besides, it felt nice to do as he'd done all along - mistake it might have been - and brush mustached kisses along her shoulder, and then her neck... slowly, and tenderly, and yet she couldn't help but shiver anyway.

Might have had something to do with the morning wood that he had, now sandwiched between them. He hadn't necessarily been aware of it but was now thoroughly reminded of its existence, feeling himself stiffen further as it brushed along the bare skin of her shapely ass.

Had him uttering some awkward nonsense as an apology, shifting to distance his hips from her. Turns out there was no way to hide the damn thing. It was drawn to her like a magnet, after all - or a damn dowsing rod. Fortunately, the way Amara invited it against her with a press of her hips assured that she far from minded. Wasn't like the two of them were very well acquainted, after all.

Zane could have directed their mutual attention toward it. Instead, he said a prayer and willed it to relax. Found _that _to be futile, so he left it pressing insistently against her, doing his best to ignore it instead.

Damn determined thing was going to come between them one way or another - just not as it wanted.

Mentally sighing at it, he focused on the siren instead. Found it easier once he wrapped his scarred arms around his partner, giving more of his skin the opportunity to feel her.

"Would ye know it," he rumbled, more to himself than to the siren who settled comfortably against him. "Stayin' the night didn't kill me. Fancy that."

A moment passed before a sigh rose from Amara's chest, his hugging arm feeling the movement.

"I know I should have helped you out, after...I guess I'm sorry. It's just that you were hammered to begin with and then you fell asleep...and I was comfy…"

All were good reasons, sounded like. Wait, and was she explaining herself to him? Made him really feel like an arsehole if his reaction made Amara account for her reasons.

"'S fine," he assured her...and himself, stating that fact. There was no reason for him to have some existential crisis. At least, not yet. Was he even that kind of man? Doubtful. The fact that he didn't know was kind of strange.

Then he added, after an abnormally awkward pause: "I mean…'m surprised ye managed any sleep, what with me snoring. Whole lot o' the ship must know I'm in here by now."

"You weren't _that_ bad," Amara assured with a snicker, though she appeared to think back for a moment before smiling at him.

"Small miracle!" he chuckled before rolling onto his back again, lifting an arm behind his head before he settled his frizzy head back against it.

Didn't seem all that stretch of things to realize he could be comfortable in Amara's presence, all things considering. They'd fought a war together, they had lived in close proximity to one another during its long duration, they'd started fecking, which was as close as one _could_ get, and it had never really felt that odd basking in the afterglow alongside the siren. What difference did having slept together make since, clearly, she hadn't murdered him?

None at all. Far as Zane could see, he had no reason to feel cold feet. Even Amara's were warm against his leg as she teased her toes through the hair there, relaxing further with how he relented.

"How's your head?" she asked, causing the operative to wrinkle his forehead while more literally testing its condition.

The sonorous sound of Amara's voice had him nestling up flush with her back again, appreciating the way she seemed content to lean back against his chest.

"Not hungover, if that's what yer askin'. Takes a lot more oilin' of me gears to manage that."

Not that he could even hope to accurately recall how much of what he had drank before he'd detoured to the siren's room with carnal intentions.

Snorting softly under her breath, Amara lightly raked her glossy nails through the crosshatch of scars and white fur present on his arms. Then she all but melted when he pressed a lazy, gentle kiss to the blue embellishing side of her neck, tantalized by its mysterious artistry and that indescribable warmth resonating from it.

"Wasn't sure if you knew _we_ knew about Moze finding you face-down in the toilet the other week," Amara admitted, sighing quietly as he paused in his affectionate ministrations. She continued speaking as he resumed, bristles of his facial hair a pleasant coarse tickle against the sensitive column. "I don't recall anyone ribbing you about it and you were a shut-in the rest of the day."

Zane remembered. His head almost began aching just thinking back to it. Had been _far_ from one of his finer moments. Being so ill had almost been enough to have him reconsider his drinking habits. If the last night was any indication, it hadn't succeeded.

"Oi," he breathed, settling back onto the sheets. He scratched at a sudden itch on his chest, absently, before letting out a sigh. "'Bout that: doesn't happen often."

His claim wasn't all that convincing, even to him, with the way things had been going. Sure, he'd had far worse stints of black-out drinking and a number of questionable decisions - and marriages - to count for them, but it had been quite some time since he'd last made a habit of them.

Seemed he _really_ needed to pull his head out of his arse and stay away from the bottle for a while, at least so his comrades didn't think he was a frequent alcoholic. He personally wouldn't trust himself if he was in their shoes, particularly given his recent lapses in judgment...and sobriety.

Amara assured him with a soft smile, rising up on an elbow to look down at him. Her movement made her breasts sway in a _very_ inviting, mesmerizing way, the pale blue of his eye eagerly falling to them.

Couldn't be too smooth of an operator that damn early in the morning, could he? Or whatever time it was. Wasn't like Amara minded anyway, if the mischievous glint in her gaze was any indication.

"I figured, since you're always in attendance at the morning briefings," she assured him. Wasn't like his mind needed to be put at ease, but he sure didn't want her thinking he had any problems...particularly associating with alcohol.

"Ah, those," he grumbled absently, frowning at their mere mention. Those were usually the first proof that he wasn't a morning person. "Yeah…"

Zane trailed off, a long moment of silence stretching between them as they both stared at the ceiling, Amara casually shifting to draw the bed sheet up to her collarbone.

Felt like forever ago that he should have asked, but finally, he spoke up, gazing at her from the corner of his real eye, "...Ye don't feel bad for last night, do ye?"

Amara perked up almost imperceptively, tilting her head to face him. "Should I?"

With a whisper of those same soft linens, the older man turned to her fully. Struck a casual pose beside her, seeing her mirror his same gesture. Felt oddly natural being with her, like that...the angle hiding the half erection that he still sported.

_It_ clearly didn't forget that he was in very close proximity to a very attractive and equally naked woman. Neither did he, for that matter, but conversationally balancing the corner of his mouth atop his knuckles helped him _seem_ concentrated.

He should have been, as the subject he felt inclined to broach could be considered a wee bit sensitive.

"Don't want ye thinkin' ye took advantage of me any. Might joke about that but I knew what I was doin'," he guaranteed her.

At least until she teased, "Are you sure about that?"

Zane struck a face that was half-concerned and half-amused, quirking one side of his mustache. "...Ye tell me. Now ye got me worried. I stuck it in the right hole, didn't I?"

Damn, he liked hearing Amara giggle, deep and velvet it was. If the dark purple she favored had a sound, that would be it. That music to his ears was enough to make him grin.

"Mmhm," she said, maintaining that stellar smile that was bright against her dark skin "I'll be walking fine today, handsome."

Given the likely state of his bedhead, he probably wasn't as charm as he preferred to be. Never was in the morning. His mustache, his goatee, and his glorious head of hair tended to get more than a little out of hand come morning. In fact, as he tried to glance up past his brow at it, Amara's attentions followed the same path.

She immediately began snickering, intercepting the tentative rise of his hand meant to inspect the damages with her own, ruffling that spikey display of utter chaos.

"Looks like an electric grenade went off in your face," she described, causing the operative to nod. After all, her depiction painted the sight he encountered in his mirror every morning.

"Sounds 'bout right," he mumbled, rubbing a heavy hand down around his mouth to correct the askewness of his mustache. He then followed through until his goatee was properly pointed, gusting out a huff before melting back onto the mat.

Yeah, everything was fine. Nothing was weird. They were friends, they were partners, and sharing those easy moments with her reminded him of that. Had he hastily crammed himself back into his clothes and snuck out of there earlier, they wouldn't have had that. What resolution would there have been instead?

Possibly a spiteful siren who wouldn't appreciate feeling discarded, for one. Sure, they would have probably discussed their night together later, provided she didn't assume he'd blacked it all out, but even then...this was nice.

_Real_ nice. By the way Amara's eyes flitted between his and his lips, he could read her desires loud and clear.

Had him leaning in until she met his lips with a willing brush of her fuller own.

_Much _nicer now.

Well, so much for doing what he should have...again. Except now, with his blood far below his head, he wasn't exactly in agreement with his previously plotted course of action.

Had he kept on his dipshit ways and snuck out, he certainly wouldn't have been making out with Amara as he was, thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. If his age had any effect on him, it made him patient enough to thoroughly appreciate the smooth movements of her mouth against his, their tongues dancing in a slow, fluid shift of angles and touches.

Physically, he was _thoroughly_ convinced he was doing the right thing. Mentally, he was sighing in frustration with himself...and then even his inner voice of reasoning started moaning. Why waste the opportunity? They were there, together, in private...on something akin to a bed, no less...and they were naked. Very much so, pressing together in ways that felt so perfect, her every feminine curve piecing against his masculine build like a sensual puzzle.

Zane was no fool. He could feel the effect it had on her, the same as it did him. Their skin grew hotter, their respirations shallower, and one tease of a wandering finger proved she was receptive to his advances. Then again...could have been his own fluids. Probably was. But then the inviting shift of those tattooed arms around him was unmistakable, her fingers tickling the tops of his shoulders. She was applying enough force to encourage him atop her.

Wasn't ever that he truly considered denying what Amara wanted, and he was more than willing to oblige. But for as undeniably appealing as her invitation was, and for as much as he enjoyed ol' reliable missionary, he found himself fancying a taste of something else.

Still, Zane couldn't help but align himself atop her for the time being, wondering if he even had the willpower to limit himself. That seemed in short supply these days, with this particular lover. And that was fine, since Amara was parting her legs to prove just how much she wanted it. And his bearing down on her, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue as he was, dipping into the sweet taste of her, felt a lot like sex.

They were practically having it already, with how their hips rolled together, his ready cock brushing along the hugging slick of her vulva. Had his muscles bunching in anticipation, her hips tilting toward him in impatience, their mouths interlocking with more intensity.

Was damn near impossible to pull away, insistent as their bodies were. Still, he was a determined man. Had something else in mind - another way to feel Amara's sinful body, even if she glared at him when he dismounted her.

"Mmm, c'mere," he promptly urged, pulling her close while also turning her back toward him, spooning her with an intimate press of his body. "Like this."

She was less prone to murderous intent as he arranged them, his arm alongside the bed curling under to cup her hip. Had her pressing back against him, parting her legs in compliance, her sigh purely provocative.

Was a great feeling, having his cock up against her ass. Better when he withdrew his digits and eased that hand between those curvaceous thighs of hers, gliding one caressing hand to support her leg, ensuring a precious path for himself. There were a number of ways they could proceed, and Zane figured he would follow the hints Amara's body gave him about what would be most comfortable for her. He was an operative - he adapted. Was what he did best.

He ended up setting the arch of her foot along his lower thigh, leaving his hand free to ease along the sweet skin of her waist. Without a doubt she was strong enough to support herself, and she would if that suited her best...but for now, he appreciated the view it allowed him.

Was easy enough to slip a single finger inside her. Just as fluid when he added a second, finding her slick and hot inside. She was slippery in that _very_ familiar way, and god, the primal pride he felt was rather ridiculous. Evidently he never tired of filling her with his seed. Knew that if he lifted those coated digits to his lips, he would taste their combination of erogenous flavors.

Made him wonder if he should finish some other way. Was just that going inside of her was so damn good and _she _got off on it. Most women did - at least, those who allowed it. Amara had _begged _for it, and who was he to refuse her? Physically, it was the most satisfying for him. Was nothing better than pushing as deep as he could go and being squeezed by all those soft, molten walls when he came.

His erection was already aching in anticipation, as if he hadn't been hard enough. Wasn't the first time he had been seduced by Amara in such a way, craving her again after having so recently had her. The way she pressed back against him and offered herself with an enticing arch had him easing himself between her sensitive, damp lips, brushing his length back and forth along them.

Wasn't long until each slippery pass left him slicked and drove them both mad with primal need. She turned her face to him, delighting at the brush of his facial hair, nipping at his lips while he gruffly chuckled at her. Her free hand rose to his hair, combing through the flare of his sideburn before raking across his scalp, sending sparkles of enjoyment through him.

Even now, the sheets that had covered them were sweltering, collecting the heat rapidly building between their bodies. Had the vault hunters pushing them down and then outright kick them away, freeing themselves from the restricting tangle.

Zane didn't kiss the wanton part of her lips until he nudged her opening and finally pressed inside of her, their moans mingling as their carnal flesh slid together, their fit snug and consummate.

Felt so fecking _good,_ her silken walls stretching to fit him. Had him murmuring huskily against her neck, pushing as fully as he could into her. Felt her adjust the balance of her hips to align them so he could sink further and feel the embrace of her folds against his scrotum. Only downside to the position was it taking a little more arranging than others, yet the effort was well worth it. Allowed his hands to wander her body, which he did with generous intentions.

His callused hand kneaded and praised her breasts, filling his palm with them. Circled her nipples with brushing thumb before tweaking them gently, stretching and releasing them, only to tease those stiff peaks.

His caresses succeeded in making her shiver, her pussy a smooth and fluttering counterpoint to the goosebumps rising across her skin. Had her bucking more forcefully into his thrusts, responding to the sparks of pleasure arcing from her nipple to her clit. Had his hand eager to clutch her hip and assist her and yet he resisted, tickling his fingertips along her sternum to navel, teasing inside the divot before splaying the flat of his hand across the powerful washboard of her abs, marveling at their every shift.

She sighed his name - whined it, nearly, suggestively gyrating her pelvis toward his hand. Had him chuckling gruffly in her ear, playing his digits just along the edge of her neatly trimmed pubic hair.

It was like this between them, sometimes - this thing they didn't dare speak of. When the undercurrent between them wasn't just chemistry, wasn't physical need, wasn't a superficial fling. It was something more satisfying, more invigorating, than all the loot and spoils of their vault cracking.

Somehow, it all felt so surreal. Was hardly the time for him to be caught in that feeling and yet he had woken beside her and was now inside her, enveloped and enjoying her heat. He was far from having cold feet now, as connected with her as he could be, their mouths melding together over her shoulder, his arm under hers in an intimate embrace, their legs intertwined as he angled and thrust inside.

The ride was a smooth one - only the sensation of their sensitive skin slipping and fitting together. In that position, he couldn't so easily piston his hips until they slapped her ass, and besides...he quite liked this. Could see and could _feel _the appeal of waking up to this, sex getting his heart going the first thing in the morning. Waking up to pleasure instead of a headache, or a cup of coffee, or a meeting. None of that compared to how Amara felt around him.

His strong arms were there, pulling her against him until they were flush, forbidding even a hint of space between them. And his hands were smoothing down her abdomen, settling below her navel, the heat of his touch so deliberate, the intimacy of it had Amara's heart aching against her ribs.

She turned her head to kiss him, his mouth eagerly meeting her there. The brush of his facial hair, their intermingling scent, it was so heady, so erotic that she was drunk on it. Their tongues swirled and stroked in a heated tug of war, all as he moved inside her, his rolling thrusts inviting her to clench and rock against him in fervor.

Zane's pace slowed as he coaxed his hand between her legs, _finally_, allowing her to focus on the sensation of him tracing the weeping rim of her slit. Teased them both, feeling the sensitive skin where she stretched around him, their mouths lewdly slack as he collected her wetness and eased a single digit into her, alongside the hard velvet of his cock. She leaned into him, circling her hips softly as he reached inside, tracing the taut stretch of her opening. Wondered over the feel of his throbbing member where it strained against her pulsing walls, both partners holding their breaths.

Amara released hers as he withdrew and glided that finger up along her crease, stroking that precious bundle of nerves that had her shuddering feverishly. Worked in ways she reacted best, stroking and rolling that place made for pleasure.

He took her there through that crest of climax and then back again, holding her tightly as she moaned nonsensical curses and thrust back against him. Felt her every throb, every twitch, as the thrill rode her spine and spread along her nerves, making her toes curl and her fingers dig into his flesh, exhaling baited breaths against the hot pink of her ear as she repeatedly fell apart in his arms.

Felt so right, so rewarding, to have Amara be so receptive. Had Zane's heart galloping in his chest as he embraced her and witnessed the flare of bioluminescence that burned in her skin, that strange sensation of electricity causing the hairs to rise across his body. He swore he watched every inch of her on orgasmic display, from the way her neck pounded in his ears to the flush that bloomed across her decolletage, to the way her breasts bounced and shifted, nipples twisted into tiny peaks with each onslaught of pleasure that wracked her.

He was thoroughly mesmerized, continuing to meld with her. Worked the sharp embrace of her core as it milked him, body spasming in the throes of repeated climax. Felt the damp cling of her hair as it clung in thick ribbons on his contrasting skin. Savored the crisp brush of his pubic hair against the cleft of her buttocks and the pink of his cock beyond as he worked in and out of her pliant body.

Had him moaning, gruffly, against her ear, voice laden with the sensations he was feeling.

"Feck, baby, ye have the sweetest, wettest pussy."

And he wasn't lying. Far from it. She was heaven around him, even as she moaned so hungrily. And he was going to come soon, he could feel it in the pit of his gut and the way his cock hardened further against the embrace of her cunt. Made him so sensitive, that overwhelming sense of greed causing him to lock both hands around the curve of her hips and piston erratically into her, his voice in her ear a harsh, needy whisper.

Even her name tasted good on his lips. Had her hand nearest the bed intertwining with his, while her other cupped the nape of his neck and drew him, panting and grimacing, against the silk of her hair.

Zane didn't know what compelled him to withdraw from her body and urge his release in a pumping fist. Only that he wanted his climax, chased it using the essence of her pussy, grunting and breathing in the scent of her hair.

What he didn't expect was her sound of protest and how she bucked back against him, her hand falling between them. How she seized his cock and, with a fluid roll of her hips, took him inside again. How her freed hand grabbed him by the balls and held him there, kneading as they pulsed inside her milking caresses.

Being suddenly engulfed in that wet heat had him coming, his guttural groan catching against the side of her neck. His hot breath panted humidly across her sensitive skin, his heart rate pounding hard against her back as the belly of his cock jumped and twitched, expelling the payload he had inside her with rapid, heavy gushes.

Amara sighed in relish, riding out the sensation. Maintained her hold on Zane's hip as he reflexively pressed against her, grinding back against him. Had he ever a single doubt she wanted him _deep_, she refused it, moaning into the feel of his orgasm.

Stole his breath was what it did. Almost left him dizzy, his body still thrumming in the aftermath. Amara was there petting his hip fondly, shifting herself gently against him, brushing her lips against the sharp cut of his cheekbone.

Slowly, Zane loosened his death grip on her body, trying to steady his breathing against that swirled shoulder. He leaned into the embrace of lips, a sound of deep satisfaction rising up from his chest.

Had him humming happily, even before their mouths separated and allowed them to breathe. He continued to do so as he dusted a series of meandering kisses along her skin, marveling at how she was so soft here, there, _everywhere_, even where he was still buried inside.

So, that would likely be the first time waking with a bed partner turned out better than anticipated. Made him grateful, again, that he hadn't been allowed to slip out like a coward. Had he, he wouldn't be balls deep in that sweet snatch of hers. Might not have been granted entrance to it again - at least never so smoothly.

Sure, he would have to do plenty of stealth work later, whenever he slipped out of her quarters and fell into a gait that didn't _remotely_ betray his intentions, but what they'd done was worth it. Or at least he was so sexed up and satisfied that he couldn't entertain any alternate outcome.

"Mmm," he managed, goatee brushing along Amara's slowing pulse as he teased his teeth and tongue gently around the plug stretching one earlobe, feeling her tilt into his attention. Finally, the courtesy he had attempted near the end started making sense. "Figured ye wouldn't want me makin' a mess of ya, knowin' yer exercise routine."

"Have to have a rest day once in a while," Amara replied, sounding equally satisfied and reluctant to oblige the concept. "Unless, of course, you want to join me."

"Ain't that what I jus' did?" he countered with a short chortle - one unlike the loud one he'd spouted the first time she'd suggested he wake up at the ass crack of the AM to participate in her regimen of physical conditioning.

_That_ had been a hoot, so much Zane had nearly embarrassed himself with his outburst. He'd actually stunned the siren into silence when he'd bent at the waist and laughed himself into a coughing fit - and had her promptly engage the door shut on him, much like a perturbed adult who was so _over_ a ridiculous child.

He'd literally paid for that one - as in he'd tried apologizing for successfully laughing her out of the room by buying her lunch that same day. Even then, he'd still snickered behind his hand at the thought of _him_, exercising long before he liked waking. Feckin' hilarious concept if there ever was one. That wasn't _retirement._

Except the older man hadn't been laughing after he'd told her to get what she wanted - that it was all on him - and she'd thrown a salad at him, demanding he eat it. A _fecking salad._

Yeah, he'd paid for it alright. He'd instantly regretted being so generous, all while he'd done his damndest to gnaw through the foliage like he was some goddamn bovine. The siren had watched him intensely all the while, slapping his hands away from the salt shakers and condiment packets that _might _have made the dish resemble something palatable.

She hadn't even let him wash it down with a beer. And she'd outright glared at the veteran operative while he'd pouted with his goateed chin on the table, the silver hair creased beneath him making a mocking arrow in the direction of his attentions. He'd stared with exaggerated sadness and immense longing as other patrons ate the double-fried, greasy offerings he preferred as sustenance.

"But I'm _skinny_," he'd argued, and no man his age should have been able to so effectively whine as Zane proved he could. "_Always_ been skinny. Not an ounce of fat on me body." And that was the truth, though she had no reason to believe he didn't have a beer belly just waiting to bulge out of his restricting bodysuit. He had abs too, damnit, even if he didn't put them proudly on display! They couldn't all rock a midriff. He was a tad old for that.

Huffing at the severity of his morosely downturned expression, Amara ignored his protests.

"Said I'd take ye out to lunch," he'd resumed, relentless in conveying the injustice. "Instead, ye won't even lemme eat. So cruel of ye! I'm _hungry._"

"And an unhealthy old man," she countered seriously, barely pausing before she started downing her protein shake. "Grow a pair and drink your water."

Of course, Amara hadn't _known_ so definitively that he indeed had a pair, and that she would so thoroughly enjoy it slapping against her, but it was only a matter of time until she did.

"Ye made me eat _grass,_" he'd whimpered, thoroughly convinced of it.

"Spinach and lettuce are not grass," the siren insisted, gusting out an incredulous sigh at him. "I swear to god, someone could make a sausage out of your arteries."

"That'd be _awesome_," was Zane's intrigued response - the exact opposite of what she'd wanted.

Thinking back to that had him smiling, even as he released a relaxing sigh. Felt good to take two loads off in one night. Made him really cozy...enough that he finally, and still reluctantly, pulled out of Amara's welcoming body and submitted to the inviting arrangement of the mat and pillows beneath him.

The siren's sharp intake of breath jerked him out of the promise of slumber, causing him to jolt upright. He could barely make out the bleary sight of her squeezing her legs together and rolling onto her stomach.

"Quick, quick - tissues! Over there!"

Spurred into action by her haste, he jumped to his feet - and promptly stumbled in the direction she jabbed her finger. Nearly tripped over his own toes, drawing a snorting laugh from him, and he barely caught the edge of the shelves atop which the box was perched on.

He chucked it at her, chuckling all the while. At least his aim was more accurate than his feet, which all but slipped under him again. Eventually, he stumbled back toward the siren, who was trying to stifle her own giggles, even as she stuffed a handful of tissues beneath her.

"Damnit, Zane," she managed, feigning anger but she was grinning ear to ear. "This isn't a bed. I don't want stains all over this. Keep it up and we'll need to use condoms, you make such a mess."

He was snickering as he dropped down beside her, feeling high as a kite even despite her threat. He dually noted her implying they'd feck there again - and didn't mind in the slightest. If anything, the thought excited him.

Was it his fault he came like a hose? Was half his, half hers. If she wasn't so fecking hot, and he wasn't so determined to last and make the most of their intercourse, the dam wouldn't hold so much back. He also happened to take his mineral supplements and stay heavily, _heavily_ hydrated.

"Ye seem ta like it. Was gonna spare ye but ye always go on beggin' fer it." Which was the truth, so Amara had no one to blame but herself.

He had _tried_ to be a gentleman this time. Spare her the mess or at least make it easier to clean. Instead, she was laying there dripping, making a flushed face as she wadded up more tissues and tucked them against herself.

She simply snorted at him while she tentatively stood and hurried toward the bathroom, treating him to a sight of her shapely ass. Had Zane grinning to himself as he leaned back against the pile of pillows she had some habit of collecting, pride in his chest and cock satisfied where it draped along his hip.

More and more by the minute, Zane further accepted the appeal of where he'd woken. Probably wasn't all that possible that they could repeat the occurrence without drawing attention to themselves. He figured he'd have a more accurate time determining that if, and when, he managed to exit undetected.

With Amara so willing to keep his company overnight, who was he to complain? After the initial shock, everything had suited him just fine. Sure, he'd rather wake in an actual bed and not pick his tired arse off the floor, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He just so happened to hook up with the one person aboard - except maybe Moxxi - who maintained a surface capable of sleeping two people...as if he needed further convincing.

If Amara got it in her pretty little head that she could talk him into eating another damn salad, though, he would _really_ have to put his foot down. As a man who came from the desert wasteland of Pandora, Zane didn't view plants as food unless it was a tomato. Or a deep-fried onion.

Sure, there were far more bad ideas the siren could get, but they didn't currently occupy his mind. He was too busy relaxing, scratching a hand through the disastrous mass of his white-silver hair as he stretched and released a full-bodied yawn.

Retired as he was supposed to be, sex was about the only damn thing he would be caught dead doing at whatever hour it was in the morning. Did that even make sense? Bah, he decided he didn't care as he turned onto his stomach, flexed his bare ass, and hugged one arm beneath his current favorite pillow.

If Amara needed to leave, she could throw a blanket over him so openly in his birthday suit. Or she could ride his arse, if she wanted to get frisky again. He'd be fine with that, even if he was sure to fall asleep before she returned to join him. Contented as only good sex could guarantee, Zane was pretty sure of that.

So, now he and Amara were partners who fought together, fecked each other, and slept together - at least on one occasion. It was up in the air whether they would change that 'instead' to 'sometimes', but if Amara wanted to...

He could crack on with that, he s'posed.


	9. Notes in the Margin [Written in a Siren Mind]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this caused a bit of a mess because it extended into two, possibly three chapters. I initially wanted to complete the mass of it but these damn things are long enough already.
> 
> About the license plate in Zane's room: the thought of a Pandoran DMV is absolutely terrifying. Real ones are bad enough.
> 
> Here, we have some progress...and a potential for more adult, ahem, materials. Also, some reflection that Amara was bound to do at some point.

During that initial - and perhaps only - sleepover, Amara decided that she really liked looking at Zane as he slept. At least, when he wasn't dreaming and twitching like he was being electrocuted, or kicking like a rabbit, or disturbing her by grumbling utter nonsense in his sleep. Didn't seem all that surprising that the older man was as entertaining and active as when he was awake.

When not doing _that, _the siren wondered over his quiet softness like she had never expected it of him - and for good reason. When conscious, the operative was so openly expressive, mouth often cricked in cocky smirks or face contorted in death threats. Even his appearance was just _a lot_, so much of his loud character expressed through his thick mane and equally exuberant, if masculine, facial hair.

She was madly attracted to it - and all of him - and made that apparent...and she found herself idly tracing his mature hairline, smiling at the mussed disaster of silver spikes that had fallen over his forehead.

With curiosity, Amara noticed that the usual golden glow of his augmented eye had dimmed into nearly indistinguishable darkness, and she wondered over the biofeedback mechanism that it integrated with. Wasn't like he could sleep with it feeding constant light and images directly into his optic nerve.

However Zane managed, she couldn't say - she only witnessed that he could. Turns out the one downside to sleeping alongside the operative, as he had both warned her and she promptly discovered, was that he snored like hell when he rolled onto his back. Within a matter of seconds, he could go from being adorable to causing a cacophony of sawing noises. Fortunately for her, and for the sake of his survival, he tended to stop when she turned him over. Would have been disappointing for a mercenary of his aptitude to lose his life to a thorough pillow smothering.

Honestly, after that first morning together, Amara didn't think she would have much opportunity to see Zane in that condition again. At least, not often and not so voluntarily - not after his initial reaction. He had certainly assured her, after that somewhat awkward encounter, that he was fine with the result.

Even then, she hadn't expected him to prove it to her as he did a couple of days later when he had waved her over to his quarters. It had been in the middle of the afternoon, when at least a dozen people occupied the commons, conversing idly amongst themselves and playing cards. She had been tempted to shoot the operative a look, though he had made a show of gesturing to her. Hopping and waving both arms, he refused to be ignored.

Turns out, Zane had no preplanned intention of fucking her _then _but instead, had decided to integrate her fingerprints into his personal data system.

Had anyone known that, precisely, it might have raised questions, but no one thought anything of the vault hunters hanging out together. What harm was there in two teammates having a little privacy? If anything, blatantly avoiding such occurrences would be cause for suspicion. So long as they stayed smart about it, her popping into his room while everyone was casually milling about, at most active hours on the ship, seemed perfectly normal. And would be, unless they wanted to pull the wool from everyone's eyes and admit their sexual arrangement.

If anything, Zane's purpose in pulling her aside was to further help prevent that. Wasn't like there was anywhere else on Sanctuary that offered much privacy as their personal quarters. They all sought each other's companionship at one time or another, for whatever reason. This time, the two of them could prove themselves fully capable of enjoying each other's uninterrupted company without fucking.

Amara hadn't really expected what he had in store for her, but when did that not apply to Zane?

"Whole lot more fail-safes an' security measures than ye'd think in this here digi-module," he said as he wielded the hand control to his clone, giving it an offering shake at her.

It _seemed _relatively simple, to the naked eye, but clearly wasn't. For a technical novice like herself, all she saw were two buttons and a switch. Fearless siren she was, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to touch it.

"Can't 'ave anyone wieldin' this gadget against me - not that they could, even if they cut off me fingers an' used 'em to access its functions - but I'm not a gent who cuts corners. Anyway, the short o' it is that I gotta authorize someone to operate this here module - an' there's gotta be vital signs on file fer 'em to actually use it. S'all analyzed by this here stick o' fun. Nothin' else ye need ta know. Just gotta upload ye into the database an' give it a go to test it out."

With Zane's guidance, they proceeded to do just that. She offered her hand to his gentle touch and let him stick her fingers in places that weren't as sexual as she was accustomed. Overall, the tech-heavy process was painless and surprisingly streamlined. He was done with her after a few minutes and turned his back while those adept fingers of his typed at his computer with mind-numbing speed. Amara could barely make out the numbers and letters and gibberish that spilled rapidly across his laptop monitor before the screensaver overtook it. By then, Zane was handing her the long, handheld device and nodding to her.

"Give it a whack!" he encouraged her, enthusiasm accentuating his appealing accent. "Gotta push that there button twice - once ta deploy me clone an' another to swap us. Ain't much ye can feck up...I don't think. Maybe I'm forgettin' somethin' since it's so second nature to me. Ye got these two buttons. This top one here," he indicated with a pointed index finger, "It transposes. I use it 'te switch back n' forth with me clone. Automatically reverses so nothin' complex there. The bottom one," again said with another poke, "retreats the clone. Gotta recharge 'im when not in use, y'know. An' yeah, that switch on top is the activation. Flip that cap an' have a go. 'Course there're more complicated functions ye don't gotta concern yerself with. Jus' don't fuss with multiple button presses or hold 'em fer too long.

"Honestly?" Zane continued with a thoughtful pause before thumbing at the port in his neck, "I do most of me controllin' through me neural system. Lot easier an' faster. I jus' like pushin' buttons sometimes!"

"This'll be yers," he told her as he extended the handheld device in offering, balancing it on the pliable palm of his glove. "'S me backup. Got plenty of 'em, includin' one I've linked to this so ye can send me back here when yer done with me. Easy peasy!"

Amara stood there for a long moment, eyeing the simultaneously familiar yet foreign device. Wasn't like she hadn't seen it frequent Zane's hand, because she had on countless occasions. Holding it in her own would be the real difference, and one she only accepted lightly in physicality.

Mentally, her head was spinning at the offer and what it could possibly mean. Zane's generosity was frequent and seemingly limitless and yet this...well, if nothing else, it was proof of his commitment to that strange thing between them. Through it, he made an effort to ensure their opportunities were more plentiful and secret for both of them.

"C'mon," he urged her, his smirk growing lopsided. He wasn't really misinterpreting her reluctance, as she found the tech a tad intimidating, but not enough for him to proceed as he did and force it into her hand, gripping his own around hers to guide her in a demonstration.

She was tempted to snort and shove Zane aside, assuring him that she wasn't as hopeless as she looked - but then he made her depress the button and the vivid flash of the clone appearing before them was one heck of a momentary distraction. And then he was making her push it again, until a flicker of pixels and a burst of energy swapped the clone in his place instead, that digital hand gripping hers in a virtually identical manner.

The actual Zane, of course, now stood where the doppelganger had been, crossing his arms with a confident smirk on his face. While Amara had encountered the digi-struct on countless occasions, often having fought alongside it, she had never paid it such close attention - and she couldn't remember ever having never _touched_ it.

"Handsome fella, ain't he?" boasted Zane with arms akimbo, and though Amara said nothing, she had to agree. Even then, for as undeniably attracted to the clone's facesake as she was, she was more impressed by it being so accurate _and _tangible.

Her right hand rose up to trace her fingers along that bearded chin, surprised to feel a familiar coarseness to the texture. It wasn't exactly detailed enough to call fibrous but it was amazingly solid, one bushy white brown winging up at her as those digital eyes intensely scanned her, no doubt trying to decipher her intentions.

Made her wonder how much of Zane's personality he had integrated into it. She had witnessed the operative interact with his doppelganger at length in the past, its responses limited to witty pantomiming. Despite its voiceless methods, it managed to get its message across loud and clear - just as its expressive user could, no doubt, if he ever lost his voice.

Stepping up to the clone's opposite side, Zane linked a friendly arm around its shoulder, leaning against it like an old friend. Between them, and besides the obvious bluescale discrepancies, the resemblance really was uncanny.

The fantasies a woman could have, with fuel like that...Amara had to stop herself before her mind ran with it, knowing such daydreaming was better reserved for when she had some privacy. Or, even better, when Zane was buried balls-deep inside her, the kisses he bestowed on her neck granting her the ideal vantage point down his scarred back to imagine an accompanying blue form pressing behind him.

She almost sighed until a blink of those perceptive digital eyes snapped her away from that impressively clear mirage. Didn't help matters that the operative leaned over to press a loud snog on the clone's nearest cheek before stepping back with a skip.

At his nod, she triggered the device again, causing the men to swap places. Suddenly Zane's cologne was teasing her senses, and then, after a handful of seconds, she sent him back across the room again, watching him blink as though expecting to have remained longer in place.

Smirking and feeling powerful, the siren couldn't help but give the button series of punches, noting there was somewhat of a response delay. Even then, she repeated that pixelated flash a number of times - until Zane's actual hand seized the handheld module from her, taking it with him in a disoriented stumble.

"_Doooon't_ do that," he said dazedly, finding his footing even as she rushed over to help balance him, the clone behind them setting his gloved hands on his corporeal hips.

Amara could feel the static electricity that resonated from the operative, noting the popping sparks that arced between them upon contact. Was enough to cause a discomforting _snap_ and have the finer whisps along her hairline rising, Zane's own silver standing more on-end than was typical, even for him.

Zane started chuckling even before she could express concern, not that it stopped her. She felt the pinch of it in her features, her tone serious. "Are you alright?"

"Fine, fiiiine. Dizzy, through. Wee bit trigger happy, are ye?"

"You know me - have to test my limits," she responded with a wry smile, leaning in to kiss him.

A demonstration? _Maybe._

Felt so _casual_ to do just that, even if it seemed to catch the operative off-guard for a split second. Maybe his swirling mind needed that moment to register the feel of her lips against his, giving him that unusually chaste contact.

Amara didn't miss the amused hint on his mouth as he returned it, and she swore she heard gears turn in that silver head of his, calculating if he should press further into it. Instead, he relented, breaking away before they could progress beyond that.

Mindful of the fact that they _hadn't_ planned on screwing, Amara respected Zane's distance. He was giving her enough personal liberty already by handing her the digi-module, giving her one last glance of caution before breaking into a self-satisfied smirk.

He was enabling their rendezvous enough by taking that measure - a fact that wasn't lost on her. She was already excited by the prospect of them having more opportunities, sensing that more frequent meet-ups would only satisfy even more of her needs.

But, unfortunately, even using Zane's impressive tech to their advantage didn't come without limitations.

After that somewhat awkward pause, Zane started speaking again, preventing her from truly thinking of them. A hop in his step, the operative went for his personal ECHO device where it laid on his workbench, seizing it in one gloved hand.

"Ah, here're the deets of our encrypted ECHO signal. Was a wee bit slow in the makin' but we've been busy an' I'm kinda, well, _me,_" whatever he meant. Amara guessed that was a reference to him being laid back and erratic. "An' besides, seems we've been managin' well enough, haven't we?"

That they had - and yet Zane had still reconfigured both the digi-module and done whatever had been necessary to secure themselves a private channel for their more intimate communications. Whatever that entailed, Amara was curious to find out.

There was an air of awkwardness about Zane as he held out his ECHO to her - and then promptly reached for hers instead, where she'd also placed it on the table. He aligned his own beside hers, turning his jacketed back to her while tackling the process of copying the codes and security data between the two devices.

With the operative momentarily distracted, Amara took the opportunity to more thoroughly look about his quarters. She had clearly been there before but her attention had often been focused on her partner, particularly during their first sensual encounter...Now, so much later, she was taking in the sight of his shelves and what they had on display.

_Pandora has license plates?_ she wondered, tracing 'REDRUM2' stamped in the metal. Huh. Must have been from another region of the barren planet. There were a few books and some device she didn't recognize, as well as a toolbox not unlike the one currently at his workstation, a DAHL sticker on both. And what Pandoran residence would be complete without a skull? Not Zane's.

The operative's living space had never exactly been neat. The man seemed to _need_ a bit of disarray around his space. There were papers still on the floor that she felt had been there since the war, and a hefty collection of oil rags littering the area around his stool. Tools were left strewn out, their handles haphazardly taped together...like he had some sentimental attachment to the well-worn instruments. And, as always, there was a wooden case stamped with 'SWAMP BLOOD ALE' to the left of his bed. To her, that did _not _sound appealing. Evidently, her partner disagreed.

Did Zane really need a television at the foot of his bed? Seemed, to her, a little close for comfort...not to mention oddly outdated, like his radio, considering the rest of his tech. The thought of him regularly parking his ass in front of the TV was a strange one.

She had caught him in front of one a few occasions...usually when his sleep schedule went to shit. Whatever went on in his mind to cause him insomnia tended to send him deep into the bottle. She had first learned that unfortunate fact when both she and Moze had happened upon the operative drunkenly snoring and drooling on the couch in the commons, arms flopped out alongside him and booted legs splayed out on the table. He'd been surrounded by empty and overtipped bottles, causing the two women to sigh.

Over the sound of his deafening snoring, they'd debated waking their resident old man or just straight up trying to carry him to his own bed. The couch was a lumpy piece of shit and horrible for his already bad back. They'd eventually and mutually agreed that Zane was more irritating when suffering from severe insomnia than grousing about his spine, so they'd left him alone until they'd heard his rousing, agonized groan shake the ship around lunchtime.

Needless to say, he hadn't been much in the mood or condition for much after that. He'd been hunched over and, for Zane standards, crabby through the following day, making quite the display of bending over damn near everything to crack his back in just the right way.

Contrary to what she assumed, Zane must have tidied up his quarters every blue moon or a flood of empty bottles would have spilled out of the door upon opening. As it were, there were a half dozen scattered throughout the space...empty, naturally. Some stood on his tabletop. A couple were knocked over by his laptop. Made her glad they didn't really have sex in his room or else her urge to pick up after him might have ruined the mood.

And how many drones did the operative need? He had a number of stacked, personalized cargo boxes in the room. One contained a sentinel, another was on the shelf to the left of his bed, and another was _always_ in some state of disrepair on his table. All his cargo containers reminded her of his strange fixation with triangles, reflected even on his desk lamp.

Beyond that, he had a large crate of ammo by the door and that massive hi-tech safe she had yet to see the interior of...and two potted plants that were somehow still alive, which meant he likely watered them more than he did himself, so far as actual dihydrogen monoxide was concerned.

Whatever the massive machine was in the far left corner of his room was, she had no idea, but it had an equally large bundle of wires off-branching from it. That amalgamated cord was about the circumference of her wrist and plugged into the wall for power. Maybe it was a computer system? Likely was. It didn't appear to have any connection to the sizable generator next to it. The fact that Zane simply left all the cords and extensions and a work light just out in the middle of the floor made her want to twitch. Couldn't he at least run them along the wall and avoid the trip hazard?

There wasn't much more that intrigued her, though she was surprised that his bed was made...even if it looked like it had been recently laid in. She wondered if he even bothered to crawl beneath the covers or if he simply rested atop them. She knew, for a fact, that he sometimes occupied the floors of bars.

And did he ever actually wear anything when he slept? Underwear, maybe? Why were those the questions inundating her mind? Wasn't like she could imagine anyone able to withstand the chill of the metal vessel they occupied. Personally, she found it best prevented when sharing body heat...as she had recently realized.

Sighing inwardly, she stared longingly at the preoccupied operative. Something about the hyper focus Zane had while performing the task, despite her trying to tiptoe over his shoulder, suggested he needed that momentary distraction from whatever else existed in his head.

Sure, it was simpler that way. Zane achieved the connection in record time, which was exactly what she expected of him. But he was often immensely patient and allowed her to take matters into her own hands. Was fine with standing on the sidelines and offering his guidance as she navigated deeper recesses of her ECHO. She wasn't technically ignorant and he didn't suggest that she _needed _to be more versed in any of it, but he did say that she would benefit from it. And how would she learn if he went ahead and worked his magic for her?

Except, as Amara quickly figured from watching the quick work of Zane's fingers and the code that spilled across the screen from his ECHO, onto hers, maybe it was beyond her. He even produced a cable from one pocket of his coat and inserted it into a jack she didn't even know the devices had, hardline connecting the two so they could resume copying data, their monitors quickly blinking between a series of strange screens and uploading status bars before both blacked out and rebooted in perfectly-timed unison.

Zane somewhat explained: "Ain't hard establishin' a connection via ECHO but gettin' a truly secure one? Lot more trouble. Last thing ye need is someone like me interceptin' it - 'course that means I know what I'm doin'. Tricks o' the trade. Everything's gonna be encoded, scrambled, an' encrypted trifold. Could do more but honestly, anyone who gets through this is gonna be _real_ pissed they wasted the time jus' try'na listen in on our personal business."

He continued, scratching absently at the left corner of his mustache. "Not many gents equipped to even bother, honestly. Same shite I gotta do to cover me ass throughout the entire ECHO system, though there's hardly a point even in that if anyone starts mentionin' me by name or some identifyin' point o' reference. All them assassins out fer me head have their own ciphers continuously runnin', waitin' fer that one hit that'll lead 'em to me. So I guess if one of 'em happens 'cross this, they'll be findin' me 'tween yer legs, won't they? Safest place to be, maybe!"

"Most dangerous for them," the siren commented flatly, though she meant every word of it. Zane has _no _idea. To him, everything was a joke. To her…?

She couldn't be _more_ serious on the subject. Had already vowed forever ago, back even before she had witnessed Anzel's assassination attempt, to protect her partner. Swore there wasn't a deity throughout the six galaxies that could spare anyone making any attempt on Zane's life - she would personally see to it. In the event that someone ever tried again, she was convinced that she would beat Zoomer to the chase and tear them from limb to limb without giving the operative the chance to interrogate them.

Some time ago, it had come up in casual conversation that Zane had developed his digi-clone out of necessity. He, as he nonchalantly put out there, needed to "give 'em two handsome mugs to shoot at".

As it was, Amara had lost count of how many enemies had cursed Zane Flynt and vowed to kill him, even back when they'd been chasing down the Calypsos. Most grudge holders had entered the chaotic fray of battles that had frequently erupted around them, and she'd only really comprehended what was going on when Zane began blathering on about "Back in me day…" and so-and-so's dead brother, cousin, or whoever it was bringing back his memories.

With his massive kill count, which was impressive even despite his years, Zane seemed to merrily overlook the fact that he was a piece of meat like any of the bodies he blew into chunks. He went about protecting himself as casually as one would brushing one's teeth, except his pearly whites suggested he was more invested in that.

Not that it was fair, but just Amara thinking of his nonchalance could get Zane into trouble, not that he would remotely expect it by now. If anything, she found her protectiveness of him to be even stronger than before, their bond having rooted so much deeper since they had become intimate. That wasn't to say she valued Zane more now than she had in the past...more that he had become even more of a presence in her life than either of them had ever intended.

As if them being together, at that moment, wasn't a result of that.

The sudden warm fondness that formed inside her for the operative had Amara craving the feel of him, compounded by the sense that something was off about him. Had her tempted to run her hand up his back. She thought against it momentarily before easing her touch slowly up the spider crest on his coat. Immediately stopped when he flinched under the unexpected contact, causing her to frown.

"Sorry," he chuckled without looking back, rolling his shoulders before he shook his head at himself, cracking his neck in the process. "Wee bit antsy today."

Feeling his tension release, the siren aligned herself behind him. Brought two hands up to rest atop his shoulders and knead firmly into his underlying muscles, drawing a slowly unfurling moan from him.

That caused Zane to pause in his motions again, hands faltering from their technical manipulating. Another deliberate squeezing pull of her hands had him stifling another shameless sound of relief, his head dropping forward gladly.

"Feel good?" she asked smoothly, taking full advantage of her strong grasp. Wasn't like she needed to ask. Maybe her ego needed its own stroking.

"Lass," came that hoarse groan, followed by a wistful chuckle that carried throughout that expansive room, "Ye got no idea."

At his age, Zane had more aches and pains than she could imagine. She'd heard him gripe about them enough but even then, she suspected what he complained about for comic effect was instead far worse than he let on. She had seen him in the morning, after all. Heard all the grisly pops and grating bones throughout his scarred body. The morbid noises served as vivid reminders that the years had been anything but kind to the assassin who, of course, had not only _invited_ the wear and tear on his body but recklessly participated in causing it.

Just thinking of the wreck of knots that likely comprised Zane had the siren feeling particularly generous, her intentions driven by the affection she felt for her partner. He was, after all, undeniably generous. He tirelessly made her feel so much pleasure. It was only fair to give more of that back and take some of the stress out of his broad shoulders.

"How about you take your jacket and shirt off for me?" she suggested, fully meaning it. "I'll make it worth your while."

It wasn't that she was _against _anything else. If anything, she was feeling far bolder than she should have, particularly given Zane's unusually appropriate conduct. If anything, him being that way only encouraged her more evocative behavior.

She couldn't quite care, and she made that apparent by pressing herself against him, breasts pleasantly firm against his coat. She felt the otherwise indiscernible rumble through his back, smiling from it.

"We both know where that'd lead. Better not," he warned, not sounding all that personally convinced.

"And why's that?" hummed Amara, dropping her voice a suggestive octave.

She could guarantee Zane's expression, given how intimately she knew him. Swore she could see his brows furrow and his temples tense, his eye squarely staring at the wall before him. Poor old man sounded conflicted.

"...'Cause ye know _they're_ gonna know," he grated, voice laden with temptation.

She couldn't help herself. What was wrong with her?

"And if I don't care?" she sultrily ventured.

Zane's body stiffened - in every conceivable way, if his following grunt was a reliable indication. And it was. She could tell by the way the short hairs on the back of his neck rose and his shoulders tightened with withheld aggression. He released a shallow breath, not half as amused as he sounded.

"..._Annnd_ now I'm hard," he chuckled, a filthy depth to his voice darkened by need. "Thanks fer that. 'M gonna pretend ye don't mean that."

"You're welcome," she teased far more casually, catching the danger in his eye as he glanced over his shoulder and released a more sincere laugh before hanging his head defeatedly.

Zane's next attempt was one _intended _to redirect their conversation into safer territory - possibly conveying what they _should_ have been doing instead of building up the sexual tension between them.

He gave them an out was what he did, turning fully toward her, bracing a cocked hip against his workstation despite how casual neither of them felt. At least he _tried._

"Ye wanna get a couple drinks? I mean, some water or some shite. With a wee umbrella in 'em. 'Cause ye probably don't do juice, do ye?"

Poor Zane. She found herself wondering if he felt bad for being so easy. Seemed he was most accustomed to being the aggressor in his relationships, if how he handled her in their proverbial bedroom was any indication. While they initiated their affairs roughly equally, he was more than willing to call the shots and reduce her into a trembling, submissive mess. In reality, he wasn't accustomed to her being more forward _or_ teasing. She wasn't the best at either but she was, as she seemed intent on proving to him, just as capable.

Chances were, if she hadn't twisted him around her little finger and given him reasons to so deeply desire her, she wouldn't have gained that advantage. Even then, she knew Zane could resist her seduction if he _truly_ wanted to.

Which wasn't now, she didn't think. He was playing along with her game, even if he feigned having complaints. Surely his physical condition wasn't comfortable, being so hard and restricted in his pants. Wouldn't be the first time, particularly considering how many attempts at fucking they'd had interrupted.

"Ye hate me," he groaned haggardly, unable or unwilling to resist brushing his hips against her suggestively. He hadn't been lying - his manhood was heavy and straining against the front of his leathers.

"Mmm, must hate myself too," she murmured, reaching to guide his hand between her legs - and felt him take charge half-way, rerouting his trajectory toward the hem of her jeans.

She made space for him as those talented hands unbuttoned her pants with ridiculous ease and used the slide of his inserting hand to part her zipper, sending a spark of heat into her greedy gut.

A full-on shudder ran through them both as Zane cupped the seat of her panties and found them drenched. Of course they were. He had that effect on her _always_, and damn if that cocky bastard didn't know it.

His expression, wry and boastful, was telling enough, even if there was an underlay of struggle beneath it. Amara recognized the ache he undoubtedly felt - the same one that had his greedy feelings working aside the saturated cotton of her coverings, easing two shameless digits into her, where she was hot and needy and soaked.

She groaned gently, bracing herself against the edge of the table and gripping it with her fingers, fixing herself there as he sank his digits inside her, exhaling hoarsely, lust etched clear across his lined features. She didn't doubt that same desire reflected across her own features, her body feeling flushed from his skillful penetration.

For them to fuck there, with everyone awake and practically outside the door, would have been extremely reckless. Chances were, there would be no going back. It had been Zane's rare voice of reasoning that had resisted at first but now hers was speaking up, for however much she enjoyed riding the flat of his hand and invited the thrust of his gloved fingers as they curled and worked inside of her.

They were positively slippery when she eased him out by his wrist, earning a strangled sound of protest from him. Took everything she had not to voice her own, needing to establish some image of composure between them.

At the sight of leather coated with her juices, a string of them stretching lazily between them, Zane shoved her against the desk. Nearly pushed her backward over the work surface, pinning her there with his body in the process.

Those fingers of his were nearly in a frenzy, fumbling with his belt before achieving that metallic release,

"C'mon," he was breathing, thoroughly convinced of his needs. "Can't lead me on like that - we'll be quiet. _Promise_. Can even turn on some music."

Despite himself, the look in his real eye suggested she damn well could.

Admittedly Amara felt a bit bad for denying them the opportunity. She didn't _like _leaving Zane with blue balls or suffer her own equivalent because she _did_ desperately want him...but not badly enough to shoot them in the feet just yet.

There would be time for everything later, Zane had helped ensure that. His digi-module practically burned in her pocket, poking against her like a branding rod, reminding her of its presence and its every implication.

They would use the hell out of it, she knew. There was no need to convince her otherwise. Perhaps it had been better that he hadn't introduced it sooner. Maybe it would have been safer if he never had at all, but there they were. It was too late to take back, and the dark depths of Zane's remaining eye suggested he was just waiting to use it.

They also said, _why wait? _They were together, he was hard, and she was dripping wet. Even Zane, for as well-versed in self-restraint and strategy as he was, wasn't without his addiction to reckless abandon. And he was set to prove it, bracketing his arms around her hips, pressing her against that table again, actually driving her atop it with the insistent grind of his pelvis.

"C'mon, sweetheart_,_" he grit - and promptly scoffed at himself as though surprised by his own shameless pleading. Even then, he nestled his hips between her thighs and bucked against her firmly, the clothed rub of his crotch blatantly suggestive.

Their bodies, hardwired for pleasure with each other, were all but convinced they were already fucking, the rolling of their hips resembling it.

As Amara knew, Zane was a man who took an inch and wanted a mile. He was in every way a man who didn't do half-measures. She knew that if she even gave a hint of giving in, he would have her out of her clothes before she could make sense of it and push himself inside her, and then it was over for them. Or over for _her._ He'd rut her until she was full of come and her cries echoed throughout all of Sanctuary - which was the _last_ thing they needed. Would be fine if only she could make up her damn mind about what she wanted.

Had she trusted herself to make that decision right then and there and committed, then there was no denying how they would proceed. Instead, as Zane grunted and brushed himself against her, nearly mindless in his primal desire, overtaken by the same fantasy of them throwing utter caution to the wind and living out their affair to the fullest, she had to end it. Knew that the veteran operative, for how determined he was at grinding her into an aggressive and forced orgasm, could convince her of damn near anything if he overwhelmed her with pleasure.

For as much as Amara craved it, she couldn't give him that. Couldn't allow herself it, knowing that if she did, she would be too weak to discourage his advances. As it was, she was doing a half-ass job of that already, instinctively urging him with the spread of her legs.

So she closed them, using enough strength to lock him in place. Reminded him who, between them, was stronger. His urge to fuck her might have been equal to her desire to _be_ fucked, because it was difficult to imagine desire exceeding that. Even then, Amara knew it wasn't necessary to establish her physical advantage in such a way. For as dominant as Zane tended to be, sexually, she knew all she had to do was snap her fingers or otherwise suggest he submit and he would roll over belly-up for her.

And he was proud to do it, same as she was to use that opportunity as a bargaining chip.

"I promised Ava we would do our training when I finished here," she explained - and she had, further establishing with herself that she couldn't linger and allow themselves to risk detection or otherwise get themselves into trouble. *As for you, I expect you to be on your best behavior if you head to Moxxxi's. No overdoing your drinking," she ordered with finality, leaning on her tiptoes to nip at the edge of his lip. "I'm serious. Need you ready for me tonight."

She wanted him beneath her again. Her reason for riding him last had been because he had been so thoroughly inebriated and she hadn't exactly trusted him to wield that dangerous equipment of his. She had nearly forgotten how much she enjoyed seeing him in that position, though she preferred him to be significantly more sober during it. As in, less bleary-eyed and looking like he _wasn't_ about to fall asleep at any given second. _She_ had thoroughly enjoyed herself, a heat in her loins conveying her need to climb atop him again. She was sure he had _something_ he needed to make up to her for.

She didn't miss that renewed spark in Zane's single blue eye, the tormented furrow of his bushy brow lessening momentarily. Then it was back again, his gaze narrowing in scrutiny, scanning her up and down.

She half expected him to suggest she was assuming too much - that he would try to reassert some semblance of control over his situation, despite how he'd quite literally given her the key to himself - her own silver fox operative, to be transported directly into her bed whenever she wanted. Or maybe, even, into the shower.

But he didn't. Instead, Zane regarded the digi-module tucked in her waistband and visually acknowledged his willing participation in that provocative game of theirs.

"Yer playin' me, 'Mara. Playin' me _hard,"_ he husked, sounding equally amused at his delightful predicament.

"Got you by the balls," she hummed, reaching to cup them through his pants to more literally, and convincingly, demonstrate it.

Too bold? She doubted it. Not with how Zane brushed against her one last time before pulling back with a lecherous laugh, giving an amused shake of his head.

He nodded to his gifted device with a sighing farewell before reaching to pull it out of her waistband.

"Shouldn't go flauntin' this. Gonna be some questions if others see it," Zane said, matter-of-fact.

"Can't I just tell them I won a bet?" she teased. Well they probably _would_ buy that.

"How 'bout a game o' strip poker?" suggested the older man, following her own train of thought. "Pretty believable, if ye ask me, 'side from the fact I'd kick yer arse."

"Wouldn't explain me keeping it by my bed," she hummed, reaching for the lapels of his jacket. She needed his kiss before she left.

"Mm, nope," he agreed, obliging her silent demand, his mouth relievingly willing as it slanted over hers and his tongue slid to work his magic. She shivered as she felt him caress the curve of her upper lip, delight sparking in her, and didn't hesitate to hungrily allow him in.

Their kiss did nothing to alleviate their sexual frustrations. It was so silken, so fluid, that her body shimmered with it - invited him dangerously closer with her impossible urge to twine her arms around his neck. At the same time, those square shoulders of his shifted as his hands

She _thought_ to pull back in a vain attempt to inject reason into what was happening. Instead, she pulled his head down harder and claimed his mouth again, her passion instinctively mirroring his.

It wasn't until her back hit the workbench again that she pulled away from her partner with a long, shaking breath. Above her, Zane's blue eye was positively limpid with arousal. That nearly overwhelming sight had Amara laughing breathlessly, even as he kissed her again and nipped playfully at her lower lip, making her flush with desire.

Then, as though out of nowhere, the operative backed off enough to pull her upright and into a deep lover's kiss that seemed to stretch on for an eternity.

Her body was buzzing when he pulled away, that signature cocksure smirk on his face. Was enough to have her snorting and pushing him away, mildly frustrated that he had turned the tables on her.

That stupid man and his equally stupid mouth. Then again, he was oh-so-willing to lose his composure...

Intent on forgetting how they both had, the siren set about tucking the module beneath the front of her vest. She then suggestively swayed her hips as she headed to the door. Opening it, she bid Zane farewell with a promising wink, and then she left, shutting him away behind her.

Without a set time for her to meet with Ava, the Partalian detoured to her own quarters and invested a bit more time on her personal matters. She tucked that digi-module within the hydraulic compartment closest to the head of her bed and tried not to think too much of the impression Zane's offering tried leaving on her...and then promptly began rearranging her quarters accordingly.

There was no way in hell she wasn't going to use the digi-module now that she had it at her disposal, considering how she thoroughly enjoyed all it entailed. And to do that, some preparations were in order.

The last thing they needed, if they wanted to avoid detection, was to have the circular mat they used instead as a bed located directly by the door. She swapped its place with her punching bag, moving the expansive pad nearly beside her window-mounted cot, knowing Zane would later notice and give her his nod of approval.

Funny to think how she used the mat less and less for meditating, as it was intended, and instead practiced more the art of Kama Sutra atop it.

Turns out, she wouldn't see Zane during Sanctuary's version of night. Both he and the other two most familiar vault hunters were, according to the vessel log, down on Eden-6. Wouldn't be for another ten hours that the swampy planet would experience nightfall, during which time her three teammates would be deeply invested in the mission allocated to them.

It was Ava who informed Amara about it, on vague terms, when they had been halfway through their training, and Zane who casually explained it to her when she checked in on them.

"Ah, Wainwright dredged up some ol' family blather 'bout an alternate secret recipe to some mythical ol' gunpowder or some such," sighed the Pandoran-Irishman through her ECHO speaker. "Got us on a wild goose chase, same as always."

"If I have to touch one more moldy statue," came Moze's seething across the line, followed by the older man's relating chuckle.

"I will perform the task," was FL4K's even-toned assurance, missing human nuance as always - of which Zane made up for.

"How sweet o' ye!"

Sighing, she had left them to their task and lingered, temporarily, in her disappointment. For as much as the siren enjoyed the company of her companions, she wasn't particularly fond of slogging through swampland or smelling saurian breath. She preferred to keep her eyebrows unsinged. And she would rather be freshly showered than caked in foul slime or the musty odor of the Jakob's extensive cellar.

Shame, though, that she couldn't stand by and watch Zane while he chatted up the engaged gentleman. For as refined as they all were, the operative and his accent - and some of his mannerisms - were so rough compared to theirs. The siren found it intriguing seeing Sir Hammerlock and Wainwright be so proper and Zane so comparatively rugged and still so dashing. It was unfair, really, to have so much mane styling and elaborate facial hair in one place. Turned the estate into an old gentleman's club.

It was an unfortunate fact that the other vault hunters being on Eden-6 meant they were far from Sanctuary. They were, of course, only a fast travel jump away but even then, Amara wasn't too inclined to assist them. Had they needed it, she would have without a second thought. Instead, she found herself situated at their usual table at Dynasty Diner with three empty seats.

It was for the best, she decided, to have some time alone - despite how she had previously planned to be entangled with Zane in her bed. Her present isolation helped her reconnect with herself. As it was, she felt at odds with herself if she didn't make time to meditate or otherwise center herself.

Wasn't exactly so simple when her meditation place was occupied by a certain operative.

She shouldn't have been thinking of him, honestly. For as recently as she had ended her training session with Ava, there was no reason to distract herself from the texts they had read together. Or, maybe more importantly, consider how she could better assist in shaping the teenager into a stronger, more confident woman. In the commander's position, that was more imperative than ever.

Still...Dynasty Diner seemed the _last _suitable place to devote her undivided focus to anything. There would be time for that later, particularly considering there would be three fewer distractions on Sanctuary, provided their mission kept them occupied through the night.

It seemed that no matter how many times her responsibilities as a siren divided her from her teammates, Amara still strongly felt their absence. The occurrence was more familiar now than it had been before she had taken on what had been Maya's guidance of Ava, but that didn't make it comfortable. Despite how many directions her mind pulled her in, the Partalian most often found her thoughts wandering back to her fellow vault hunters.

...Who was she kidding? She was thinking of one, in particular.

To herself and no one else, Amara sighed, debating if she should have allowed the earlier events of that day take a different turn - specifically, if she should have submitted to Zane's earlier advances. In effect, she had taken for granted the possibility that he would even be present to pound her.

She couldn't see _only_ bad in Zane rising to his Crimson Raider responsibilities. If nothing else, him having been whisked away by Wainwright's mission meant he hadn't spent much, if any time, at Moxxxi's. That, in the siren's admittedly biased opinion, was likely for the best - even if it meant it also came at a personal cost to her, as eager as she had been to spend the night with him.

_Look at you, assuming he would stay again_, Amara huffed at herself, but even then...based on how their last handful of meet-ups had ended, she hardly had reason to believe that he wouldn't.

How foolish was it for her to assume her partner was becoming more predictable?

She had her concerns about Zane but defended him by acknowledging that every person had their flaws. She was more convinced now than ever that he struggled with alcoholism, though he currently seemed to have a handle on it. Seemed he had his ups and downs, the latter during which he tended to overindulge in intoxication. Until meeting him, she had never personally encountered someone who got black-out drunk, so she knew it wasn't common and _certainly_ knew it wasn't healthy. If anything, it put Zane in danger, even if he refused to acknowledge it. Or worse, he was aware and didn't give a shit when he was in whatever mental condition drove him to seek alcohol in the first place.

Fortunately, he also seemed occasionally mindful of his behavior - at least enough to refrain from drinking for some time, particularly to that degree. He either avoided it outright or managed to put a stop to his indulgence after a few drinks, well before exceeding his tipping point. Amara was fine with that and she supported it. For as much as she enjoyed the operative's crazy personality, she hated seeing him go overboard.

Throughout the past months, she had also encountered Zane during cold phases, which were considerably few and far between but still exhibited by him. In fact, she didn't even think he noticed himself having them. Knowing him as she did, she expected he would eventually apologize for behaving off-putting whenever he reverted back to his jovial self. It wasn't so much that the operative was abrasive but more that he outright avoided _everyone. _There was an obvious contrast between him ordinarily being the willing center of everyone's attention and him outright locking himself in his quarters and refusing to acknowledge anyone existed beyond it unless absolutely necessary.

She could understand Zane getting tired of everyone's shit. If she asked him about it, she strongly felt he would say he was instead fed up with his own. For as extroverted as the operative made himself out to be, he was an introvert. As such, he clearly felt the need to recharge his own batteries before he could tolerate people after a certain point. And it wasn't all that bad, she guessed, because the one time she did ECHO message him during his last mood, he did respond in a relatively timely fashion. Just said he was tired. If what she suspected was true, then he wasn't hardly lying. The fact that he didn't include some joke about his age tipped her off further that he wasn't applying his usual self to their very brief conversation.

Fortunately, Zane only got that way every blue moon or less...which were probably more common than she knew throughout the many solar systems, but she digressed. The vast majority of the time, the operative's companionship was enjoyable. He provided most of what she needed.

If all she wanted was sex, then Amara knew she'd hit the jackpot.

She wasn't confident enough in her own sexual performance to say the same for Zane. She knew she could improve on ensuring his satisfaction, if she could even _begin_ to. Hell, if all_ Zane_ wanted was physical gratification, then he could have gone for Moxxi. Amara knew her skills couldn't compete with the vixen's and wouldn't even on the day she died, and she was alright with that. And she didn't often go to Moxxxi's with Zane not because she didn't drink booze - because in all honesty, she would prefer to keep track of _his_ drinking in the off-chance that he wouldn't - but because she knew the looks the barkeep gave the operative.

Amara would bet all her loot that Moxxi remembered that casino outing regardless of what she claimed. The businesswoman was savvy enough to maintain that pompous air and deliberately flirtatious attitude when facing the older man directly, but drank in whatever sight of him she could manage when he was otherwise distracted.

And the way Moxxi stared at his ass whenever he went to the slots, or to bring Amara her water refill, or if he left before she did? Yeah, there wasn't a doubt in the siren's mind that Zane's performance that weekend had made a lasting impact or pure curiosity had her wanting him to jog her memory. If anything, she was surprised Moxxi, to her knowledge, hadn't propositioned the operative.

Must have been the way Amara caught her eye that first time she had noticed. Seemed that by sure territoriality alone, the barkeep instinctively looked at her competitor, whether she was aware of their affair or not.

Who was she kidding? Moxxi knew _everything._ That included the possessiveness the siren had felt even before she and the older vault hunter had been so physically associated.

_Hands off,_ Amara had ensured her eyes conveyed._ He's mine._

Who wanted to fight a siren? Not Moxxi. She was too wise to even risk it. The vixen could only love herself, after all, and she wouldn't be very useful if her pretty face - or entire luscious body - was destroyed beyond recognition.

Funny now to think of the first time Amara had instinctively been tipped off to Moxxi's interest in her comrade. The siren had unofficially laid claim to Zane because she'd naturally wanted better for him than some tawdry fling - long before she had amounted to that herself, though their affair had never been her intention.

As much as she hoped Zane would have too much self-respect to be one of the countless people moving in and out through the revolving door of Moxxi's sexual escapades, she knew better. It often felt like Amara was one of the rare exceptions _not_ in attendance.

Wasn't like Zane was any better than the barkeep, honestly. He was equally as open about being a manslut, at least. Definitely wasn't an element she _liked_ about him or approved of, but evidently she made an exception for him. Needless to say, Amara wouldn't be so forgiving if he strayed and picked up a disease from Moxxi - or _anyone_ \- and passed it onto her. She didn't exactly care what medical advances had been made. Even then, Zane would have to worry about his survival enough already if he stuck his dick somewhere he shouldn't - in other words, in anyone but her. Did she even _have_ to think it?

Perhaps one reason she liked having the operative occupy her bed overnight was the assurance it provided her, not that she didn't have faith in him. It was his drinking she didn't trust.

Some would argue that alcoholics only acted on impulses they were guilty of when sober. She didn't know if that also applied to blackout drunks or if they were so far gone, they didn't know what they were doing. Even then, it wasn't any stretch of the imagination to think that Zane had been in polygamous relationships and supported them. She knew he was only entertaining her monogamous preferences, even if he didn't necessarily agree with them.

Amara could appreciate others being so sexually liberated but didn't ever envision herself to be among them, and she'd prefer if she wasn't. And Zane was, if nothing else, a hornier man than she had expected, as if their earlier encounter and so many others before it hadn't proven that. Made it seem more unlikely that he could withhold urges to stray if he experienced any.

To his defense - again, if her recent visit with him was any indication - Zane seemed very set on continuing to sleep with _her_, specifically

Logically she knew it was uncharacteristically foolish of her to share her body with a man who recklessly indulged in alcohol and was so sexually open. In that sense, Zane might have been one of the worst men for her to hook up with. Her strong distaste to even _think_ that proved she had made the exception for him...and that she was more invested than she should have been. Must have been all along for her to even begin down that path.

The fact that she hadn't been negatively affected by their affair was no assurance that she would never be. That was a truth she found herself almost subservient to face, and that almost troubled her. If anything, she found herself second-guessing her own decision making and how lapses in her own judgment were trying to get the better of her.

Seems sex did make people do stupid things. She had never really been convinced of that before she had slept with Zane. And she didn't think he was immune to similar consequences.

For as much as she recognized her personal responsibility, she felt that Zane made it damn near impossible for her to not desire a deeper connection with him. She imagined that he frequently had that effect on women. He was just so magnetic and funny to boot. Even for as serious as she tended to be, she found individuals with a healthy sense of humor to be naturally appealing. Everyone who ever encountered Zane, whether it was some refugee on the ship or even the enemies who saw down the barrel of the operative's gun often heard him spouting some of his hilarious nonsense. It was a trait she couldn't help but find attractive, even if she felt he used it at the worst of times.

Physically, he was everything she found she wanted in a male lover. That was the truth of it, even if she'd never expected to so thoroughly appreciate a mature man. Of course, his age was only a number. Zane, as everyone who encountered him knew, was exuberant and full of deceiving energy. He was full of life, even as he ended others while dancing and singing off-key amongst a shower of bullets. He was so cocksure, she wanted to say it was ridiculous, but then she had witnessed him in action time and time again. Had stood by and watched the wild displays of him being his vibrant and playful self in warzones.

It was addictive to watch. The operative was like a trainwreck. And his tendency of toying with the hitmen sent to kill him drove her mad. Life was one big game to him, and she happened to play a part in it. Despite the years she had lived before aligning paths with Zane, she couldn't imagine life beyond being any different.

And Zane had made enough of an impression on her long before they'd started sleeping together.

With him, she had always felt comfortable in her own skin. And in knowing he didn't have any particular notions or expectations of her, no matter her appearance or how she acted. He just _accepted_ her and built her up the same as he did virtually everyone he encountered - even the assassins who tried to kill him.

Who was she even kidding? Zane Flynt made it really easy for her to love him.

The sudden sound of children's laughter drew Amara back to the present...and to the falafel wrap she held in her hands. Apparently she had been chewing absently the entire while she'd been busy thinking, only a single bite taken out of her meal.

Taking another, she momentarily escaped the confines of her own mind and considered the diner around her.

Seeing kids enjoy themselves made her smile. Their cute dancing and waving their home-sewn plushes would have been just the thing to have Zane cooing and Moze rolling her eyes at him while using his distraction to steal some of his french fries or onion rings or whatever deep-fried nastiness he always shoved into his face. The commotion would have had Mr. Chew jumping to all fours and wagging up a frenzy, perhaps barking before FL4K calmly ordered him to settle down.

Instead of being treated to that scene, the siren scoured only the faces of other quietly eating patrons and a couple of teenagers staring zombie-like at their ECHOs.

There was nothing much there worth distracting her mind from the territory it had claimed, not so much stumbling upon her emotions as calmly walking to them, unafraid.

She knew he _knew _she had feelings for him, even if she had never said it. He had to. And she didn't dare, for fear that it would inadvertently change things between them. She also knew that she didn't need to alter anything. She didn't want romance. She enjoyed the life she lived, with him in it. Outspoken as he was, it was unlikely the older man had any complaints. If his track record accounted for anything, she expected he wouldn't stay if he did.

As much as Zane could be wild and unpredictable, and take her good and hard, he was also a sweet man. She savored all the tender ways he kissed her. How he didn't shy from lingering. How his facial and chest hair tickled her. The throaty groans he gave when he pulsed inside, flooding her. His expression of reverent focus as he tasted her, and the brush of his facial hair on her inner thighs. The bruises he left on her hips. The way he cupped her ass in his calloused hands. The way he bent over as he hugged her. The way he smelled like sleep beside her, his long legs running the length of the bed. The broadness of his strong shoulders and their dramatic taper to his slender waist. The deeply etched V of his hips. The way he twitched in his dreams and sighed quietly. The way he utterly failed at braiding her hair and kept trying anyway. And the way he broke through her exterior and made her laugh despite herself at his whiplash wit and cheeky banter.

He had told the bandits, on Promethea "Yer leader's on the crapper with a contraband zapper." She _still _laughed at that, among so many countless other pawky remarks he had made. Even knowing him as she did, she never knew what to expect out of him.

All she wanted was Zane, like that, with her, hunting vaults together for as long as they possibly could. That, more than anything, was her plan.

Who knew where she would be, now, if she didn't have their ragtag little family? Certainly not where she was, which seemed exactly where she wanted to be.

For yet another countless time, Amara reminded herself that she had never intended to sign up for so much when she had initially decided to head to Pandora. She certainly hadn't expected to fight in a war, of all things. And she absolutely hadn't ever intended to have her interest piqued by a man twenty-odd years her senior, who had one eye, a cybernetic patch for the other, and crazy humor about him.

Thinking back, she remembered the first time she had felt that first flutter of attraction to him. It had been back on Promethea, when they had engaged Maliwan as their forces stormed Atlas' headquarters. It had been there, on one rare occasion, that she had gotten in somewhat over her head. She had been both mad at herself and in disbelief of her stupidity when Iron Bear had come charging in to slam head-first into the badass arbalest her siren arms had been grappling. One moment of distraction had felled her, the intensity of everything leaving her collapsed and disoriented.

But then, always near, Zane had appeared, his digi-clone taking point behind him. To the sound of it tirelessly aiming and shooting, the true operative had slid to kneel before her, remaining eye filled with sincere concern.

"I gotcha," he had assured, his outreached hand so deceptively careful and intensely warm that it sent a tickling shiver through her. She had felt the strength in his shoulders even before he'd lifted her, his height towering over her as he'd helped her to her booted feet. And even then, in the sweetest gesture, Zane had placed one supportive hand on the exposed skin of her lower back. He'd then immediately, despite all the chaos happening all around them, resituated his careful touch on the protective leather of her vest.

Zane had then offered a considerate "Apologies," and then gave her an encouraging clap on the back. "Come on now, Ms. Arsekick. Ya got this! Show 'em what's what!"

She recalled how he had sent his drone after her for additional cover, the sentinel buzzing around her like a vicious, machine-gunning wasp. How he, after she'd told him how unnecessary it was, responded: "Can't stop Zoomer, lass - he's got mad respect fer yer arms!"

There were times where she didn't find amusement appropriate but Zane and his madness tended to override it.

It was hard for anyone not to like Zane, Amara found. His charisma worked magic on everyone. Had since the first time they had met during that fateful encounter on Pandora. And for a woman like her, she definitely appreciated his respect for all genders. His own masculinity wasn't toxic or weak, which was a rarity. For as confident of himself as Zane was, he was also endlessly proud of everyone in their team.

He had probably been the first man who hadn't spat and kicked up a storm when he'd lost against her at arm wrestling. By now, Amara absolutely knew when someone was holding back - and he'd nearly come close to having the advantage. After fixing their elbows on the table and locking hands, Zane had given her a run for her money. They'd both been sweating, gritting their teeth, and flexing with veins popping out of everything. It wasn't so much his muscle as his determination that provided the challenge.

The siren had to give the older man some credit because he did hold his own. He might have _almost_ got her had he gone into it with his full power right out the gate, but clearly they'd learned the same tricks as the other. They took turns briskly countering the other, breaking out into straining, delighted laughs and challenging grins, each trying to exhaust the other over the long haul. She'd liked seeing the ferocity in his single eye and decided it was a suitable _middle name._

In the end, she had lasted longer, concentrating her efforts on correcting Zane's attempts with minimal maneuvers. She'd hinged her plan on him getting impatient, despite his sexy snarl of "I can go all night, lass," and waited until she felt the first break in his concentration to take him down in a table-denting slam.

The operative had immediately fallen back in his chair laughing, holding his hand to his heaving abdomen as he'd rubbed it with the other, nearly tipping his seat off it legs in the process. Amara had given her arm a victory pump, all bravado, except she knew she'd miss seeing Zane's biceps bulge and forearm flex beneath his elastic bodysuit as it had.

She had expected him to crack a joke about his age or being out of shape or any one of the thousands of excuses she'd heard. He also hadn't made a vow to pump iron until he could better her._ Everyone _blamed her strength on her being a siren, invalidating her other attributes - except Zane.

Instead, Zane had started guffawing the second his knuckles slammed the table and, after massaging sensation back into his hand, happily jumped up to hug her around one humid shoulder.

"That was _crazy!_" he'd said, adding an exaggerated "_PHEW_!" before clapping his hand on her back. "Ya kicked my arse properly! Knew ya could," he admitted mirthfully, arranging himself to sit beside her and wave over her victory refill. "Damn, 'Mara, remind me not to mess with _you. _A'ready glad enough that yer on my side!"

Then, to the rest of the bar patrons, who had served as an audience for their antics: "Her kickin' me arse fair and square means y'all are fecked! She'll tie a pretzel outta ye without breakin' a sweat!"

Even now, Zane wasn't ashamed to boast about her and flaunt her accomplishments, that loss of his included. And he did it without trying to woo her, placate her, or otherwise get in her pants.

Even to that day, despite all they had been through and all the verbal accolades the operative had ever given her, her pride still soared when she heard him bellow at their enemies, "These ladies are gonna be the end of ye!" or "They're gonna kick yer teeth out yer arse!" Now, she couldn't envision herself in a fight without Zane's tireless praises invigorating her.

The thought of a time, or a circumstance, where he might _not_ be there troubled Amara. She couldn't bring herself to even fathom it. She knew death would have to be the cause of it and that just - no, she couldn't. However she had managed to live her life before encountering his expressive exuberance and his addictively positive personality, she could hardly remember. Now, she couldn't imagine living without it.

Thinking back to how utterly _unexpected_ Zane's personality had been when she had first met him had a smile parting her lips. She remembered assuming that he would be so _abrasive_, so mysterious. That she'd taken him as some utterly severe figure when she had considered his appearance: that sharp silver hair, the dangerous eye patch and all the leather and metal body armor. And tech likely exceeding more money than she had yet encountered in person.

But then the operative had effectively disarmed her the moment he'd flashed her an unexpectedly warm smile and opened his mouth, jovial accent pouring out , exposing them to the Zane Flynt they now knew and loved…some of them more than others, she had come to realize.

For now, Amara realized that despite her concern, there was nothing substantial about Zane that acted his age. Certainly his flippant personality didn't fit it, nor did his jubilant energy. And his sexual appetite _definitely_ didn't. And she was _so_ aware that he was as great as he boasted, nothing about his ego yet unfounded.

Most often it was Zane who took point in their sieges. He had the tech to divide enemy defenses and break through them. And he _knew_ how to do it. As for him stepping up to represent them, he'd done that with respectful reluctance, only advancing until it was clear that no one else would take initiative. As a leader of sorts, he considered all their opinions with the same importance of his own. He hadn't been afraid to choose their ideas over his. Hadn't gotten butthurt over it. Had never had a _real_ ego trip. The fact that he was willing to step aside and looked to her, and Moze, to take down the biggest baddies had always made them feel appreciated.

It wasn't that he wasn't capable but that they all had their specialties and he wanted everyone to shine. _That _was one of many elements that separated the operative from true egotists and made him that much more inviting.

There were times, however, that she seemed to try and talk herself out of caring for him. Wouldn't that, for everyone, be better? There wouldn't be any discrepancies of where they stood with each other. Beyond that, how did she find herself so closely drawn to a former contract killer, of all people?

Was that even what Zane was anymore? And wasn't that what they had _all _been reduced to, given the work they did with the Crimson Raiders? She wasn't sure she knew anymore.

Amara couldn't claim to know Zane, the assassin. She knew Zane, the teammate: the deadly, reliable, and master innovator. She knew Zane, the lover, who was attentive and generous.

She'd known his mouth, his hands, his member. She'd had his entire body against hers. For as intense as he made her feel and as thoroughly as he pleased her, she was confident that her views of him hadn't been manipulated or otherwise mislead. Zane was a man of many facets, but the fact that he favored tenderness with her was telling enough.

She didn't insist on it. Never actually asked for it, even. She had expected his sexual preferences to be as extreme as he was. Instead, he seemed to appreciate the simpler pleasure in it. Use it for release and indulgence, with or without excessive performance. He could manage that too and had on more than one occasion, but they hadn't had sex once without him initiating that gentle, patient kissing. It seemed to be his way of showing his appreciation, and it certainly succeeded.

Him showing affection wasn't just foreplay either. Wasn't some means of seducing his way between her legs, not that it wouldn't work. And he didn't rush her departure after all was said and done. She didn't know how often women actually felt respected in casual relationships, but she knew she wouldn't have participated had she not been among them. If anything, Zane's consideration for her prevented all the misgivings she could have had.

Amara had initially been inclined to think that was by design, but it happened so naturally, she doubted him being so affable was intentional. Just as Zane was quick to break into a smile at a good joke, without hesitance or time for ulterior motives, he invited her in those wonderful ways. Perhaps he had learned that women were most receptive to it, but there was just something about Zane's personality that made a strange sort of sense.

He was a man who raced around and created chaos when the situation called for it. Was always occupied by a number of things and ran on all cylinders. Maybe that made him prone to indulge in intimacy as he did, investing so much time in gentle caresses and savoring kisses. Was one thorough means of making the most of it.

With that same enthusiasm, Zane was always the first to volunteer for missions. Amara had initially assumed he'd done just that to keep himself occupied and yet the majority of the missions were capable of boring any of them into a coma. Experienced as the operative was, it was clear he and his skillsets were overqualified for what was asked of them, yet that didn't prevent him from eagerly stepping up to bat.

And he was always proactive in supporting his teammates. Wasn't just because he was the quickest of them that he rushed to help anyone in need. He was always attentive, turning that warm, reassuring personality on whoever could use it.

Amara couldn't hate Zane for his past when she'd seen first-hand him comforting Ava, sympathetic and sincere as he'd been. And couldn't compare the corporate hitman to the retired operative when she saw him interacting with the children aboard. Or laughing among their fellow vault hunters while teasing and good-naturedly deflecting the ribbings he received.

She just wished he had spent his entire life doing something...better. That he instead had a bounty of allies as opposed to a price for his head. Had it not been for his prolific career and all that he'd done for the likes of Hyperion and all the other greedy entities, he wouldn't have had so many hitmen vying to kill him.

None of the Crimson Raiders were without some flaw, herself included. Though Amara's reasons had been more morally acceptable, she'd killed all the same. She had made a name for herself by ending lives for the greater good, but even then she had gained fame and fortune from it. The end-result of her career wasn't all that dissimilar from Zane's. Guilt didn't really hamper her, though she understood how the wealth she had accumulated had come at the cost of lives. Just as she had fought to keep innocent people safe, Zane had done the same to maintain the security and stability of his own affluent benefactors.

Even justice could be heavy-handed. The laws of one kind of people didn't extend to others. There was little consistent system among the planets. Amara didn't even necessarily agree with the concept of military, given that they took advantage of the weak and often enslaved them. Armed forces worked at the bidding of governments and not the people they were sworn to protect.

That said, it had been Moze who had stumbled across the ECHO recording from Captain Flynt. Zane's older brother had referred to him as having left Pandora with a black ops unit. There hadn't been any more details given than that, and Zane has just shrugged when they'd played it for him.

He admitted offhandedly that he had used Dahl to get off Pandora. That was about as much as he commented on the subject, not caring much for it. Hadn't been until his admission that Amara began recognizing traits he exhibited that stemmed from that training: his low stance when gunning, his surefootedness as he took aim and fired. Even the weapons he favored reeked of military training. He wasn't big on mass explosions, even if she had seen him shoulder a rocket launcher. Instead, he often favored precise weapons that he could wield with deftness and control, going for the kill shot and conserving ammunition.

Like any one of them, Zane had his crazier, wilder moments, but when it came down to business and he entered his zone, it was evident he was a trained killer. Was almost too easy to forget, when he was cracking jokes and yelling himself hoarse, that he could also be silent on his feet.

All things considering, Zane hadn't had been obligated to fight as a Crimson Raider during the war with the COV. At times, it had seemed more promising for anyone to have joined the Calypsos. After all, it had seemed like half of the damn universe had. And while someone free-spirited like Zane would have never agreed to such a religious and strict doctrine, he hadn't had to situate himself front and center to stop it.

It said a lot about the older man that, when left to his own devices, he did what was right. When Zane wasn't getting paid to do otherwise, he did tend to come to the defense of the weak, if he stepped up at all. She hadn't encountered a situation where he hadn't, though she knew remaining detached and keeping to himself was his nature. He had no obligation to do anything for anyone. And Amara knew she couldn't blame someone not as altruistic as herself to the same degree as she could someone with negative, cruel intentions.

There hadn't been a single event throughout the war with the COV that Amara had disagreed with Zane's conduct. Even when she'd wanted to resort to violence in thrashing the black market dealer on Promethea, the operative had thrown a hefty stack of cash at him to avoid violence. Wasn't like there hadn't been enough conflict, and even Amara had been somewhat put-off by her compulsion. The man had only been trying to care for his own family, granted it had been the expense of others...but wasn't his nature very human?

That event somewhat proved that Zane could value life over money, or maybe he thought it was worth more than the merchant had demanded of them. It wasn't like Amara could think they had surpassed the operative's tolerance for killing, as they'd only just scraped the surface of that all-out war.

Amara thought it a shame that Zane had lived the life he had. His potential could have greatly benefited those who were most in need. Technically savvy as he was, what could he have developed for the greater good had he not instead applied himself to developing his personal weaponry?

There was no reason to believe the operative wouldn't have followed the same route he had or perhaps spearheaded his own corporate venture. If he had a penchant for constructing weaponry and defensive measures now, why would that have varied under other circumstances? He could have developed another major firearms and shield manufacturer. Could have played a part in the production of munitions used in the COV war, among others.

With that potential in mind, was it really any worse that Zane had become a killer for hire? Was it better for him to be responsible for the deaths of those involved in corporate competitions and criminal activities instead of enabling so many others to destroy themselves?

Amara didn't support any of it...but somehow, she still accepted Zane.

As a professional, he didn't make things personal. Surely some hitmen did. Or they abused their victims for the pure pleasure of killing. Zane hadn't used deadly force to retaliate against many assassins after him. He let them off the hook, acknowledging that business was business.. He could have more easily slaughtered them and been on his way, but instead, he left open the opportunity for them to repeat their attacks on him.

Zane, at his foundation, was a Pandoran. His background had significantly and fundamentally influenced his aspirations. Certainly he had diverted his course far from the one his heritage had mapped for him. He hadn't become some bandit lord or accounted for anyone but himself. Instead, he ha found his own means of turning a profit and getting whatever he wanted out of life.

Could she blame him for finding his lucrative niche? A bit. She had grown up through limited means and even then, she hadn't intended to amass wealth. Zane certainly behaved in ways that suggested there was virtually no end to his finances, so why had he pursued them for so long? Wasn't just so he could afford an endless supply of alcohol or cover his tech expenses. Moze was an example of that, and she was almost nothing like the former hitman.

Wasn't like Amara thought many of the lives Zane had taken had been worth anything. Chances were, most people he killed were all some corporate asshole or other gun-for-hire, doing someone else's dirty deeds. In that vein, she realized that Zane was no better, nor any worse, than any of them. In exchanging profit for services, he was a savvy businessman...but didn't his profligacy make him worse than others?

Throughout his career, he'd done far more than the average hitman. Had taken innumerate lives in exchange for money. Had stolen information and engaged in blackmail. She knew because he'd mentioned both throughout their war with the COV. It helped matters a bit that the entities who elicited his reminiscing had been assholes who she would have wanted dead. However, the most manipulative and amoral entities were the ones bathing in riches and therefore were the most likely to afford Zane's compliance. It wasn't like he voluntarily gave his services to the less fortunate. He responded to the contracts that best benefited him, whether they waved money in his face or other privileges.

Zane was an opportunist and Amara knew he wouldn't even think of denying it. Men like him were unapologetic. Even his intentions behind being a vault hunter were selfish. Then again...he had participated in an all-out war when he hadn't been required to. He could have just as well refused to join the Crimson Raider cause. Instead, he had been a monumental player in ending the Calypsos and dissolving the COV.

She didn't know what of Zane's were good intentions and what were him thrill-seeking and looting. Throughout wartime, they had participated in many low-stakes and lower-paying missions. Zane had never rejected any. Instead, he'd tackled them with the same vigorous enthusiasm he always exhibited. Made her think back to the ways he had jested with people they encountered and encouraged them along the way...like him talking to the old lady before Carnivora had happened. He'd extended to the settlers the same sweet, jovial disposition as he did everyone else not trying to kill him.

Did Zane get any mental reward from doing good deeds? She couldn't say and didn't see him as the type to ruminate over them if he did. For as much of an ego he boasted having about his appearance, he didn't gloat or brag beyond that. So it was simple enough for her to suspect he hadn't done the same while working under a professional capacity. It was hard to think of him rubbing a competitor in the face with anything. He was far more the type to clap them on the shoulder, wish them better luck next time, and offer to buy them a drink.

It was hard to believe someone so friendly could ever originate from Pandora, but then so had Ellie and others. What should have differentiated Zane was that he was from the Flynt family. As such, he must have partaken in some gruesome acts that were associated with the clan, whether it was to ensure his survival before he had broken off or otherwise.

Chances were, Zane had been an entirely different man before he had become a seasoned operative. And what did that matter, Amara wondered, given the man he was now?

She hasn't made a career of reading people but felt Zane was too consistent in his mannerisms to not be authentic. Maybe he'd had decades to hone himself, if not change entirely. The siren had encountered enough assholes who behaved certain ways just to save face, often to avoid repercussions or punishment for their crimes. But while Zane hadn't gone to length to confess all his wrongdoings, he also never denied them or pretended to have done otherwise.

He didn't try and take that higher road, even knowing her and her penchant for justice as he did. Didn't make himself out to be in any way but he was. He was just...himself. A conundrum in a handsome package.

From what she understood, Zane hadn't wanted to retire from his former career. That meant he may not have a composure that varied all that much from when he had been a contract mercenary. And why would it? Just as Zane was an in-the-moment kind of man, he must have adapted himself to fulfill the needs of his clientele. Some objectives must have required more strictness and diligence than others, though surely Zane performed everything he did with his own brand of flare.

Coming from the slums as she had, Amara understood that people could be the result of their environments. Knew that many turned on a dime and grew to become very different people when removed from their negative settings and left to their devices.

Needless to say, Zane had every reason to be the exact opposite of who he was. He might have been a cold-blooded killer, but he could have been _malicious. _Could have grown hateful and jaded toward everyone. Instead, Zane hardly used his deadly potential on the very assassins who tried to kill him - those who Amara felt deserved it and could still see no two ways about it.

Whatever morals Zane had seemed founded in his career. His strict adherence to some unspoken assassin code proved he was capable of having some established values. Whether or not he adapted them to being a vault hunter, she couldn't be sure, but he did behave himself well enough.

Amara didn't know how much, if at all, she could allow herself to care how Zane had conducted himself in the past. She found it particularly difficult given how the operative lived in the moment. For as much as he mentioned the various missions he'd had, she didn't know how much he calculated them into his current performance. Surely he had adopted his methods from them, but the strategies he'd used in the past might not have applied when waging war or running errands as a Raider.

With how many people Zane recognized from prior missions, it was hard to believe he had done much covertly. Or that he was really capable of it, with how loud and exuberant his personality was. Considering how affable he was among allies, it was difficult for her to remember that he was very much a cold-blooded killer.

She understood that Zane, as a professional, didn't ask questions. He acted on a need-to-know basis. Did with the Crimson Raiders just as he had his previous benefactors. The differentiation between the two was that it was _implied_ that Lilith and her team had the good of the universe at heart, whereas the megacorporations only maintained their own selfish interests. But really, there were two sides to every coin. Just as the COV had felt threatened by _vault thieves _and _heretics_, were the Raiders any different in engaging their enemies? They didn't _own _the vaults.

She decided that didn't matter. Better they open them than someone hell-bent on ruining the universe for everyone.

Somehow, more than anything, Amara found herself dreading the day Zane honestly considered retirement. Where, she wondered, would that leave them?

She didn't want to think about it and so, focusing instead on finishing her meal, she didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews help keep me going! They really are appreciated by authors and can make a world of difference in fics. If you have any thoughts/comments/questions, let me know!


	10. Raising Stubborn Songbirds [Preparing Ava for Flight - Sanctuary]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've noticed some additions to the pairing tags, you might find yourself curious. Figured I'd update it to keep some folks guessing. ;D
> 
> This was originally meant to be a nearly 40k word chapter but I split it up...because that's probably too much for one sitting. Kind of like this entire story is going to be (or is already) too massive. We've reached chapter 10...out of 35! *sob*
> 
> Happy holidays, readers! Hope everyone enjoys themselves, has some kick-ass food, and stays safe!

Zane Flynt _was _a snorer...and as time went on, Amara faced that fact more and more.

He hadn't been lying when he had admitted that particular trait of his, though how he knew he did it was beyond her. Maybe his clone had complained, causing her to mentally snort at the scenario. It wasn't all the time that he was so loud. The operative, as one would expect from his verbal spectrum while awake, made an assortment of noises in his sleep.

Just the night before, Amara had woken to him whimpering behind her. He had sounded so helpless and sad when doing it...but then murmured something about bagels. She had looked over at him as he loudly smacked his lips before falling silent.

Other nights, Zane was more physically expressive than verbally. Often, his fingers wiggled like he was fingering a piano. Sometimes, he tossed and turned so frequently that she had to nudge him awake. When done right, she would rouse him enough just to snap him out of whatever dream he had, only for him to then grumble and return to an almost restful sleep.

When she managed to wake him, she ended up feeling like shit. Even then, she found that she really enjoyed the strange conversations they ended up having. Zane seemed particularly peculiar when he was groggy, not unlike when he was drunk. Made for a lot of slap-happy giggling between the two of them, bolstering some of her fondest and silly memories of him.

Amara found herself glancing over her shoulder at the operative now, noting how he almost always faced her in slumber. The arrangement allowed her to gaze at him more thoroughly in the warm candlelight she preferred illuminating her room.

Zane Flynt was a handsome man and damn, did he let everyone know it. He was anything but humble, though she knew most of his boasting was more him being his smartass self than honest. She was inclined to agree with him, regardless, and found herself doubting that even his brothers had resembled him enough for their benefit, much like their vastly differing, yet untamable similarities, had been reputed to be.

Had Zane been more like his siblings, she couldn't have seen how she would have ever shared herself with him. Clearly that was not the case, and that...was for the best. For both of them.

She tolerated his sleeping antics, among others. The sex was too good not to. And she liked seeing him appear as disheveled as he ended up by morning, provided she was present whenever he woke. For as much as Amara appreciated the physical elements of their carnal activities, there was nothing capable of replacing a truly thorough, muscle-taxing workout. For her, there was no better way to start her day and invigorate herself than breaking a sweat beneath the strain of weights and enjoying some heart-pumping cardio.

Exercise wasn't only a way to keep herself in prime siren shape but kept her sane. That beloved exertion was just as much for conditioning her mind as her physicality. Sure, there were days where even the well-oiled machine of her body deserved its rest, and she gladly spent it chasing pleasure with her partner if he was available. Otherwise, she left Zane tangled in her sheets or arranged them more fully over him before she left him peacefully tucked away. It was easy, knowing she would see him later that day, looking as composed and dashing as always...and not at all like he had spent the night screwing her breathless.

As it was, Zane has spent quite a bit of time overnight in her room over the last two weeks. Was about every third night that she slept alongside the operative, bedheaded and bedstached as he was.

She dared to _feel_ that Zane had grown rather comfortable in her company - specifically with their unique arrangement, as he had always been relaxed among their team. But him giving her his digi-module was something she recognized to be a trust exercise. He had literally handed her a privilege that he didn't give to just anyone, and she knew how substantial that was. Though her intention was never to abuse Zane's faith, she remained doubly mindful that she didn't ever risk it. He was very much the kind of man who never gave it twice.

Amara couldn't help but be reminded of the distant past, when she had borderline agonized about wanting to gain the operative's acceptance. Even back then, in Lectra City and perhaps even before that, she had recognized the superficiality of his allowances. Back then, Zane had only granted their team his dedication and trust in order to wage war against the COV. Everything had been born of necessity_._ Even then, the operative had maintained a defensive distance from them until well after they had survived that hell and had succeeded in their mission.

To some extent, even a year after the Calypsos downfall, Zane had only just begun allowing her to get closer.

As with everything else, Amara tried not to read into his actions but couldn't help herself. She suspected Zane would have occupied that makeshift bed with her more often had he not exhibited some unstated reluctance. It seemed like there was some deliberateness behind the nights he chose to spend in her company. As it was, she didn't think the comfort of the larger sleep surface was his reason for crashing in her quarters those nights. Could have easily been for the sex, which was guaranteed to happen, but even then…even old as he was, Zane had the physical appetite to screw her every night. It just seemed like he didn't want to overstay his welcome. Which was precisely how he had felt that first unplanned time. Interesting how things had changed since then.

But then maybe it hadn't. Amara couldn't say for certain and knew she couldn't ask him. They didn't have _those_ conversations, therefore she couldn't determine his actual intentions. She defaulted to believing that her emotions were trying to misguide her and discourage the more probable truth that Zane stayed only to enable their carnal pursuits.

If sex was his motivation, then who was she to judge him? She wouldn't, but she also acknowledged the obvious fact that he didn't have to sleep beside her after they got off together. He still had his own quarters and therefore his own privacy whenever he wanted it. Sometimes he used it, sometimes he didn't. His technology made his options easy.

It was often Zane who allowed her to, quite literally, pull the trigger on that convenient responder. Perhaps it would have made her more reluctant to take the initiative if he wasn't always so eager to share those intimate nights with her. He had just as much say in suggesting they spend those sensual times together, and she wondered how often they would make such indulgences if they weren't so considerate of the other.

Would it eventually be every night they spent together? The possibility wouldn't have surprised her. Made her inclined to remind Zane that he wasn't required to stay until morning once he came over. Surely he must have known that...and yet she couldn't bring herself to address it, not wanting to possibly discourage him. She definitely didn't pin him to the bed outside of sex or suggest he stay. It just happened naturally and he didn't always drift off immediately afterward. Sometimes they freshened up in the shower together with virtually no threat of interruption. Neighboring FL4K had no need for the bathroom.

And _that_ was nice. Meant more opportunities to tease and soak up the other's touch. Took her back to the first time they had bathed each other and had their fun within the hot, steamy spray.

Now, Amara found herself thinking of the man who often occupied her daydreams. The same man who had joined her in the shower that very morning. Who she had watched meticulously groom himself with keen interest, trimming and shaving and sculpting the facial hair that gave him such a refined, masculine edge.

The same man who had ensconced her in his arms and kissed her neck upon entering the shower to be with her.

The same man who had eased her razor away from her hand, into his own. Who had dropped to his knees to bestow the same attentive, skillful touches to her most sensitive places.

She _never _expected herself to allow it but then Zane's eye had burned so hotly, and his touch had been such a heady combination of dominance and patience, that she couldn't refuse him. And still, despite having eased one of her legs atop his shoulder, he had been anything but submissive.

She had shivered wetly, hotly, as he eased that sharp razor along her sex with that same finesse he exhibited with himself, smoothing away the hints of regrowth. Had performed his attentive strokes between soft presses of his lips and affectionate nuzzles along her abdomen, doing absolutely _nothing_ to stem the emotions welling inside her.

As Zane was with everything, he was thorough and adept. Amara couldn't even bring herself to anticipate anything less and almost dared to admit she actually appreciated the attention. For as unexpected as his assistance had initially been, she couldn't deny that a part of her reveled in it. While she couldn't see herself making a _habit_ of being so intimately tended to, she couldn't deny that Zane's indifference to her reservations made her feel intoxicatingly accepted.

Of course, once he had set the razor aside, he had treated himself to the fresh softness of her skin. Had traced her every crevice with his tongue just as he had that sharp metal. Had eaten her out with that perfect brush of his damp mustache giving just the right hint of friction. And she loved the graze of goatee against her perineum, teasing those sensitive nerves, while he pleasured and devoured her.

She had allowed it. Invited it. Had leaned back against the stall wall and let the operative work her into a blissful frenzy until she had scored her nails over his scalp and into his shoulders for purchase. Had climaxed until her knees threatened to fold beneath her and only then had he reluctantly relented...if only to alter his methods. He had promptly turned her so that she could learn into the wall for support...all while he had traced a tongue along her slit and into uncharted territory, teasing it instead over her shy pucker.

_That_ touch_, _she wasn't quite sure of. Though she tensed, Zane remained undeterred. She could have stopped him at any second, but instead held her breath as that soft pink appendage traced and tickled and eased firmer strokes against that private place, introducing her to new and intense sensations.

Wasn't long until she was leaning back into his ministrations and arching her hips toward him. She couldn't help the pleasure she felt from it, new nerves being skillfully stroked and coaxed. From his hungry groan, Zane clearly enjoyed what he was doing, so...it wasn't long until she felt his calloused hands squeezing her cheeks and parting her further, all so he could tirelessly work his dexterous tongue deep inside her.

She hadn't had the mind to protest or remember her own reservations - not with the way that slick touch twisted and thrust and claimed her in ways that set her loins on fire. She had been all but trembling as that mustache brushed her and one hand found her clit. She had felt her ass pulsing around the wriggling push of his tongue when she came, that forbidden penetration furthering her pleasure until her thighs were rendered weak and her hand caught his soaked hair for support, tangling desperately into silver.

Zane hadn't been finished with her. He lifted her against the shower wall and eased himself inside her, allowing them to wetly caress and kiss and simply savor the feel of the other. It hadn't been long until their melding of mouths and hot brushing tongues had overwhelmed them with an aching need for more. They had started slowly, rocking together, his accent a deep whisper against her neck. Somewhere amidst stoking that pleasure, the pace of his thrusts had increased to satisfy their mounting needs.

Before she knew it, they were fucking so hard, her heart and her lungs and the whole of her _burned_ with pleasure, the operative working himself so fiercely in and out of her until she could do nothing more but bite her hoarse wails off into his shoulder, joining her in that last throbbing orgasm that left her dizzy, and weak, and dripping. Even as he carefully lowered her, she remained reduced to a soft-boned mess, clinging feebly to him as he embraced her back against his solid chest.

Kissing her neck, he had fingered his semen out of her until there was little left, chuckling darkly against the shell of her ear at how swollen and trembling his thorough touch left her.

Eventually, they had helped dry each other off and gone their separate ways. Zane had borrowed his gifted responder and had left her in a flash of light, undoubtedly wearing that same cocksure grin long after he had transposed to his quarters,

Amara had encountered him again not a half-hour later, as their team gathered in the diner, same as they always did for breakfast. It was a curious thing to fall back into that casual stride with him, but had they ever been any different?

Even entangled with each other as they were in private, fundamentally their friendship remained the same. And with their more frequent rendezvous, their tangible sexual tension had dissipated. She always wanted Zane and how could she not? She knew what he could do to her and found him undeniably attractive as always. Still, she knew she would have him again - could shoot him over a message, inviting him over, and with his permission and push of a button, he would appear ready and very happy to see her.

Sometimes they made out more than others, rolling around in a passionate session of heavy petting and grinding. Sometimes they jumped right into foreplay and Zane wasted no time in assuming his hungry position between her legs, cocky smirk on his face until he pressed his mouth to her. His fingers _always _made thorough, blissful work of her. Sometimes their intercourse was patient and languid, with special attention given to their every caress and kiss. Sometimes the operative outright fucked her or their sex got kinkier, with unfortunate attention paid to their audible limits.

Amara didn't know what her favorite was, as that was always changing. With such a willing and practiced partner, she didn't have to choose because physically, he gave her _everything_.

Even then, as two weeks stretched on, she noticed small shifts in the operative. She acknowledged that people were anything but static, and there wasn't anything glaringly atypical about him. Still, she couldn't help but feel that Zane had been acting differently than his usual. It wasn't her intention to analyze the nuances of his behavior since they had quite literally begun sleeping together, but mindful as she was, she couldn't ignore what she sensed.

In ways that frustrated the siren, she couldn't quite put her finger on what, exactly, was different about him. It was more of a _feeling_ or intuition than anything. She wondered how much of Zane seeming off was associated with him being sober. From what she could tell, he hadn't been drinking as heavily as usual. She hadn't seen him tipping a hint of liquor to his lips or smelled it on his breath or tasted it when they kissed.

That wasn't to say the operative hadn't partaken in alcohol at all, but rather, that he had put an end to the heavy consumption that had landed him in her room, overnight, in the first place. While Amara couldn't say for sure, she felt an undercurrent of agitation emanating from him. It didn't seem so prevalent now, but then Zane's persistent, and unusual silence made it seem that he might have had something on his mind. Upon closer, furtive inspection, she noticed how his gaze seemed distant, lost in a sea of white-capped thoughts.

She found herself wondering if he struggled with sobriety. If he didn't quite know how to function without some amount of liquor circulating through his system. Or if she felt she knew him best when he had used booze to take off some edge.

She, and likely others, had been concerned with Zane's drinking for some time. Moze certainly had long before she'd had to hoist his body off the bathroom floor. The gunner had referred to that turn of events as "inevitable". The copious amounts of alcohol their resident operative casually tossed back had always been impressive. Not being much of a drinker herself, Amara had practically listened for the dying screams of his liver the first dozen times she had observed him at the bar. He had always been so nonchalant about it, same as everything else. Played himself off as a man just trying to take a load off.

Evidently it took a _lot _of hard liquor to reach that achievement - surprisingly more than expected given that Zane never even acted like he carried a load in the first place.

Amara always wondered if intoxication was the only way for Zane to quiet his brain. For a long time, she'd had a growing suspicion that his mind was just as hyperactive as the operative behaved. Didn't it make sense, then, if he was trying to remain sober that he might end up trapped in his own head?

Unfortunately, she felt convinced that there was more to it than that. Her initial instinct was to blame their increasing closeness, but even then, Zane seemed most content when sleeping with her and the amassing of pillows on her meditation mat. She recalled the last time she had seen him resting alongside her, his visage surprisingly smooth while he quietly snored. That wasn't to say the creases of his years had dissipated, but utter relaxation had softened his more prominent fissures.

It was impossible to think, with Zane so sprawled out and sleeping deeply, that he could harbor some internal conflict about being there. He had done his best impression of a starfish, limbs only bent enough to make the necessary space for her. Ordinarily, she would have remained beside him but instead, that night, she had eased half atop his hairy chest and laid her head on him. Then enjoyed the feel of his natural reaction to her, the arm beneath her shifting to hug her closer.

She found reassurance in the memory and the evident fact that Zane wouldn't have continued to seek her company if his problem was with her. Even then, Amara didn't prod or otherwise imply that she suspected anything.

As for them and what they were, she didn't ask about that either. Felt that if she did, she would successfully jinx them and wherever, if anywhere, their relationship was leading. The last thing she wanted to do was spook Zane by bringing his attention to it, as obvious as their progression had been, or make him otherwise defensive when what she found she really wanted was to be let in by him.

And that, really, was the kicker. Had her biting her inner cheek to admit it to herself. And really, how surprising could it be that she wanted something solid with him? Her personal history of relationships had been reserved for actual commitments and, once, a marriage. She had made one hell of an exception to let herself lay with a man like him...and reminded herself that the trade wasn't guaranteed to be fair. She didn't even know if it was even possible for Zane to make a similar adjustment for her.

Didn't it make sense, however, that the older man would have to be partially aware of his anomalous behavior? There was no mistaking the active decision he made to occupy their makeshift bed at night. He could have fucked her and left. Instead, he had made a habit of settling alongside her and, more often than not, sleeping with his face tucked against the back of her neck, arms lazily looped around her. It was quite a contrast from the same man who had been panic-stricken when he had initially woken up in her bed. Who might have shit himself had he not gone so frozen when she had spoken up to him.

Amara knew she enjoyed his company more than spending a night alone on her actual bunk, not that his absence prevented her from sleeping. It was just that many nights, as she laid privately in her quarters, she sometimes managed to feel lonely. It didn't seem to matter much that she was on a spaceship of supporters and had three close-knit teammates...and a protege who idolized her. For a woman who had spent so much time in an empty apartment, it surprised her that it had taken so little for her to feel isolated without the operative's presence.

Zane's companionship was nice and really unlike anything she had experienced since her short marriage. While she undeniably enjoyed the physical benefits of their sex, she equally valued the intimacy of it. Among the thousands of fans she had amassed and her fame within the Crimson Raiders, there weren't many people she actually considered herself close to.

There was something unique about engaging with her older partner one-on-one...and their connection wasn't purely sexual. Why else would she spend so much time reflecting on it?

Could he have stayed with her overnight for reasons as shallow as simply preferring their bed to his own? Certainly. The bunks aboard Sanctuary truly sucked and Zane had a bad back. And for as much as she felt inclined to think he stayed for a convenient lay first thing in his day, they didn't always have morning sex. He was present too often for her to change her routine so frequently, so she often went on to exercise long before he woke up.

Despite Zane's persistently stubborn refusal, Amara was still determined to drag his ass out of bed at 0500 and have him join her in exercising. His initial reaction to her suggestion had been outright ridiculous. The Pandoran-Irishman had laughed too hard at her invitation to verbally refuse...and then promptly coughed like he had nearly hacked up a black lung.

Now, more than ever, she was determined. Clearly she could _literally _drag him behind her, but he would only benefit if he participated. At minimum, she felt a few good rounds jogging her route throughout Sanctuary would do his body some good. Despite how he managed to keep up with their team on missions, there was no denying that his cardiovascular health was shit. And while he preferred, clearly, to use sex as a form of exercise, she didn't consider that sufficient - at least not if he wanted to be in any capable shape at sixty.

Amara swore, at the first sign of him wheezing that way from sex, that she was going to sling him, in all his naked glory, over her shoulder and carry him straight to the infirmary. Then promptly have Tannis give what had to be Zane's first physical exam_ ever._ It wasn't that she wanted any woman to touch her operative, but the thought of the awkward sirentologist squeezing Zane's testicles and telling him to cough was an undeniably funny image, combined with the fact that he, of all people, would most capitalize on her disgust.

Considering how he puffed and huffed after spurts of physical activity, his chances of reaching the big 6-0 seemed slimmer than his waistline. The stubborn bastard seemed more likely to keel over from a heart attack before then. Him smoking _ever_ only increased the likelihood of that. It didn't matter if he smoked as rarely as he claimed to. For Amara, that particular habit was more than enough of a reason to insert her boot so far up his ass that he spit spikes.

Threats of bodily harm aside, Amara admitted that sustaining some relationship with the operative into his sixties was a strange thought, both considering it required such long-term planning and in wondering how Zane would actually behave at that age. She wasn't exactly sure where, in his fifties, he actually was, but he wasn't as far from the mark as she expected any partner of hers to be. Not only had she never envisioned herself having sex with a much older partner, but she _really_ hadn't expected to be hooking up with the oldest vault hunter. Zane, even by his own admission, had a number of years on Mordecai.

She supposed it was deceptively easy to overlook Zane's age given his boyish energy. Even then, his cardiovascular condition sounded worse than she would expect given his lean build and frequent physical activity. That said, _any_ exercise would be an improvement. Even better would be if she could get him to alter his diet, which was the cornerstone of good health. Unfortunately, she knew his terrible eating habits were deeply established. If his reaction to the salad she had forced on him had been any indication, lessening the saturated fat and salt he copiously consumed would be a more intense war than that fought against the COV.

Besides, if Zane was attempting sobriety, it was likely the worst time to try and impose such drastic changes. Amara stopped herself - didn't she mean suggest? Her own verbiage had her smirking at herself in wry amusement. She needed to remind herself that her opinion didn't have any real influence whatsoever.

She figured she should be grateful enough that Zane managed the occasional full night of sleep alongside her. Baby steps. Was better than him drinking until he fell asleep at Moxxxi's or anywhere else while intoxicated, for that matter. Even better that their makeshift bed benefitted his back.

That wasn't to say she expected Zane to remain sober forever. Men like him never did. But the fact he was trying to address his substance abuse was a step in the right direction, even if it was responsible for the slight aura of misery he was currently exuding.

If Zane really had any long-term intentions of fighting with the Crimson Raiders, then he needed to realize that perhaps a number of habit changes and precautions needed to be taken. Maybe he needed to go so far as to admit that his age and the toll his reckless behaviors had on it were bound to negatively impact his performance.

Hell, they even _regularly_ encountered enemies who targeted Zane not because they knew his identity and the bounty on his head, but because of his advanced age. There was no mistaking who their cries of "Kill the old man!" and "Get the geezer!" were targeting. It didn't matter that their fatal flaw was assuming the operative was the most vulnerable among them when instead, they should have viewed his evident age as a testament to his survivability.

Ava, as fond of the operative as she was, often joked about using her role as a commander to implement an upper age limit on Crimson Raider membership, to which Zane blew a raspberry at her and ruffled her hair. Just that reaction alone denounced the assumed maturity he _should_ have at his age. And did, _somewhere _\- just not when anyone expected it.

"Ye wouldn't do that to _meee~_" he said in singsong, squishing her in a hug against him. "Ya love this ol' bastard too much!" And Ava certainly did. It showed in how she always hugged him back.

The two of them really were cute together. The teenage siren had taken to Zane somewhat like a father figure, frequently going to him for advice or as a reference due to his encyclopedia of experiences. During tense times, she favored his presence because she found comfort in him, and he was always more than willing to lend her some soft-hearted words and his shoulder. There also came a time where she started spending more time planetside, the operative following closely behind.

Whether or not Zane had been assigned the task of guarding Ava or had volunteered for it, Amara couldn't be certain. Was likely to have been a combination of both that resulted in the arrangement. That wasn't what concerned the older siren. What didn't sit well with her was that she had been rejected from having much direct involvement - at least not more than voicing her deeply protective opinions.

Seems tensions remained high even a year following the Calypso aftermath. The general consensus among the Raiders was that having too many sirens in one place could prove endangering. Particularly with the young commander planetside, they risked enough by having their official figure of authority beyond the protection of Sanctuary. And who knew what person had inherited Tyreen and Troy's abilities?

They all agreed that it was imperative that measures be taken to safeguard Ava as much as possible. Proud of being a siren as the teenager was, she was never allowed to depart the ship without sleeved attire. So long as her markings were adequately concealed and she refrained from calling forth her abilities, there was no reason for onlookers to suspect her gift.

Protective as Amara was of her protege, she saw no actual need in Ava going planetside. Certainly, she knew the teenager needed to get off the ship and that her position didn't permanently imprison her there, but even then, the Raiders had enemies. And while it was Ava's intent to further positive ties among allies, someone else could have been sent on behalf of their interests to represent them. Someone like herself, or Zane, or Moze, or _anyone_...except perhaps FL4K, who was sort of strange.

If there was one thing Amara didn't approve of, it was red tape - and the fact that even as vault hunters, they were still expected to have some sort of bureaucracy. Sure, the groups they had allegiances with preferred to make face to face contact to further that sense of loyalty - but with how vault hunters and sirens had been targeted by enemy factions, anyone who had their best interests in mind should be understanding of any precautions taken.

Given that Ava was both a naive commander and a siren, she was doubly vulnerable. To Amara, and many others, those were reasons enough to ensure her security. But Ava, intent on being as brave as both Maya and Lilith had been, wanted very much to fearlessly follow in their footsteps. And she didn't plan to do it on her own.

Zane, in effect, had become her chaperone. Throughout his extensive career, the operative had frequently been tasked with guarding virtually all of the most influential CEO's throughout the six galaxies. Chances were, there was no more qualified individual than him to watch over Ava. He had both the tech and the know-how to keep their surroundings under strict surveillance and furthermore, the skill to adapt to any situation. Even Amara's siren advantage couldn't account for the resources and training Zane had at his disposal. Trusting him as Amara so deeply did, she still found herself weary of the unknown.

Even then, he was never really alone in the task. There were still extensive bounties out for him. Often FL4K, unhindered by human constraints, accompanied him. Moze occasionally joined them as an additional backup, providing Ava with an entourage that represented the Raider's support of diversity.

At least Zane's jovial disposition and engaging personality easily overshadowed FL4K's more morbid fixation and blunt disposition. And it was admittedly cute to see Zane tower over Ava and be lead alongside her as though on a short leash. He was, as always, attentive, and such a severe contrast from his much younger charge.

What the operative didn't have first-hand knowledge of, he thoroughly researched beforehand. Gathered intel through various sources he knew to be beneficial for everyone involved and provided Ava with the briefings she extensively received from him.

"Don't wanna be caught with our heads up our arses," Amara had overheard Zane say to Ava one day when she had arrived to do their usual trade-off. "Everyone doin' some sorta politics are basically breathin' farts. Only difference? Some are more convincin' while spewin' shite than others. Ye wanna be one'a them."

The seasoned operative had been smirking while Ava giggled at _that_ relatable tidbit of advice, all while the Partalian had snorted despite the unfortunate truth.

Amara found it heartwarming how Zane was helping educate the youngest siren in those matters while she, on the other side, helped teach Ava the ways of being a siren. It was sort of like they had an adopted child between them, just as Brick and Mordecai did with Tina. Their so-called daughter, fortunately, was a bit more behaved and less of an explosives expert, even if she was feisty in her own ways.

Their arrangement made for some interesting conversation between the vault hunters during the nights they shared together, after their heartbeats had settled and the sweat dried on their skin. Fond of Ava as they both were, she often came up in their more casual bouts of pillow talk. Provided they hadn't spent their day side-by-side, that proved the best opportunity for them to catch up after some much needed physical reconnecting.

Amara couldn't blame herself for not _entirely_ trusting Zane and Ava to remain out of trouble during their outings, but that only applied outside of official business. At least then she could trust the operative to keep the teen in line. If a situation ever arose that he couldn't, even with his most charming methods, FL4K would surely manage.

Amara, and her deadly biceps, were always an ECHO transmission and short fast travel away from kicking ass if ever needed. To her, and likely her fellow vault hunters, it seemed inevitable that conflict would arise again. Even she had to admit that maybe there _was_ some logic in keeping sirens dispersed when they could, despite her personal distaste for it. The attacks on Lilith and Maya had been horribly indicative of them being targeted for their abilities. Even the lore their Eridian tech translated emphasized the curse of being a siren and the threats that accompanied their gift.

Amara wasn't concerned for herself, confident in her strength and abilities. If anything, she was grateful to shoulder the burden of being what she was just so one other could not. Better her being the siren she was so proud and empowered to be and not someone more ill-prepared for the task.

Even Ava struggled with her cosmic-given abilities at times, as proud as she was of receiving Maya's gift. Through the former vault hunter's tutelage and bequeathing of her sirenhood, Maya lived on through her. And for as bubbly and upbeat as the teenager tried to be and - at times, felt obligated to seem - the responsibility Ava had been granted not just by one but _two_ of the most noteworthy sirens caused her to crumble in on herself sometimes. Remembering what it was like to be such a young girl and siren, Amara empathized.

For as supportive and comforting as she was, Amara knew she wasn't the best at redirecting Ava's mind. She, personally, preferred to face her challenges and tackle them _aggressively_ head-on but her methods weren't the younger woman's. If anything, Ava was still figuring herself out and had a long road ahead of her before she really achieved mature self-awareness. When Ava struggled, Amara didn't hesitate to call in reinforcements - particularly that of her more easygoing, flamboyant partner.

Everything was fair game for Zane. Just seeing him made Ava perk up, and Amara couldn't blame her. He just had that effect. He was a good time in a human form, and more than capable of reducing Ava to a giggling mess, causing Zane to grin all the while in achievement.

He was, as always, willing, provided he wasn't elsewhere with the other vault hunters or coated up to his elbows in hydraulic oil. Whenever he sauntered onto the bridge with his jubilant, "How're me two favorite sirens?" the mood of the room was uplifted.

Sure, with only six sirens total present throughout the universe, there wasn't much competition for status...but everything about the way Zane flashed his toothy grin and hugged on them was delightfully sincere. Regardless, the operative seemed particularly fond of stooping more to their shorter levels and using an arm around their shoulders to squish them against him and plant smacking kisses on their cheeks - often to Ava playfully slapping at him and grousing, "_Gross. _Geezer germs!"

Zane had used the distraction to sneak in a pinch of Amara's ass on a couple of occasions, or allowed his hand to linger on the base of her back a time or two. Ava, who damn well would have said something had she caught any hint of their honest flirtation, remained none the wiser.

The last time, Ava had sputtered and made quite the scene of wiping her face off, _eewwwing_ the entire way. "Yuck! Keep that filthy stache off me! Can't believe anyone would want that brushing on them!"

Undeterred, Zane had rolled his eye at her - and hadn't even bothered deflecting Ava as she went on, rubbing her hands aggressively off on her pants. "Maybe you wouldn't be single if you shaved that thing - or if you weren't, like, the oldest human aboard by _far_, you whiskery dinosaur!"

As always, Zane's glance at Amara had been covert and therefore undetected. Was for the best, considering how traumatized the teenager would have been if she knew what they kept between them.

It was funny to hear Ava teasing Zane about his facial hair, given how she had recently walked up behind him during lunchtime and reached around to grab him by both ends of his mustache. Using it like handlebars, she had tried to prevent him from sinking his teeth into the double cheeseburger he had additionally loaded with an onion ring and a handful of curly fries. Moze had promptly assisted by shoving a flat hand on the far end of the saturated fat concoction and crammed it in Zane's mouth, causing him to eat his laugh and a bigger bite than he had initially intended, postponing his ability to shoot off a smart-ass response.

Ava and Zane were a train wreck together - even more than Amara had assumed when it had come up during their playful banter that the teenager and her persistently sticky fingers had caused Zane a bit of trouble planetside. Seemed she made a game of stealing items from people and forcing the operative, boastful as he was, to replace it without the owner noticing. It hadn't caused a commotion _yet, _and Amara could only assume her protege had knocked it off by now, but Zane hadn't exactly appreciated her distracting his attention with her kleptomania.

Turns out, Ava had stolen a packet of his cigarettes back on Athena and only fessed up to it a couple of days ago when she had waved yet another at him _again. _Amara had been anything but amused - same as Zane had been when being lectured by the teenager about his smoking habit.

"Those are soooo fucking bad for you! Ugh, nasty!"

"_Language_!" griped Zane before drastically narrowing his eye at the young lady, giving a heavy sigh. "Alright, 's official. Ye've been spendin' too much time with 'er," the operative accused, hooking a finger at Amara.

Self-satisfied with having the smart girl's reinforcement, the older woman crossed her arms and proudly looked on. She trusted the teenager to do half her lecturing for her.

"You can't even smoke on the ship!" harped Ava with a hint of authority. "You know that, don't you? So why do you even need these disgusting things?"

"Yeah yeahhh, _air quality_," Zane grunted, waving a hand as dismissive as his words before he jabbed an index finger at her. "Why do ye always need to be pickpocketin' shite? Thought we talked 'bout this!"

For as much as Ava loved Zane, her disapproval of that particular vice was clear - and rightly so. It didn't matter if he only smoked planetside, the habit was still vile. Unfortunately, Ava had forfeited her element of surprise from there on and would no longer succeed in sneaking cigarettes from him. Zane would undoubtedly take better precautions in protecting his filthy coffin nails. Meant they would have to go after his source, whatever _that_ was.

First things first.

"Ava, throw them here," Amara requested, holding out her hand to effortlessly catch the packet promptly tossed in her direction.

"Hoooold up- wait _wait!_" came Zane's outburst, his protests rapidly escalating in stride with the situation. By the time Amara made contact with the cigarettes, he was all-out whining, both hands digging into his hair. "Those're _mine_! Give 'em back!"

Glaring at the operative despite his unusual degree of hysterics, the Tiger of Partali didn't hesitate in willing the color of her tattoos to change. Within her skin, they shifted from blue to orange, the feel of fire scorching pleasantly through her veins. A split second later, the package burst into a fierce display of flames. Nearly instantaneously, it vanished in a burst of smoke, leaving nothing left of them but their memory.

Zane made a strangled sound, practically whimpering as it died down. In contrast, Ava was impressed.

"So fucking cool!" she said with an elated hop, weaving her hands together beneath her chin. She could hardly withhold her awe, continuing to bounce from toe to toe while no doubt excited for her own potential.

"Ain't even fair!" accused the operative, dropping his hands in defeat. And then, avoiding the _obvious _differentiation, he compulsively protested, "How's that any different from me lightin' up?!"

More like it wasn't fair to pit an old man against two sirens, but Zane was more concerned with the fate of his cigarettes than he was with keeping score.

Even for himself, Zane was being melodramatic. Made Amara wonder over the near tears she suspected she saw in his eye. His mournful expression quickly transitioned to stubbornness, the wobbling pout of his mouth settling into a firm line of grumpiness.

"Aside from complete combustion?" mocked Amara, feeling the fire seep from her markings. She rather enjoyed the tangible feel of that elemental power as it withdrew into her core, leaving luminous blue in its wake. "You can thank me for sparing your lungs later - or do it now, if you prefer."

Zane did no such thing. Instead, he puffed out his chest with a huff and crossed his own arms obstinately. Wasn't like him to react so cantankerously, even if he reverted to his usual self shortly after. He never stayed grumpy long, if he'd actually been at all.

Zane hadn't held a grudge, if how he'd fucked her that night had been any indication. Amara had _wanted_ to be pounded face-down into the mat, his strong body atop hers, ramming his every thick inch into her sweltering pussy. An added bonus to their position: it helped her muffle the orgasms Zane wrenched out of her, the grip of his hands on her hips bruising and the slam of his cock against her womb blissfully brutal, his ragged breathing audible over the soft screams that shook her.

Needless to say, that hadn't been the first time she had been grateful for the music always playing in the commons. Helped, along with the thicker-than-expected metal walls, to muffle the more revealing evidence of their activities.

Ava, oblivious to everything ongoing behind the scenes that was _far _too adult for her, continued enjoying the company of her vault hunters. Driven by Amara's approval _and _encouragement, the teenager did what she could to ensure Zane didn't make the same mistake of hiding cigarettes twice. He, of course, avoided close contact with the teenager from then on - and when he didn't, likely overrode her kleptomaniac attempts by keeping his damn cancer sticks off his person and instead, stored among his firearms in his digital holster.

It was those kinds of lighthearted interactions that made Amara wonder how Ava would honestly react if she knew about her and Zane's more intimate relations - not that details were needed. Which was more than fine, since _those _would certainly make for an unnecessarily awkward addition to an already unexpected situation.

Amara found it impossible to believe the young siren would be anything but supportive of them. Why would anyone among the Crimson Raiders _not_ encourage two of their own finding some happiness together? What better way to dedicate themselves to their cause than to overlap business and personal pleasure?

Despite all Ava's teasing of Zane, would she really have an issue with them being somewhat of an item? Wasn't like it mattered but, having her as commander, there was some potential for complications. Amara couldn't envision Ava trying to impose limitations on them. If anything, the young girl would likely drag her aside and give her a stilted lecture on how she should demand more from Zane. Possibly, before her mandatory Athenean vow of chastity, Ava had simply been too young to ever crush on anyone. And even if she hadn't, could she still understand more adult-driven motives? It wasn't like Amara wanted to explain to her what friends with benefits were.

In all honesty, Amara didn't know which of them Ava could potentially be more defensive of. They were siren sisters, but Ava had a particular fondness for Zane. The mere thought of Ava accusing _her _of using Zane was hilarious. Thinking more on it, Amara was certain the teenager would accuse the operative of being a lecherous old man - which, he was, and no one knew that better than she did. Even then, Amara didn't want anyone thinking there had been an element of unwanted coercion in any of it.

Had the tables been turned and Zane had an inappropriate interest in Ava, not that he ever would, she most definitely would have killed him. That went without saying but wouldn't even have been a possibility in an alternate universe, as far as Amara was concerned. It was more like, if she had seen Zane pair up with a woman her own age, would it have troubled her? Not necessarily. Maybe if she hadn't known the operative personally, it might have earned her scrutiny.

As it was, Amara knew him well before their affair had begun. He had always been polite and respectful. Now knowing what she did about his sex drive, she appreciated more the significance of him having neglected it throughout the war with the COV. The conflict had gone on for so long that each of them had put their personal priorities on their distant back burners, and something suggested that Zane might indefinitely have neglected himself had she not, in effect, pounced him. He had seemed too resolved to keep his distance from everything, and Amara couldn't imagine an exception but herself casually coming along.

Then again, he _had_ hit on Ember rather blatantly during their assignment to overtake Handsome Jack's Casino. Once face to face with the fiery performer, Zane had given a particularly flirtatious greeting coupled with a horny chuckle. His sudden lapse in composure had caught Amara completely off-guard. Reminded of their mission, Zane had promptly cut to the chase over Timothy, leading the siren to shake the awkwardness off. So what if the old man had formed a crush? _Totally _harmless and maybe cute, except-

_Except_, in another peculiar relapse, her teammate ended up blurting out a marriage proposal. Even if intended in jest, the abruptness of Zane asking the performer to marry him had lead everyone _except _Ember into a tailspin. The woman had cracked a sly smile and continued purring to the older man, offering a _maybe_ as her answer, so long as their team retrieved her ship and reunited her with the tools of her explosive trade.

Surely Zane couldn't have bought into that, and it wasn't like their team wasn't obligated to do whatever was necessary to accomplish the heist. Still, it hadn't been lost on any of them how much of a hypocrite that made the operative, given how he had recently, and brashly, laughed his ass off at Timothy and accused him of having lost his balls to Moxxi. To say the older man had been particularly feisty had been an understatement.

At the time, Zane had resembled less of a smooth operator proposing to the pyrotechnician and more of an awkwardly endearing trainwreck. Maybe he had been sorely out of practice? And what Amara assumed was attempted humor lead to him not _quite _laughing it off as his teammates expected. Amara remembered exchanging a look with Moze while Zane verbally fumbled and then cleared his throat, almost appearing abashed. Was embarrassment even possible for him? Doubtful, with how quickly he recovered from it, flippant as always.

Knowing it was impossible to understand Zane, Amara figured he had let more slip than he had actually intended. Whether or not he was convinced he played his cards too soon with Ember or if his awkwardness was due to his companions overhearing him, only the operative knew. Or then maybe he didn't. He couldn't _possibly_ be serious about tying the knot after just having met his newest infatuation...but then Amara also knew better than to put it past him. He was an enigma, that one, and seemed prone to spitfire relationships.

If nothing else, it was refreshing to see Zane more in his element during that mission. The rest of them couldn't claim to be the heist types, and _he_ certainly was. Even down to being double-crossed, the whole ordeal had been just a normal stroll through the park for him, if a comparatively simple one according to some of the recollections he has so vibrantly described to them along the way.

Still, Zane _had_ been a bit more of a conundrum at the casino than usual. Amara recalled him cussing more than she swore she had ever heard him. He had just been..._intense,_ even for him, and expressively hoarse. He'd had another lapse in his usual happy-go-luckiness when he had pitched a fit about doing paperwork - to get his newfound crush's ship, no less. That had garnered a few more strange looks between the others, and why wouldn't it have? They had fought an entire war with odds outrageously stacked against them and _that_, along with frustrating customer service, was what got under the operative's skin?

"Motherfeckin' _paperwork_," he had spat, more on edge than anyone among them had ever seen him. He appeared to be very much jonesing for an entire package of cigarettes.

"You got some PTSD from it or something?" asked their gunner, appearing almost weary to address it.

Zane had thrown both gloved hands up into the air, practically flailing them in injustice until midway through his outburst, when he started crankily tugging on his own beard.

"My god, ye wouldn't believe the years of me life I lost to that wankin' kinda red tape! _Siiiiign_ this. _Siiign_ that. Ye feck up an' fail the contact? This is the shite yer in for! Givin' yer life away, boyo! That is, to _paperwork! _Why's a man gotta do that shite when all he wants is ta kill an arsehole? But _noooo_, they gotta make sure they get it on paper that ye ain't gonna sell them _precious_ _trade secrets_ o' theirs to their competition or they gotta make sure ye read an' initial the hundred feckin' rules they feel like making _that don't come into play!_

"An' then there's gettin' _clearance_, 'cause sometimes ye needed that shite, an' that was another bleedin' stack o' documents," the operative sneered - and then spit on the ground in obvious disgust. Amara couldn't help but make a face. "I mean _shite_, I could'a accepted cheaper contracts but they didn't pay as well as the twats who set all them redundant parameters. Shite, could'a fecked their secretaries far faster than it took to sign off on all those feckin' _papers. _How 'bout me DNA signature, ya bastards! All over yer sisters!"

As if by some unspoken agreement, the two women had approached Zane, intent on doing what they could to prevent his inevitable aneurysm, but he had stopped them. Held up his hand to keep them at a distance before he had shaken himself off and clasped one within the fluorescent collar of his jacket. Looking exasperated, Zane then began cranking on his neck.

"I'm _good!_" he breathed, managing a crooked smile that began gritted but eventually became more authentic. "I'm good. _Fine_. Tirade over! _Phew_! No more paperwork! Retirement sure is grand, jus'...no one give the Crimson Raiders any ideas. Anyone asks me to sign anything an' I am officially airlockin' meself out in space!"

Dramatic as always, just like the old man's blood pressure seemed to be.

Both she and Moze had exchanged multiple concerned glances over Zane's unusually aggravated outbursts throughout the heist. The fact that their easygoing, jovial teammate had nearly burst a blood vessel had been an unexpected experience. Amara would later recognize how the haphazardly discarded papers along Zane's workspace must have stemmed from his impatience with such things.

Later, when Zane and FL4K were trudging on ahead with their oversized firearms, Moze had nudged her with an elbow and pointed at the operative's arachnid-emblazoned back.

"I think _someone_ needs some quality time alone with his clone," she snickered and added, with palpable curiosity, "You think he fucks it?"

_And not with Ember? _Amara felt inclined to ask but instead refrained. Clearly Zane hadn't received his friend's vote of confidence. That or her approval.

"Not sure who would top who," admitted the siren, rolling her eyes at the gunner, though _she_ was the one referring to Zane's digi-struct as a person. Regardless, that definitely didn't concern their mission. Seemed her mind, and FL4K's, were the only two out of the gutter.

Maybe Moze had been onto something, though. Who knew how long it had been for the old man since he had last let off some steam? That explained him drooling over Ember - not that she wasn't alluring - and his other oddly agitated behavior. Quite possibly Zane had been trying to hook up with Moxxi when she had hit him with that particular mission. At the time, Amara had thought the same about their Killavolt mission.

What Zane did with himself, or with his clone, or with Ember, or with Moxxi, or with _anyone_ wasn't any of their business. Unlike Moze, Amara wasn't too keen thinking about it.

Clearly Zane had needed a vacation. When he departed Sanctuary shortly after Moxxi's newest venture came online, no one had said much of anything. They all needed time to decompress, after all, and Zane had both the gambling habit and the money to enjoy the establishment to the fullest. Both Amara and Moze had considered accompanying him but had decided against it, the gunner kindly reminding the siren how long they had spent up each other's asses.

Zane was an adult...and not only was the territory known, but Moxxi promised to have her security bots look out for him. In true Moxxi fashion, she hadn't disappointed. When operative safely returned a couple of days later, his mood had seemed uplifted to its usual elevation and he had been grinning like a winner. He greeted her first and threw an impressive armful of eridium at her.

As for his improv proposal to Ember, nothing had come of it. As far as Amara currently knew, _and she damn well hoped she could be sure, _Zane and Ember hadn't exchanged nuptials. To her, it seemed like the hard-on he'd gotten for the performer had never amounted to more than that.

Amara didn't even know why she was thinking about any of it now. None of it applied to their current situation. She would have preferred Zane to accompany the teenager to Moxxi's casino instead of Agoria. For as fond as he was of his vices, Ava was neither of age nor would Zane accept such a trade. Instead, he would probably spew some nonsense about how the kid would cramp his devilish style.

She wouldn't say she _worried_ about Ava suspecting anything between her and the operative but was, now more than ever, weighing the possibilities. She supposed there wasn't as much of a need for them to come out in the open with their affair. They had managed to keep it private for the better part of six months now, which in itself was a strange reality. She couldn't help but avoid acknowledging that further, reluctant to feel as though doing so might bring things into perspective.

More than anything, Amara didn't want Ava feeling that their team would be threatened in the event that she and Zane arrived at a crossroads they couldn't navigate together. So long as Zane kept his dick in his pants and allowed her exclusive access, Amara couldn't see a possibility of them encountering such a conflict, particularly one that could be catastrophic.

The last thing the Crimson Raiders needed for their sustainability was to lose one of their war-winning vault hunters. Though none of their foursome had been loyally established anywhere near as long as previous teams, their accomplishments thus far remained remarkable among their ranks.

Vault hunters were the driving force and protectors of the Raiders. Still so naive, why wouldn't Ava feel that their group would be endangered by a fallout between two of their heaviest hitters? If that were to happen, Amara doubted that she and Zane wouldn't somehow remain on working terms...unless castration had indeed been in order. Then maybe not.

Regardless, their affair was still going strong. While she didn't want to jinx them by thinking it was more substantial than ever, she _knew _it was. They had both taken steps toward getting closer - physically more often than anything. There were no signs of interest waning or stopping entirely anytime soon, as far as Amara was concerned, and Zane's fucking of her was as eager as ever. He acted like he couldn't complain - and she didn't want to give him any reason to.

Eventually, things would change not only between them but everyone. Presumably, Zane would actually retire at some point and go his own way. Chances were, Amara would also break off, since she wasn't against doing something crazy like settling down someday, presumably long after the operative went off in pursuit of whatever in the hell he decided he wanted. Similarly, the siren had somewhat of a history tentatively debating if her future could possibly include children.

Clearly _that_ was nowhere in the cards for them. Vasectomy notwithstanding, Zane wasn't exactly the man Amara envisioned herself ending up with. And that _might_ have been more a matter of age than anything. Maybe it should have been far more alienating for her to consider it, even in distant theory, but then she regarded it as a natural thought process with how involved she was with him. She was only sharing her body with him in a very vulnerable way, and had certain measures not been taken, there would have been some risk.

A believer of fate, Amara accepted what currently was and didn't linger on what could have been. While the two of them had come to a sexual agreement between themselves, they weren't on the same page. They both desired entirely different things and were at distant stages of life from one another. More often than not, she reminded herself to follow Zane's lead and live in the present. The future would arrive soon enough, with whatever it had in store for them, and agonizing over it now would only serve to stress her. It would also distract from the pleasure they shared together.

Already, there were plenty of other problems for her to keep herself occupied with - one being that Ava _still _mentioned the possibility of Zane doing a solo venture, even after Amara had directly discouraged her.

"That's my teammate you're trying to send off," she had pointed out while giving the younger siren the most serious glare she ever had.

"You'd still have Moze and FL4K," the teenager countered, laughing and clearly underestimating the Partalian's disapproval. "Besides, haven't we been sitting ducks here? Aren't we supposed to be cracking vaults? Can't do that when we don't have any leads. I know Zane would turn something up."

_Not_ the vote of confidence Amara was looking for, even if she felt convinced herself.

"Leave that up to Tannis," she advocated, trying her best to sound less like biased counsel and more a voice of reasoning. After all, wasn't that one significant reason why the sirentologist was amongst them?

"But isn't that what Zane _does_?" reminded Ava hopefully, still unwilling to drop what she's sure is the perfect answer to everything. "I mean, I asked him and he agreed. Zer0 says he's one of the best operatives in the _universe_, so I don't know why we aren't, you know, letting him_ operate._ That's still his thing. Seem like he's kinda overqualified to be hanging around here when he should be tracking down information and doing all his infiltrating, espionage-ing stuff."

Ava went on, confident she was gaining more traction behind her argument. "Zane said he _always_ worked alone. It's not like that expires! And he's got all his gadgets for backup. Lilith even mentioned other Crimson Raiders doing their own side ventures."

"Axton went with Gaige," retorted Amara knowingly, having interacted with the Dahl commando herself. "And Zer0 works with Atlas."

"_Sorta," _argued the teenager, causing Amara to sigh. "He mostly does his own thing - like Zane should be doing! Like I said, Zer0 vouches for him. They have history and both of them confirmed that Zane specializes in digi-tech, _clearly_, and hacking data. He should be able to determine some leads and do something like break into mainframes and whatever."

Amara forced out a dark breath, tightening the cross of her arms against her chest. She didn't doubt everything Ava knew to be true, as she also did, but still.

As though settled on one outcome, she dropped her hands and braced them on her hips, bracelets clacking at her wrists. "Fine, then I'm going with him."

Ava's dismissal was immediate. "You can't! _I_ need you here."

"I was his partner first," she countered, frowning determinedly. "Tannis can train you."

"Uh, _no,_" contested Ava, her voice a whine befitting her age. "That's _not_ gonna happen."

"That settles it then - where the old bastard goes, I go. So we're staying here."

Opening and shutting her mouth a series of times like a fish out of water, the teenage commander appeared to consider arguing further before huffing out a sigh.

"If he wants to, I'm letting him," she vowed finally. Amara let her have that last word...for now.

It wasn't like Amara could bring herself to be too frustrated with Ava, particularly outwardly. The girl was trying to fulfill her responsibility the best way she knew how. She had a point - that they were short on vaults, currently, and information leading to them. While not in a particular rush to change that trend, the older siren didn't see information worth potentially costing one of their own.

Amara knew for a fact, and without doubt, that _she_ wasn't Lilith. She didn't need someone killing her lover to give her a renewed sense of purpose and determination. That wasn't to say the Firehawk had, but the impact Roland's death had on Lilith had irrefutably resulted in her inheriting her position of leadership and devoting everything she had left to it.

Amara's very nature was to fully invest herself in her undertakings, whatever they were. She couldn't envision herself being more fiercely involved in her role among the Crimson Raiders. She loved what she did and couldn't have been more dedicated to playing an integral role in both shaping Ava to be a powerful figurehead and a prodigal siren among them.

And still, for the potential her influence on the teenager had and the impact it could have on their vault hunting as a result, Amara still had her reservations. Had the events of her own life been any indication, she knew everything came at a cost. Each of them, as vault hunters, chose what and how much they devoted to their cause, and while she couldn't account for Zane's own sacrifices, she wouldn't consider him among hers.

As it was, Amara couldn't deny to herself that she still felt Zane was on some constant verge of wanderlust. She didn't want to think that she was only as frequently physically involved with him as some feeble attempt to keep him tethered. She preferred him close but would accept him at a less intimate distance, so long as it didn't mean him venturing off alone down the dangerous path he knew best.

Intent on working another angle to back her stance, and not wanting to be at odds with her protege, Amara sighed at her. "Did you forget Zane has people out to kill him?"

Now was Ava's turn to expel a poignant exhale, her shoulder dropping. "Yeah, guess I kind of do," she admitted, and half-explained: "Hard not to when he doesn't seem to mind. What, you don't think he can handle it?"

"That's not what I said," countered the older siren with a faint exhale of frustration, hands on her hips now. "It's just that he shouldn't have to. Not when he's on our team."

Needless to say, Amara found Ava's comment of _minding_ alarming. It took her back to before her affair with the operative had begun. It had been that same night when she had asked Ava about their private discussion. Even back then, the commander had admitted an interest in Zane departing on such a solo venture. Hearing her now sounded too much like deja vu for Amara's liking.

"What, have you two talked about him leaving again?"

"No, not _recently_," assured the blue-haired siren and then snorted loudly at her. "Geez, Amara, don't worry so much!"

Now Ava sounded too much like Zane for comfort. That was enough to have Amara second-guessing the influence he had on her.

Unfortunately for the teenager, Amara didn't care to be so easily dismissed. It wasn't like herself to stoop so low to get her point across like she felt she did, but she didn't want Ava to disregard the risks that followed Zane damn near everywhere.

As much of a siren as Amara was, Ava was equally endangered by her gift. Just as she couldn't afford the naive commander to jeopardize her partner, the Partalian reminded her protege of what was at stake.

"I just don't want lose Zane like we did Maya," sighed Amara heavily. And _that_ was the truth, no further emphasis needed.

That caught Ava's attention immediately, in a way that made the Partalian guilty...but also ensured that she had effectively conveyed her terrible point.

Needless to say, Maya's passing still weighed heavily on Ava's young shoulders. There were days where Amara's parental fondness for the teen noted the lingering redness of her eyes and swelling of her sinuses. Everyone who had known Maya still felt the pain of her loss to some extent. Though she had only met her shortly before Troy had murdered her, Amara felt she had lost a sister.

Ava had been so much more intimately and closely bonded to her instructor, friend, and guardian figure. That said, Amara was surprised by how neglectful the teen seemed in considering the safety of their team. It wasn't that she was particularly careless - rather, as she admitted, it was so easy to overlook the bounty on Zane's head. It wasn't like the Ava had witnessed assassins pursuing him and even then, she saw the operative's skills as ageless and immortal. It was deceptively simple to fall into that mindset, given Zane's carefree disposition and uplifting energy. Virtually no one in his line of work lived to be his age without going into hiding, and there the remaining Flynt brother was, still ornery as ever and fighting.

More and more, the operative and teenage commander spent time together. Theirs seemed a natural progression, given the nature of the vault hunters and their role among the Crimson Raiders. Ava was particularly enamored with romanticizing their adventures and still chewed at the bit for the right to earn herself the title. But, the common consensus was that she was still too young and now too _important_ to double-dip. It didn't matter that she'd had her fair taste of action back when Athena was under Maliwan siege. That exposure wasn't the same as allowing the girl to wield a weapon and fight like the rest of them.

Amara was preparing her, or doing her damndest to, with particular attention to their unique siren abilities. She didn't have the technical training Zane and Moze had. That was their focus. Together, the two of them tackled the task of instructing Ava at the new and improved shooting range the operative had devised for Marcus. While gunning down holographic enemies wasn't the same as ending an actual life, it was a start. And rumor down the vine was that Zane was whittling away at a virtual reality program more capable of immersing aspiring vault hunters and providing them a controlled environment to better condition themselves.

Well, it wasn't actually a rumor given how Amara heard it straight from his mouth - specifically while nestled against him in their post-coital cuddles. Choosing to spare her the details and instead savor their time together, Zane didn't talk about it much and she honestly preferred he didn't. It hadn't been until they had gotten their fill of each other and reverted to vault hunting partners that she heard more about it.

In exchange for enhancing Marcus' shooting range, Zane had gained access to the warmonger's extensive catalog of munitions and had since uploaded them into his database. According to him, he had integrated a weapon randomizer into the VR system to account for the reality of never knowing what resources would be available. Made sense to her, even if Zane had encountered some problems during testing.

Amara had raised a brow once when he reconstructed and immediately began dictating notations on his ECHO.

"Level 3 weaponry 'gainst a lotta powerhouse heavies. Might need some adjustments," he muttered as though to himself, followed by a chuckling shake of his head. "Probably best the pain system isn't fully integrated. Don't need me arse fisted that hard."

Amara had snorted, handing Zane his laptop from where she had sat cross-legged beside the fast track station. There, she listened to him type with deafening speed _singlehandedly _while balancing his computer with the other. Then, to her surprise, he stopped rather suddenly and gave a tired sigh before he shut it and tucked it under his arm. Then, he reached down with his free hand to assist her to her feet, very much regardless of the fact she didn't need it.

Still, the brief contact was appreciated. She had been forced to resist her urge to kiss him, given the number of people occupying the commons.

Zane's was quite the project - one he insisted would prove more effective if he could integrate pain response into it. His seemed like quite the task - one she watched with concern as the operative hardwired himself into his computer and performed a series of tests and responding with sharp flinches and a number of curses.

Witnessing her partner in such vivid pain, her initial reflex had been to destroy something. At its most intense, she had every reason to be concerned, as Zane's eye rolled back and he passed out. Her immediate reaction had prevented him from suffering a dead-weight landing. She had caught him in her capable arms and lowered him to the ground where she had then propped up his feet and began shaking him gently. Even disconnected from the system as Zane's fall had rendered him, it had still taken a matter of minutes for him to regain consciousness.

Though he had laughed upon coming to, she most definitely had not.

As successful as that implementation had been, Zane wasn't having as much success with digitizing via fast track. He had appeared more tired than discouraged as he spent hours on end scanning through the same endless streams of coding. Amara had lost track of the number of times he had scrambled himself into the system and then returned to Sanctuary wearing an assortment of frustrated expressions. Clearly what he had achieved through one method wasn't quite translating to the platform he had to work with.

They didn't all have ports directly integrated into their nervous system and Amara didn't see that becoming a fashion statement anytime soon. Likely that was for the best if Zane's responses to VR damage were any indication. The results seemed intentionally, and unfortunately, real so far as his brain was concerned.

So long as the rest of him remained unscathed and the danger was only perceived, Amara figured she couldn't complain. She had her misgivings about subjecting Ava to that harshness but even then, pain was an unfortunate element of reality. It would be best if she both learned to endure it and learned from it.

For as necessary as they were, Amara still distrusted fast track stations to some extent. She couldn't fathom scrambling and reconstructing her molecules as Zane so frequently did between traveling and transposing places with his clone. The operative proved time and time again that he had absolute confidence in technology. In contrast, she was so mindful of potential mishaps that sometimes, she experienced moments of anxiety.

"As long as me langer and Flynt family jewels're where they belong, could care less what else is missin'," Zane had told her recently, giving his aforementioned parts a quick pat of assessment.

Amara had wanted to frown for a number of reasons, all associated with the obviously extensive task at hand for the operative. There was no timeline for him to finish the program other than the one he might have implemented for himself. All she knew was that he had quite the work cut out for himself in addition to the usual tasks assigned to them.

Needless to say, she witnessed Zane's workaholic nature in full-swing. She had woken up a number of times to find him typing away at his laptop, seated at her table that resembled his own, the red maple that gently rustled an organic contrast to the digital interface Zane manipulated.

For as much as she respected his worth ethic, she didn't necessarily agree with him putting all the odd hours he did into his project. A number of times, she had wielded her gifted responder and summoned him to her room without their agreed-upon forewarning. That unexpected teleportation sent him falling into his ass from how he had been seated at his own workspace, body retaining his posture without a chair under him.

To her credit, she _had _tried to catch him again and had nearly succeeded, but she couldn't predict where he appeared. And she had rubbed his posterior in thorough apology, much to his amusement, even as he shook off the last vestiges of his unexpected displacement.

The last thing she wanted was for the old man to run himself ragged, and that was precisely what he seemed intent on doing. She could tell just by looking at him that his mind ran at a thousand miles a minute and he could hardly quiet it when they were together. It didn't detract from their sex, even if Zane required more encouraging than ordinary to switch gears, but once she got in his pants and took her own off, he still seemed to forget everything but her.

Twice since he had voluntarily bitten off more than he could comfortably chew, she had zapped him to her room and they _hadn't_ ended tangled up in each other. He had simply appeared too tired, even if he had initiated the motions, but he also hadn't protested much when she had calmly stopped him. Therein lied some relief in knowing he would stay with her throughout the night _without_ sex. That he could just as easily settle on their makeshift bed and sleep pressed against her, sharing his warmth and the comfort his presence provided her.

There had been some relief when Zane had encountered a particular crossroad and temporarily withdrawn his fixation. Inevitably he would resume his troubleshooting and compulsive drive to establish a VR system suitable for his specific definition of perfection. Ava had encouraged that shift of mindset by suddenly voicing that she had _other _intentions of applying herself to her tasks - namely working harder to both establish and maintain their alliances.

Her goals certainly weren't discouraged. In effect, Ava wanted to do what Lilith and others before her hadn't had the resources to really succeed at. Now that the Crimson Raiders had a spaceship, they could actively perform recruitment and travel to territories they had yet to explore.

Of course doing do didn't come without inherent risks. It was a game of strategy to decide when and where they would send their people. In all honesty, Amara felt it was premature to do more than further the alliances they already had, since they didn't quite have the capacity to host more vault hunters or refugees. There simply wasn't the infrastructure on Sanctuary III for that.

That didn't mean they couldn't begin formulating new ventures or actively seek Eridian clues as to unmapped and still undiscovered vaults. And it didn't mean Ava's aspirations couldn't continue to grow with her enthusiasm. There was nothing wrong with their outfit making long-term plans so long as they didn't overextend their commitments...which tended to fall on the shoulders of the four present vault hunter. Occasionally others were available for recruitment provided they were within communication range.

What Amara _didn_'_t _agree with were Ava's methods. The girl wanted to get her hands dirty and she didn't think that was quite necessary. Still, the teenager was the one Lilith had assigned the authority, so there wasn't much Amara could do but advise her and in doing so attempt to talk some sense into Ava's rather thick head. For every word she took to heart, there tended to be another she flicked off like a booger.

For whatever reason, Ava tended to listen more attentively to Zane, which Amara found frustrating. Maybe it was because he refrained from talking down to her. Maybe it was because of his obvious experience. And possibly it was because he was tasked with protecting her when they went planetside, where he was responsible for ensuring her safety. While Ava was no coward, she understood she was still a novice and that her siren abilities couldn't entirely account for that fact.

Possibly she was also on good behavior because she _knew _the others on Sanctuary were watching as she, the operative, and the AI enacted their task of making contact with allies and further forging their friendships.

It was such a mission that brought the Crimson Raiders to Agoria, one planet among many in a rather expansive star system. Given Zane's particular intention for it, they hadn't yet bothered looking too closely at the other celestial bodies orbiting that singular sun among them.

According to Zane, Agoria was one of the most substantial trading posts in its star system. It wasn't _the _largest but the operative assured them it didn't need to be to have the best resources. And his depiction of it proved convincing, given that most of what Sanctuary could pull up about it were advertisements upon advertisements upon advertisements.

"It's a real money-minded place," said the well-traveled operative, glad to explain the appeal of it. "Lotta business there. I used to have some contacts there who got me whatever I needed back in the day. Real crazy what folks like 'em can dredge up or already got on hand. Lot of intel too, if yer willin' to buy. Sure a whole bunch of 'em are up for hirin' out footwork like we do too. Seems like a fine fit for our little gang, here.

"Place is pretty strict, though," he added, thumbing his beard thoughtfully as he gazed at the holographic display. "Sanctuary's gonna need clearance if it feels like parkin' in orbit...which would be a good deal, whenever we need it. There're some folks in local office that can be appealed to, if Ava does some fine representin' and convinces 'em the Raiders are hard-workin' folk. Worth havin', y'know? And just Agoria's type 'cause we'd be in and out an' on our way. They don't keep many resources fer their own folks since they can't turn such a profit on it, and that makes us the right kinds of client. There fer some stuff, a good time, and then outta their hair."

To Amara, it sounded too good to be true just as most everything promising did. She was allowed her misgivings and definitely had them. Her and Zane's sleeping together - and, more relevantly, them being teammates - didn't prevent them from having disagreements. Each vault hunter had their own opinions and even stronger personalities, as well as their individual takes on nearly everything. After all, the four of them came from different walks of life and others, like Ava, only added more perspectives. So when Amara felt differently than Zane did about his current plan, it was quite expected. Both Moze and FL4K, possibly sensing danger, quite literally stayed out of it.

As far keeping Ava safe was concerned, their stances couldn't have been more unified. However, their approaches of ensuring it were unfortunately dissimilar.

"We oughta cut back 'er entourage," came Zane's input, the last time there had been a discussion about their planetside destination. "She's not gonna learn how to blend in with one."

The two of them, along with the support staff manning controls, had been on the bridge at that time. On the center command console, the holographic sphere that the operative had drawn up was placed on glowing display.

"This is where we're headed!" he had announced, gesturing to the planet with a grand sweep of his arms, flashy as always. "_Agoria_! Chose it meself!"

Of course he did. He had won at darts during their last competition. It didn't matter so much that he was the vault hunter with the most mileage or the fact that he headed Ava's personal security. He was game for every conceivable challenge and the others were glad to participate. Their usual method of drawing names out of Claptrap's self-proclaimed ass had gotten tiresome given how they all tired of its incessant rambling. They didn't need the "General of the Crimson Raiders" feeling even as involved as that.

Now, with their sights set on Agoria and their unauthorized vessel lingering within fast track range outside of its territory, the two present vault hunters began what had quickly become their routine of debating.

"Why should she have to?" challenged Amara, unapproving of Zane's latest suggestion. "Ava doesn't have to be alone. She's part of a team."

"No, she doesn't, but shite happens," half-agreed her partner.

"She's been alone before. I think she gets it." Like her older partner needed reminding

Considering Ava had been a stowaway to Athena when Maya had discovered her, no one could refute her history. Zane didn't even try but instead, used the same angle to support his argument.

"Aye, she has - so she kinda knows what she's doin' already when it comes to hidin'. But not as a _siren._ Whole other ballpark. Ye know that. An' not as a Raider. An' not out in the open, where there'll be damn near everyone watchin'."

"Ain't like our wee lass is gonna be vault huntin' on her own, 'Mara," he was inclined to point out, "but she's still gotta learn the ropes of doin' business and gettin' out there in the nitty gritty. Yer doin her a disadvantage by keepin' 'er locked in. Let her live a lil'. She's only gonna grow to resent this gig if she feels imprisoned by it."

"She's not _imprisoned_," huffed Amara, wholly disagreeing with his depiction. "She's free to come and go - _safely._ With a team."

"But not often enough," Zane decided, crossing his arms casually. "She's still a kid. Let 'er be one. She's got a zillion planets worth visitin', an' I don't hafta remind ya that most aren't safe. I got a few in mind that would be good fer 'er to see. Gotta admit, 'cause yer gonna figure it out anyway, this planet here," he gestured, nodding to it, "it ain't gonna be what ye would prefer."

Amara narrowed her eyes. "How so?"

"Cause it ain't barren!" he laughed.

"I get it, smartass," she growled and then rolled her eyes. Then, stated fact: "She's been plenty of places."

"Plenty'a tidy, coiffed ones," snorted Zane, staring squarely at her. "Ya know, the ones ye permit. This one here, it's no Pandora, but it's got its own... culture, I s'pose. I consider it a decent average - there's some sorta order but it's got a lotta skeletons in its closet. Which side o' Agoria ye see depends on which yer lookin' for. It's got a bit o' everything!"

If the operative was truly trying to encourage her support, he was doing a poor job at it. Aware of this and making it apparent that that was indeed _not_ his intention, Zane regarded her with an arrogant lean of his back behind crossed arms.

"Ain't ye been trainin' 'er how to be a siren? Aye, you have. Time to train her how to be more of a vault hunter. That's what she wants, an' I'd say she's well-equipped. Still gotta learn the ropes, though, an' that involves dealin' with societies as much as killin' enemies." Then, he added as an afterthought, brows furrowing: "Dunno why ye don't think she can handle herself."

"I didn't say that," defended Amara, noting her one quiet resolve. She didn't see much point in expressing herself if Zane would verbally walk over her. And it was better to favor silence than allow herself to get worked up.

"Then let 'er do it," encouraged her partner, spreading his arms in an appeal to her. "This time, it'll be jus' me an' FL4K - with 'im on standby. I ain't willin' to leave 'er alone, so I'll watch 'er meself. It'll do her a world o' good. The Raiders, too, which is her job, last time I checked."

"I think you underestimate how dangerous it is being a siren," accused Amara with an edge, glaring in addition to it.

"Uhh, nooo?" contested Zane playfully with a snort. "If yer talkin' 'bout that Calypso nonsense, I was there, remember? This is different. And I ain't sayin' she goes in struttin' and advertisin' she's a siren. She can if she wants but I still wouldn't suggest _that._"

At least they agreed upon _something_.

The girl in question was absolutely of no help and her eager compliance furthered the operative's resolve. Had anyone expected anything less? Young as she was, and therefore recklessly adventurous, Ava was prone to having her support bought by whoever promised her the most. She practically hopped with excitement when informed of the plan laid out for her.

"I'm with Zane on this," Ava announced, grinning at the operative, who smiled back.

In contrast, Amara crossed her arms and frowned yet again. "Of course you are."

"'Course she is," Zane piped in, helpful as always.

Amara recognized that as the time for her to express herself a little more than she had, now that Ava was her audience. Compared to Zane, the teenager actually had executive authority...and Amara preferred to think she really respected her, being her protege.

"I don't approve of it," sighed the stronger siren, hands on her hips now in a display of confidence. "I think there's too much unnecessary risk. At least have Moze come along, or myself, or _both. _It's best to have numbers on somewhere so populated. If we have them, why not use them?"

"Look," countered Zane, still and forever in defense of his position, "it ain't like I'm takin' 'er somewhere I haven't been before. It's been a while but from what I can tell, Agoria hasn't changed much. And I _know_ what I'm doin'. It'll be real good for 'er. Give her some confidence not to have ya or a lot of others breathin' down her neck."

Amara glared further now, fixing her ire on Zane. "You're the only one who sees a problem with that."

"Hey," Ava spoke up, adding her two cents among adults she was outmatched by. "I mind too!"

"You can't keep 'er trainin' wheels on indefinitely, Amara. An' how can ye say she's gonna be successful if ye don't give 'er opportunity to fail? Not that she's gonna, but ye know what I mean when ye aren't bein' so stubborn."

"You guys-"

"_I'm _the stubborn one?" scoffed the Partalian, and that was more than she needed to point out his hypocrisy.

"An' ye know it," nodded Zane, laughing lightly. "I am too, fer the record, but I've been 'round the block an' lemme tell ya, the best learnin' experiences I've had have been on the field - not in some silly VR system or readin' textbooks. _Those _don't teach 'er how to deal with real persons."

"-It's like you're married-"

"She's not a mute," snapped Amara, frustratedly stating the obvious. "_You_ know that because you've been accompanying her to-"

"Meet an' greets _arranged _fer that exact purpose!" interrupted the older man, the bridge of his nose creasing further from his incredulous frown. "Enough with that nonsense! Time fer 'er to make ties of 'er own with folks who ain't already friendly with this outfit. Where's the harm in it? If it don't work, _fine - _plenty others 'round to resort to. If it does, all the better!"

Ava tried to pipe in again. "What Zane sai-"

"Then have her practice somewhere else! How about somewhere that probably won't try to sell her for slave labor or outright kill her?"

"They ain't gonna," snorted the operative, rolling his one eye at her. "I'm still gonna be there an' so is Robo-Boyo, fer the most part. Give us some credit, now! _Sheesh_, aren't ye bad at that? Not only are ye shortin' Ava-"

At least only the teenager wasn't being interrupted, not allowed to try and intervene with how Amara snapped at him.

"I'm doing no such thing! I'm simply being cautious!"

"_Overly,_" huffed Zane.

"Bullshit - there's no such thing," sneered the siren, crossing her glowing arms and proudly on the offensive. "But please, do argue and remind me how erring on the side of caution is permanently detrimental to her. How is it, again, that it will put her in danger?"

The look Zane shot her proved he didn't have the gall to argue with that. She was stating facts, after all, with a few chosen words to bolster it. He could argue to high hell and back that Ava's preparedness might be somehow _temporarily_ stifled by them imposing secure and measured opportunities, but the effects would not be lasting. And who was in a rush to shape her into the next Firehawk?

None of them. Because of that, Zane set his jaw. However, that respite was short-lived as he went on to address how Ava's preparedness didn't hinge on one educational experience but a vast conglomeration of them, spoken from the stance of a man who had more intergalactic rapport than all of them combined.

How in the hell else could Amara sufficiently convince the two of her argument? Concepts of instinct and intuition weren't so easily worded. She would think, however, that a man like Zane would assign more weight to them considering he utilized both to survive. She guessed he could say the same about her intentionally downplaying his logic in order to support her own argument.

In the end, Zane won. He was too prepared and advantaged not to. While Amara hadn't physically acted out, her frustration had edged towards anger, furthered by her inability to gain traction and feel as though she had actually been heard.

Them being partners did nothing to stop them from being at odds or getting fire in their voices. Their verbal conflict inevitably escalated to the point that Ava waved over the staring men and women manning the ship and urged them out into the hall, allowing the vault hunters to work out their differences in a very animated and admittedly ridiculous fashion. Had they occupied a planet, then the quaking of their reverberating arguing could have easily been mistaken for shifting tectonic plates.

Wasn't the first time Zane had been loud on Sanctuary. They had all heard him belting out tone-deaf songs or otherwise uproariously drunk at one time or another. Amara, on the other hand, was never prone to such theatrics and had never been. Honestly, few were compared to Zane. However, it was far more characteristic of her to maintain her zen-like composure. She very much preferred remaining calm and reserving her energy for her outrageous displays of brute power - _not _for chewing her partner's handsome head off.

They _should_ have called it quits far earlier than they had. Ordinarily, they both knew better than to allow themselves to escalate. But, for as much as they consistently refrained, lapses in conduct couldn't always be helped. Zane was a Pandoran and therefore accustomed to explosions _and _was a vibrantly expressive man at heart. Amara _knew _she could be hotheaded and loved a good fight, even if it didn't involve her fists. And maybe there had been some sexual tension interwoven throughout it, because how couldn't there be?

They had their chemistry, and maybe in some strange way, them unleashing their egos on each other had been a way of verbally fucking one another amidst those brave enough to witness it. And maybe it was a way for them to challenge each other despite them being such otherwise unified partners. What harm was there, really, in doing any of it given their secure environment and solid partnership?

Amara knew she was guilty of being aroused by their verbal sparring. She never had the opportunity to see Zane get worked up in such an aggressive way and witnessing that had been thrilling for her. She couldn't say their conflict had the same aphrodisiac effect on Zane or if, instead, it had raised his blood pressure in ways that were detrimental at his age.

Sure, the operative had laughed as he brought himself down from the heated high they had reached, but he had also hit up Moxxxi's immediately following everything. Wasn't atypical for him to spend his downtime guzzling beers and boredly gambling, but the fact that he hadn't retained a steady enough hand to resume his earlier technical tinkering suggested he had remained more on edge than she expected.

More than willing to make it up to him, Amara wasn't overly concerned by his behavior or the fact that he had reverted back to openly consuming alcohol. By checking her ECHO, she knew he must have only had a few drinks before he had gone back to his room. Presumably, he had slept until waking up and preparing for his, Ava's, and FL4K's scheduled departure four hours later.

It had been Ava who prevented Amara from following and jumping him, misreading her intentions of pursuing Zane further when he had made his exit. The way the teenager's determined hands grabbed her arm had captured Amara's concern just as much as Ava's worried expression.

"I'm not going to kick his ass," assured the woman with a soft laugh, hugging the girl to her. "I'm not like that."

She really wasn't. Instead, her sights had been set on kissing him stupid and fucking herself mindless with him. She could think of no better means of extinguishing the sweltering in her loins but with the most physically satisfying ways. She could almost feel how her hands would have buried themselves in Zane's hair and drew him flush to her, their lips crushing together and their tongues wetly fierce. They would have grabbed at each other with bruising force and fucked until their mutual aggression bled into their heart-pounding orgasms.

At least, that was what Amara wanted. Instead, she was forced to relinquish those desires despite herself.

"Could have fooled me," admitted Ava, smiling shakily. She still appeared very much uneasy - and for good reason. "Wow, you two really did that. Pretty glad I shut the door before I went deaf from it."

Trying to comfort the weary girl, Amara stroked her blue hair fondly, feeling for her. At the same time, she couldn't see how Ava could be so worried. She looked like a child who had witnessed her parents arguing for the first time...and really, wasn't that what it had basically been?

Surely it was disheartening for Ava to know that she had been the center of their argument. Still, the teenager rebounded well enough. Her smile grew less tentative at Amara's repeated assurance that her and Zane were perfectly fine. That they were just loud and _definitely _could have done far better at maintaining their composure. And she hadn't been lying.

"It's actually good that we can fight like that," she assured her protege, smiling and meaning it. "We can let loose on each other _and_ still get along, which is what matters. No fakeness here."

"Guess you're right," agreed Ava, softly biting her lip. "Just...try not to do it too often, okay?"

Snorting, Amara hugged her again, with a small wiggle at the end. "Wouldn't dream of it."


	11. Wayfaring Operative [Burgers and Bribes on Agoria]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go, Kyla! You kicked my butt into gear with your highly valued and lovely support. I hope you enjoy it as much as I'd like you to!
> 
> In other news, I'm about dying to post a chapter that is still so far out there, it hurts. Just had to get that out there!
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone!!

Amara hadn't been misleading Ava with how she defended their actions. She really did believe, with certainty, that her volatile disagreement with Zane wouldn't have any lasting effect. With them both back to their usual selves, they had gathered by the quick travel station to do one last check-in, just as their team always did. Zane had stepped from his quarters and proceeded to follow his usual routine of cracking his neck and popping his knuckles. He had met Amara's eyes, nodded to her, and joined Ava in waving to both her and Moze as they digitized and then vanished in a transporting flash.

However much Amara disagreed with them heading to Agoria, she was forced to accept it. She _still_ didn't trust them to stay out of trouble. After all, Ava was a teenager and Zane - well - he didn't behave much differently when he was feeling goofy. Fortunately, he could be serious while working within a professional capacity. It helped her sanity that Zane established a connection between Sanctuary's onboard system and a live feed from his optical implant, allowing them to watch his point of view from their bridge monitor.

For someone as short as herself, Amara found it strange to see the world from Zane's six-foot-two height. It was a different world up there. Other than FL4K, few others were at the operative's elevation or beyond. She came to recognize Ava by the top of her hooded head and saw her face only when Zane tilted his down to address or otherwise reference her.

Surely the resolution in his cybernetics had to be more advanced than the holographic system on Sanctuary. The image they received omitted a few minor details. There were some symbols present on the perimeter of the display that only Zane could decipher. It seemed the tech was always performing a dozen tasks, providing its user with reading spanning everything from ambient temperature to his ammunition stores, as well as the distance and coordinates of the nearest fast track.

There were also a number of icons she assumed indicated the status of both his sentinel drone and digi-clone. It appeared all the information inundating him was in some way relevant. His cybernetic processes were constantly updating and engaging in facial recognition that pulled up references directly from his extensive database. Some of the digital feedback included dossiers from identifiable individuals. Many listed details were highlighted in a code of colors she couldn't make exact sense of - but felt relieved by an absence of red.

There were a number of notable faces that Zane took mugshots of and filed away under POI, an acronym she assumed stood for Persons of Interest. She didn't exactly know how he marked text in notations attached to the images, but then the interface was wired into his head. Simple mentions - so-and-so mayor, clan representative, or some other variety of figurehead. Must have been standard procedure with how promptly he completed the tasks and closed out of them. His process was very second nature.

His thoroughness made Amara feel unprepared and maybe a bit inadequate as far as attention to details were concerned, but then that was Zane's specialty. They came from two very different walks of life and, just as everyone else did among the Crimson Raiders, added their own unique components to the large picture.

The scenes those aboard Sanctuary witnessed were generally mundane ones, composed of Zane and FL4K on standby as Ava made conversation with native leaders and representatives of settlements. Made Amara a bit grateful that she wasn't present to stand there as her fellow vault hunters were, well-aware of how bored she would be. That acknowledgement made her appreciate how Zane remained attentive as only a professional could, his observation ongoing even as Ava diverted the conversation to him or he injected his own two cents.

At one point, a message blinked at the top of the screen alerting Zane to an incoming call from R. Strongfork. That was enough to have Amara and the others glancing amongst themselves, Moze giving a short laugh.

"Booty call?" she suggested and then yelled at the screen like it was a live sportscast: "Aw, c'mon old man, answer it!"

Without them contacting him via ECHO, Zane couldn't hear them. He had mentioned that was by design, very much anticipating that kind of commentary.

On official business, Zane didn't address the call. Instead, he let it go to voicemail without any actual indication that he had noticed it. Clearly he had, given that it was directly fed into his head, but he remained diligent. After a brief moment, two indications pulled up: one showing a backlog of voicemails and a number of messages also sent from Atlas Corp.

The most recent was on rather clear display, reading: [Drinks and fro-yo on me when you're free?]

_That_ had her lifting her brows and meeting Moze's glittering gaze. The gunner chortled, pointing at the screen a second before Zane closed out of it.

"Called it! They're totally fucking!"

"They're...so totally not," laughed the siren rather hollowly. Based on the soldier's expression, it was clear she misinterpreted her as unhappy that she had lost some unestablished bet.

Amara couldn't help that her arms crossed a bit tighter against her chest - almost as though subconsciously trying to prevent her heart rate from knocking uncomfortably against her ribs.

_Whatever_, she said in the privacy of her own mind. The two men weren't fucking, contrary to what Moze was so thoroughly convinced of. Maybe Rhys _wanted _to? He had seemed rather eager to get Zane's opinion on his siege stache. She didn't think much about how the operative had given the Atlas CEO his approval. Something about being proud to call him his mustachioed brother…?

Was Rhys even Zane's type? Amara couldn't say. She didn't know if that bothered her or not. It wasn't like she knew much about her partner's tastes in men - she only knew he had _some. _For as interested as she was in the subject, it was yet another they hadn't quite discussed. A lot of Zane's suggestive commentary had been left up to interpretation.

The intent of that message was yet another item added to _that_ particular list. Surely Zane knew it had been on display - or did he? The operative thoroughly knew his tech, so she could easily assume he did. It wasn't like he had responded with [K, dick ya later]. Whether he would _after _he returned Ava safe and sound to Sanctuary, she didn't know. She did trust him - but that didn't mean she wouldn't bring it up when she invited him to her room again.

Was she even _against_ that? _Against what?_ Amara asked herself, kindly reminded that there wasn't much _to_ be against unless Zane confirmed what Moze so helpfully insinuated. It wasn't the strangest thing for Zane to have contact with someone like Rhys but the frequency seemed noteworthy. With that in mind, the siren officially decided she would ask about it. After all, Zane had quite literally invited them into that aspect of his head.

It really was the most interesting way to be involved - the next best thing to actually being present. Meant she could sit back in one of the console chairs and observe or levitate and split her attention between inward reflection and watching Ava navigate the waters of bureaucratic relations. Both enabled her to listen to Zane occasionally piping up to counsel her.

It wasn't long until Ava had impressed the necessary authorities, proudly representing the Crimson Raiders with her narrative of the COV war. Though located far from the afflicted territories, Agoria had received the cultist transmissions and had been prepared to defend their own interests against the possibility of errant zealots.

Having both Zane and FL4K there to back the teenager only furthered her notoriety. Few others had been so centrally involved. And Ava's flashing of her siren markings, at Zane's permitting, had those within the room enthralled. That, in tandem with the operative's aptitude at bargaining and selling their outfit as a business, thoroughly convinced Agoria to grant Sanctuary III free and indefinite access.

Brimming with excitement, Ava could hardly wait until they exited the peaceful building to burst into cheer.

"Aces! Tooootally got it!" she whooped, going so far as to doubly transmit her achievement with her ECHO. After all, she wanted to make damn sure everyone knew her mission had been a success.

"'Course ye did! That's me girl! Proud of ya," congratulated Zane, no doubt grinning from ear to ear as he half-hugged her, the siren's arms squishing him around the waist. "Ye really are the best, ya know that?"

Ava's grin was totally infectious. Like her eyes, it glittered with delight. She all but giggled as she asked, "Better than the infamous Zane Flynt?"

He laughed, gently knuckling her hooded hair. "Darn sure gettin' there!"

"We knew you could do it," Amara transmitted back, proud of the girl and happier that it strengthened her confidence.

And she _had _believed in Ava. She hoped her faith in the flourishing siren hadn't been overshadowed by her argument with Zane. She had worried since that her protege might have mistaken her protectiveness for skepticism.

Moze clapped for Ava and added her own praise. "Damn right, you did it, Miss Blue Asskicker. Gonna be good to have another planet to crash."

"But not literally," Zane clarified, urging their young leader to get a move on. "Let's not jinx it now."

Excited as she was, Ava still listened when she _knew _she needed to. Throughout their travels planetside, there was a lot of her looking upward at Zane for guidance and earning his nod of approval, giving her own back with a happy smile. There was also a surprising amount of bossiness that came from the teenager commander - as well as the operative allowing himself _to_ be bossed around.

Zane proved plenty tolerant of Ava's authority but appropriately seized the reins when they shifted gears. Ava seemed to think their trek toward the market was more on a lucky whim than the operative's primary purpose.

"_This_ is really why we stopped 'ere," nodded the seasoned operative to the outstretching of commerce and commodity overtaking everything in the distance. "Whole reason fer us makin' those allies and gettin' ourselves that convenient access point. This, girl, is where it's _really_ at."

With one gloved hand, Zane gestured to the milling of hundreds of bodies ahead of them and as many, if not _twice_ as plentiful, shops and stalls lining the streets. "Lots've black market deals go down under this whole _guise _of security. Good place fer it, really. Just gotta know who an' what ta ask. Guards privy to it get great kickbacks so they don't say anything. 's a good and profitable niche, fer sure. Used to have meself a good deal of contacts here," the operative admitted, sounding particularly thoughtful. "Wonderin' if any of 'em are still around.

"Anyway," he continued, clasping his hands together with a single clap, "Now ye know. Gotta line up yer ducks if ye wanna get stuff done. Better now than never, aye? Honestly, should'a done this sooner."

"Places like this are the best resources," Zane confirmed again with a bolstering nod. "Ye can find anything ye need here. An' it's pretty secure fer what it is, if ye haven't noticed that already. Sure, none of their measures are gonna deter someone who really wants to start some shite, but that's the case everywhere. An' there bein' such strict enforcement means there ain't many assassins on the prowl, 'least in the market. Beyond city limits? Whole lot'f 'em, likely, waitin' fer a target they noticed to head out. 'Course that's all null an' void with fast track, but a lotta folks don't trust that an' it can still be traced. Sanctuary's got good security measures. Crew did well there, an' it's harder to hack a moving target."

Ava regarded him with a hint of concern in her blue brows, making Amara consider again if the teenager had more common sense than the man thirty years her senior. "Soooo you're saying you shouldn't be here?"

"Naaahhh, 's no biggie," Zane assured her with an almost vulgar laugh. "Felt like I needed to come here an' see it fer meself. Been a long while since I stopped by. An' honestly? Anyone seein' you with me, who knows who I am, probably has 'nough sense to feck off good an' proper. They ain't gonna mess with ya. I ain't afraid of showin' me face or I'd've used a disguise. An' I've done plenty'a security detailin' in me day, so...walk in the park."

No one doubted Zane. Even then, a few of the Raiders frowned at the reality of it all. They really had no choice, at that point, but to take the veteran operative at his word. Still, Amara couldn't forget him boasting about how he had three dozen bounties on his head. That had been during the war, and now it was possible for more to have been posted. At the time, Zane had nonchalantly suggested their team take credit for his demise and cash in on the rewards...even if it meant dragging his corpse - or his decapitated head - along with them.

Needless to say, Amara had been anything but impressed. Even Moze had appeared disturbed at the prospect. _They _weren't Pandoran nor were they professional assassins.

Now, with those planetside heading to the checkpoint leading to the expansive and bustling marketplace, Zane pulled the AI aside and told him to stand by.

"Sorry, Robo-Boyo," he sighed. "From here on out, me an' Squirt are goin' it alone. Boss' orders!"

Ava looked up, her confusion compounded by the fact that the operative was setting about the complex process of dislodging the sentinel module mounted on his left shoulder.

"What, why?"

"'Cause they ain't gonna _let_ 'im in," stated Zane firmly, releasing the last latch of the device before he removed it, immediately handing it over to the AI. "Ye see anything but humans 'ere?"

"N-no," responded the teenager, half-distracted as she stood on tip-toe in an attempt to peer over the many heads taller than hers.

"Me point. FL4K 'ere looks like one big walkin' weapon an' there's no tellin' fer them what 'e can do," explained Zane, looking to their metal companion fondly. "These folks ain't in the business o' takin' chances. 'S kinda how most o' these places are, if they give two shites 'bout security. 'Course that's all a farce but 'ey, I'm not the one makin' the rules. Ya good, FL4K?"

"I would not suggest it," the AI said resonantly, accepting temporary possession of Zane's sentinel module all the same. Then, after a bit of unbuckling, the operative's belt and holsters piled in the bot's arms, earning another mechanical sound of disapproval.

Moze actually beat Amara to the chase, using her ECHO to open a comm. "Maybe not the best idea, Zane, unless you wait for one of us human types to fast track down."

Didn't take a genius to knew that the operative would be utterly dismissive, using that particular facetious tone of his.

"_Ahhh, _it'll be _fiiiiine," _he assured as he began releasing the metal holoblade bands at his wrists._ "_Quick in an' out ain't gonna hurt nothin'. Probably safer than most places, honestly."

"He doesn't know how women shop," snorted Moze to Amara, causing her to smirk. Neither of them could attest to Ava's habits but she did have a tendency to test her limits.

"Keep me goodies safe," Zane said to the AI, tossing his melee attire into the collection of weapons within his grasp. "An' no worries, ladies. Got tricks up me sleeves that ain't gonna be detected during their wee search."

"And if they are?" the pessimist in Amara asked.

"Thennnnn we might have some problems," came that cocky chuckle, Zane's gloved hand coming into view as he gave Ava a friendly pat on her shoulder. "Don't worry, though! Got me this _fierce_ lil' lass. She'll save me."

The young siren was grinning from ear to ear, patting him on that leather sleeve. "You know it, Gramps."

"See! We're all set then," came the Pandoran-Irishman's cheery voice, his hand patting FL4K on one rag-clad arm now. "'Sides, even if they did allow arms, most've those are illegal. _Woops, _heh."

Then, directed solely at the metal vault hunter, Zane nodded to his gear. "I'd say ye could send yer pet rakks out to keep an overhead view but they ain't native here. Probably get shot right outta the air, so best not. Jus' watch yer back an' make sure no one steals me stuff - or yer own, alright?"

"Of course," replied the beast bot. It said nothing else as the operative and teenager continued on their journey.

Frowning and displeased, Amara continued watching from aboard Sanctuary, along with the other occupants in the bridge. There were some she didn't know personally, but Moze remained there. BALEX, still, was affixed to the front command station by his teddy bear ass but might have been offline - he would have added his brand of filthy-mouthed flair.

That Zane forewarned her about the possibility of this more exclusive venture did nothing to calm her nerves. She was confident that Zane would protect Ava to his fullest extent. Amara knew he would throw himself to the wolves in order to keep her safe. Of his own volition, he had sworn to. Beyond that, Zane hadn't hesitated in the slightest to ride Jack's casino into the black hole that had threatened it, had they not escaped with Timothy. His bond with Ava was both personal and professional. But wouldn't Zane sacrificing himself be a fitting fate, given that he refused to heed all her warnings?

No, of course not. At no cost would Amara really support that. And she refused to think that outcome could be in any way relevant, or else she would sprint her way to the fast track station and be there to cover Zane's ass at record speed.

To refrain, the Partalian repeatedly found it necessary to remind herself of her confidence in him and the fact that he had spent his fifty years not only scouring the six galaxies and amassing experience but had extensively traveled to Agoria. He had the necessary fast track authorization to prove it. She just wished Zane was implementing more _apparent_ calculations into the outing. More went on in his head than he remotely suggested.

Zane had said, in the past, "By me own admission, even the best laid-out plans can go to shite. It's some cosmic law that the best ones do! Think ye got one that's fool-proof? Not on yer life! 'S why I go by the seat of me pants nowadays, 'least for the most part. Better trustin' me judgment in the moment, 'cause if experience has taught me anything, it's that not everything can be taken into account. Too many variables, boyos!"

Was hardly reassuring but also a testament to his adaptive talents.

Back on Agoria, Ava was bubbly and chatty as always. She seemed intent on entertaining herself by prodding Zane's mind throughout the process of being filtered through fenced areas and waiting their turn to be funneled through the security system.

"This is taking _sooo_ long," complained Ava. Instead of looking down at her, Zane turned his head to once more scan around them. "They could totally let more people in at once."

"Nah," responded Zane almost idly, his mind busier processing the ebb and flow of bodies beyond the choke point closing them off from their surroundings. Understandably, his alert was high. Theirs wasn't exactly a situation Amara wanted them to be in either.

"Them doin' it this way keeps troublemakers whittled down to small, manageable groups," he explained while tirelessly maintaining his guard. "Real common in high crime areas. Harder to be brave when yer surrounded by this many guns an' yer buddies are stuck behind in all the separate checkpoints. Anyone tryin' to cause trouble's gonna get shot up if they even think o' it. These guards are keepin' a firm eye on everyone. 'S enough that even a big group'a baddies aren't gonna try anythin'."

Overconfidence? Not really. Zane spoke as though he had been in the situation a thousand times before and likely had. Still, he kept a gentle hand on Ava's shoulder and steered her when she became distracted, earning her smile on a couple of occasions and sighs of "Whatever, _dad._"

Not much was said between them throughout their wait in line behind that. Almost like an afterthought, Zane spoke up. A sight in the distance must have tipped him off to what laid ahead of them, or perhaps he belatedly realized that what he was accustomed to wasn't necessarily what Ava was prepared for.

"Fer the record, they're gonna search us," Zane warned the girl, catching her bright eyes. "Probably won't be the most pleasant experience for ya but it'll be over pretty quick."

Could he make that promise? Not quite, but still, his intention was to calm her nerves as much as he could.

"_Great_," was all Ava said, sounding less than impressed. It wasn't until the checkpoint was imminent that she truly began appearing worried, looking to the operative more and more frequently with each step.

"It'll be fine," he assured her again, squeezing her shoulder gently. "Jus' let me to the talkin', alright?"

"Yeah, definitely," was all she managed to say.

Zane repeated his promise that everything would be alright two more times before they came to their turn, giving her shoulder a final brief squeeze before dropping his comforting touch. It didn't seem like he wanted to give anyone any reason to think she needed to be nervous over anything.

"Here we go, kiddo," said Zane as they neared the checkpoint and, beyond it, the heavily armed men protecting it. "Jus' take it easy."

"Yeah, sure," she squeaked, still eyeing their surroundings.

Zane joined her momentarily, skimming over the rows of enforcers who looked on, eyes alert and scanning for trouble. His implant noted four snipers on the visible rooftops. Among them, mounted turrets gleamed in the sunlight, deadly and ready to cut through every fleshy body in the streets if need be. In a world where only one mistake could lead to violence, it was intended to discourage complications before they started.

Similarly armed, a stout guard was the first to greet them. He had one hell of a pump-action shotgun slung across his armored chest, his gloved hand coming to rest on it when he eyeballed Zane, sizing up the older man.

"That's far enough," he ordered and then gave another curt order: "Hands against the wall."

Zane was quick to oblige, falling into the familiar role. Ava followed to his right, appearing somewhat distressed as she copied the operative in bracing both hands against the cement barriers surrounding them. Just the knowledge of what the teenager was being subjected to had Amara gritting her teeth.

The blue sensors along Zane's gloved knuckles glowed as sounds of shuffling fabric filled the air. From the way he was pushed to and from the wall, it was evident the frisk was harshly thorough. The vault hunter said nothing but turned when instructed, his front undergoing the same aggressive search, a soldier appearing before patting him with more jostling force. By then, they could see Ava crossing her arms against her chest and appearing perturbed, her expression lessening when her eyes met Zane's.

That was, until the soldier stepped between them again. That ugly bastard was getting right up in Zane's face, brown eyes peering directly in his implant. That pupil was pinpointing in close scrutiny, a look of misgivings on that heavily stubbled, greasy face.

"Couldn't it be someone a little more, I dunno, _attractive?_" Moze complained. At some point, she had started digging beneath her nails with a bowie knife, making a disgusted expression at the monitor.

"C'mon, fella. It's me eye!" explained Zane with an easygoing, affable tone. Even then, knowing better to push his luck, he relented. "Here, ye want me to prove it ain't a gimmick?"

The soldier did. Sighing, the operative regarded Ava momentarily. "Might wanna look away, lass. Gonna be a lil' less handsome fer a nip."

With that, Zane's gloved hand lifted into view, bare thumb and index finger gripping at the perimeter of their view, making minor adjustments before the feed cut out. A number of seconds passed before the operative reconnected, a similar scene as before flashing back on the monitor save for the fact that the same officer was stepping back, placated.

"- better not be here to window shop," the man was saying, in his no-nonsense tone.

"Window what?" Ava asked, her promise two minutes ago already forgotten.

Zane sighed as though praying for strength, even as the surly man turned his attention to the teenager.

"Means you look but don't buy," he flatly informed her. "This here is a place for business. You come here, you better be willin' to pay for it."

"We are," Zane assured him, nodding to Ava. "Matter o' fact, we're in need of a bit."

Were they? Amara couldn't say but it seemed to her like the operative was merely reiterating and reinforcing their expectations.

"Good," the officer grunted. "Got simple rules here: no fighting. Doesn't matter who starts what - anyone caught making noise gets punished. That's how we keep a tight ship over here."

"No problem," responded Zane easily, familiar with this sort of place, for which a bewildered Ava was very thankful. "Before we start spendin', has there been a change in currency or do ye take the standard?"

"Whatever you got is fine. People here ain't picky. Some vendors prefer to barter, but just so ya know, all trades are final. You get caught trying to pass off somethin' counterfeit, you're doing yourself in, understand?"

"'Course," confirmed Zane agreeably. "Copy that."

"And no shoplifting," threatened the guard, patting the shotgun he wore on display along with the massive machete strapped to his left thigh. "You get a meal, a haircut, or hire a whore, you pay upfront. We don't do dine and dash here, if I haven't made myself clear."

Zane did his best to make it seem as though he were soaking up the man's wisdom. "Pay upfront. Gotcha." He made an A-Okay sign with his right hand, nodding to urge Ava to do the same.

She did, mimicking the vault hunter exactly. Even then, the guard went on, still firmly insisting on educating them how everything was going to be around those parts.

"Hope for your sake you turned all your weapons in before you came here," he said, targeting Zane and his eye patch in particular. "You better not be hiding anything. If we see a weapon in your hand or in your head, they're getting cut off. Understand?"

The operative nodded again, calm and relaxed and like his neck hadn't just been depicted on a chopping block. "Crystal clear."

"No shitting or pissing anywhere but in the porta-crappers at the end of the market. They're there for a reason, so use them."

Looking much like she needed one but instead feeling anxious to get inside, Ava shifted from foot to foot. Amara could see that she didn't want to listen to any more rules today.

However, there was one other that particularly appealed to the Crimson Raiders. It reflected back on the war that had united their particular band of vault hunters and resulted in Ava's rise to authority. Whether or not the guard referred to that directly or others, they couldn't be certain, but the similarities seemed to hit too close to home.

"If you're part of a cult or some other bullshit outfit, keep your mouths shut. We don't take kindly to any of that nonsense, and I shouldn't even have to say it. We take people in to do _business_, not make easy pickings for recruiting. We catch anyone trying that, spraying graffiti, or posting any sort of propaganda and we will drag you back here and fill you full of slag, got it?"

"Feck the COV," Zane said, surprising those on Sanctuary and the girl beside him.

"Good man," the guard replied, his agreement providing them with all they needed to understand the local awareness of the matter. With that, the man waved them past, now fully satisfied the security conditions had been met.

Together, the Crimson Raiders passed through the open metal gate and into the cordoned-off street that led into the inner market. From behind, the voice of the surly guard was already performing the same rendition of his speech to other shoppers approaching the checkpoint.

"Laser eye, I _wish," _Zane chuckled as he urged Ava ahead of him. Then, he said more offhandedly, "Surprised they haven't implemented a fee for access."

"Bet you were hoping they were gonna do a cavity search," Ava teased, nearly making Amara spit out her water. Zane's hoarse laughter was deafening.

"Where," coughed the Partalian, "Did she...learn _that?"_

It took the siren a good minute to effectively clear her throat after that, Moze's hand hammering her on the back. Finally able to wipe the reflexive tears from her eyes, she was able to see the transmission again.

The inner market on Agoria looked huge, fenced in on all sides and packed to the brim with innumerate shops and stalls. Easily a few hundred people were milling around, going about their business whether that was shopping or conversing or squeezing themselves along the pathways. Amara found herself reminded of the slums on Partali.

As a young girl who had spent so much of her life on Athena, Ava was close to awe. Having adjusted to life aboard Sanctuary, the teenager was likely overwhelmed by the sure number of moving bodies.

"Holy shit," she was uttering. "This is _crazy_."

Zane agreed, audibly unaffected. "Aye. Stay close. Can't have ye wanderin' off."

Probably the market had seemed less threatening to Ava from a distance than up close. From afar, the hustle and bustle must have looked exciting and cool. From within, it was likely scary. There were so many people turning the young siren's head this way and that that it seemed she wished she had eyes in the back of her head. It was clear, from how she drew nearer to Zane, that she felt small.

Zane, in contrast, was walking tall and confident, people instinctively turning to take notice and parting for him and his companion. Clearly the operative had perfected the art of forming an aura of swaggering invincibility around himself. His success had to result from a combination of his dangerous appearance and the sheer force of his will.

And then there was Ava, trying to mimic him, her slim and willowy form upright and proud. Even then, she had shorter legs, which meant she had to move faster, the older man unwilling to cut his pace in such a heavily occupied area. Lingering too long in any one place didn't seem an option he wanted to take, causing Ava to follow his lead and keep up.

Occasionally, some sight made her grin before she checked herself, forcing her mouth into an indifferent line of cool badassedness. No doubt she was trying to copy Zane's expression from how often she glanced at him. That didn't stop her from sniffing the air, a thousand scents surely swirling throughout it.

Most might have been pleasant. For what it was, the grounds were clean of debris. In the distance, Amara could make out several manacled, ankle-chained unfortunates picking up debris around the market. If nothing else, their presence suggested that there were lighter forms of punishment on Agoria than the advertised dismembering and outright killing of people deemed criminals by the establishment. Or maybe they were working off debts.

To Amara, the scenery all but resembled a densely populated prison. Walls had been erected at its boundaries to divide it from the rest of the city. The market was the beating heart of it all, closed off with barriers made of slab concrete, steel, and electrified wire. That, as Zane explained to Ava, was necessary.

"Left unchecked, a place like this can grow malignant and overtake the entire city," he said to Ava knowledgeably. "Natives would go feckin' mad from all the hustle an' bustle. Ain't jus' that, but the market's best kept small enough to be policed effectively. It's also gotta be large enough to be profitable. It's a real balancin' act, I tell ye."

And it had to be, given the persistent law enforcement stationed in virtually every direction from them. Guards were everywhere, easily spotted in their red, reflective vests, stationed atop platforms and walkways crisscrossing above the marketplace. Mounted along them were a plethora of spotlights that would come to life later, when the sun went down.

So consumed in the mass of bustling foot traffic, Ava appeared nearly overwhelmed. The sight of her and the way she said "_Oh man,_" in an excited half-whisper, even as she tried to mimic Zane's stoicism, proved she hadn't been anywhere as densely populated.

That was probably for the better, if the first salesman to make a pitch at them was any indication. Amara nearly spat out her protein shake after they had made it through and some rather pushy salesman made a rather forward suggestion, mistaking Zane's close hovering over the younger woman for a possessive lover.

"Hey there, you two!" greeted the man with flair, maintaining a careful distance but also refusing to be ignored. "How about you and your partner come over here and get a bed at The Love Shack! We got hourly rates and privacy curtains between most of the beds!"

Amara had to give him credit - the man had balls. She expected Zane to knock the guy flat on his ass but clearly, the operative remembered city rules and knew he was doing a job. Still, the vault hunter verbally glowered, regardless. They didn't need to see his face to know that, the ridge of his furrowed brow only just visible.

Ava spluttered and then blushed, looking back to her bodyguard. Zane's voice was cold in ways that could have challenged FL4K's, the man stumbling back by the tone of the older alone.

"Ain't like that," he snapped, and then added sharply, "You got a deathwish?"

The salesman backpedaled both physically and verbally, waving his hands to show he was unarmed and pathetic. "Sorry, sorry! Forget I said anything!" And then vanished back into the crowds like the skittery ratch he was.

Aside from that salacious and unpleasant introduction to a city where sex sold the same as other commodities, it was cute seeing Ava so immensely intrigued. After shaking off her embarrassment, the teenage siren was more positively radiant than the warm rays of the planet's midday sun.

To Amara, she looked like she wanted to say something intense, full of reflection and awe and youthful wonder. Instead, her stomach spoke for her, growling so audibly that even Zane tipped his head to regard that loud gurgle resonating through her.

"_Hungry_," she whined, gloved hands folding across her stomach.

"Yer kiddin' me," Zane sighed, not so much discouraged by the interruption as impressed by her appetite. "Ye practically jus' ate!"

"Yeah, so?" challenged the teenager, arms akimbo and a look of impatience clear on her face. "It's not my fault you forgot what growing was like!"

"Sure has been a while," agreed Zane, admitting the obvious. He sighed again, recognizing Ava's needs as the interruption they already proved to be. "Do ye wanna shop or do ye wanna eat? Ye got one choice, sweetie."

_That _had both hands at Ava's sides open wide, her pale face vacillating between outright begging and heartbreak, her mouth agape with disappointment. "What? Are you kidding me? We totally have to do both! We didn't come all this way for one thing!"

"We sure didn't," nodded the operative agreeably. Even through the monitor, Amara could see Zane's smug half-smile reflecting in the teenager's doe eyes. He didn't let her suffer too long before blurting: "I'm only kiddin'! _Eesh!_ Ye think I wanna hear ya whinin' all bleedin' day?"

Ava had never gusted a greater sigh of relief.

...

And eat, they did - or at least Ava managed, her bodyguard less than willing to participate. Despite how she griped at him for it, her whining gained no traction. Instead of bothering, she went about choosing her second lunch while eagerly taking in as many details of their surroundings as discreetly as she could.

For the hungry traveler, the smell of fresh meat sizzling in the grill was the best advertisement the greasy spoon could possibly have. Given that Ava qualified as such, she had been quick to follow her nose and lead them toward an establishment boasting signs of "Beer Served Here", not that she was yet of local age to get her hands on a bottle, nor would Zane allow her to. For an alcoholic, he was unexpectedly strict on drinking.

Fine with that, she settled for ordering a burger, fries, and a sugary soft drink instead. Zane paid in cash and only then was she allowed to seek out a seat, her guardian still keeping her within arms reach, and for good reason. The location was a calm place but crowded just as everywhere else seemed to be, security guards stationed around and keeping the peace. It seemed the Raiders were lucky enough to find a table, happening across one just as three women stood up from finishing their own meals. The pair hardly had time to settle in their seats before a hovering bot swooped down to the table and cleared the traces of its previous occupants.

Eager for her meal, Ava tapped her fingers impatiently atop the surface and craned her neck to look in the direction of the kitchen. Then, distracted by so much commotion, began to look around curiously.

"Don't get caught starin' too hard," came Zane's advice, not very dissimilar from how he suggested she behave on the streets.

That was all it took for the teenager to focus on giving her best furtive glances as she eagerly awaited the delivery of her much-anticipated meal.

"Place is like Dynasty Diner on crack," she commented, earning a chuckle from her older companion.

"That is is. Hope fer yer sake the food's as good."

"Meeee tooo," agreed the girl, who giggled cutely at the sound of her own playful voice.

There was plenty for the Crimson Raiders to entertain themselves with while the kitchen worked its magic. The small diner was full of people who were equally doing as much eating as talking. Clearly transmitted to Sanctuary's bridge were the repetitive noise of scooting chairs, clinking utensils tapping plates, and the clangs resonating from the grill.

It was Zane's tech that scanned through the constant drone of sound, his earpiece collaborating with his cybernetics to display a series of soundwaves above a real-time list of noteworthy phrases being filtered out on display for its user. The algorithm constantly active, an adjoining display marked the color-coded locations of each speaker undergoing analysis.

There had to be at least three dozen ongoing conversations, their noises occasionally interrupted by a digital _ding_ of orders being fulfilled and ready for pickup. More bots buzzed around, dodging and serving humans sharing jokes and miseries, renewing connections and establishing trades, and making statements designed to draw an intended audience.

_Got what you need, _some said. Others: _Know just the guy. You jonesing for something? How much're you willing to pay? _Among them, hints of good news, greater news, bad news, horrible news. Rumors of corruption and relationships and mentions of conflicting politics.

For any single human, trying to comb through the ruckus would have proven overwhelming. That was precisely why the operative had his tech performing the task thoroughly and constantly, sparing him most of the nonsense. Overall, there was nothing truly noteworthy or that garnered his direct attention. That, precisely, was how Amara preferred it.

The expression on Ava's face alone was proof enough that her food had arrived, with Zane noticing the server bot a second later. He had to be prepared, after all, to snatch the tray before the teenager could. His smooth interference elicited an annoyed "_Hey_!" from the girl before he promptly hushed her.

"Standard procedure," he told her as lifted the burger off her plate. He leaned forward as he removed the top half of the bun and began methodically inspecting the patty and accompanying contents, causing the teenager to stare on and grimace at the fact that cook had forgotten to omit her onions as requested.

"The heck are you doing?" she wondered aloud, morbidly curious in the way Zane was busy dissecting her order. It wasn't like the girl could see how his cybernetics analyzed the meal, though it had to be obvious what his intentions were. Why else would he comb through her greasy fries?

"Seein' if it's visibly contaminated. Never know when someone's slippin' glass, razors, needles, or other nonsense in the food ye eat anywhere. An' that's jus' accountin' fer the obvious stuff."

The operative then raised the burger to his face and sank into it, much to Ava's dismay. Then, after a slight delay, the operative returned the food item, minus one bite, back to the dishware.

"Sorry, sweetie," apologized the operative, though he was anything but authentic, and for solid reasons. "Gotta keep ye safe. An' now we wait!"

She seemed afraid to ask, "For what, exactly?"

"Ye'll know if I drop dead, start chokin', or begin spewin' blood outta all me orifices," Zane told her, giving a little chuckle at her expression. That scenario seemed like more than either of them had happily bargained for.

For a moment, Ava didn't appear as hungry as she - and her stomach - had previously insisted she was. She was clearly unimpressed. For as much as she liked Zane, she clearly didn't feel like sharing the same burger with him. Didn't matter if it was a single bite - she made a face. Or maybe it was because he made her wait before allowing her to take it in hand and then in her mouth, chewing eagerly. Clearly her appetite won out.

Between shoving handfuls of fries in her face and washing them down with soda, Ava seemed content again to observe her surroundings. Really, the only disturbance for her was the slice of onion she had yanked from her food and scooted off to the side, clearly not caring for the tart ingredient screwing up her otherwise tasty burger.

There was one point where Zane cocked an eyebrow at the teenager and pinched off her plate the errant onion she had discarded. Smug and unrepentant, he popped it into his mouth and swallowed, causing his companion to giggle with her mouth still full.

She was sucking the last vestiges of condiments from her fingers in what seemed like record time. Zane handed her a napkin, muttering "_Manners_" to her before she reluctantly obliged him.

What little good it did, with Ava attempting speech immediately afterward despite her mouth practically overflowing with the delicious, ketchupy burger she appeared intent on inhaling. To Amara's dismay, the girl's words were mushier than the half-chewed food threatening to fall between her lips. Even Zane made a sound of disapproval, earning a food-caked grin and giggle from his companion.

"Ddf foo ehtt afth fhhs hind ff phhst ooffn?"

Moze snorted as the operative's advanced tech repeatedly attempted to analyze and translate what she was saying and failed, exhibiting instead a series of error messages. Fortunately for Zane - or maybe not - this was far from the first conversation he had conducted with Ava over a meal. He spoke this odd language of hers now.

"Sure did," he responded simply, disinclined to translate for their audience.

Not much happened behind that. The teenager hoovered off the rest of her plate soon after, enabling them to take their leave. Once out of the diner, Ava appeared happily appeased. She even belched into one small fist before saying, "Damn, old man, that was good. You missed out! So, where do we go next?"

Resting his hand atop her shoulder once more, lightly as ever, Zane eased her toward himself. In effect, he moved the girl out of the narrow doorway before the person coming up behind her had to shove her aside.

Unamused that the male customer was even going to _try, _Ava turned to glare at his back. She hardly seemed to care that her chaperone had spared her.

"Guy can suck a dick," uttered the teenager under her breath, clearly not loud enough for the man to hear her contempt and barely audible across the transmission to Sanctuary. However, the transition from that to a drastically other topic came across loud and clear. "Speaking of sucking things, you ever go to a place like that?"

The way Ava grinned mischievously and pointed to a building across the street had Zane reluctantly looking. Amara could tell by the way he hesitated before committing to the act...and for good reason. Within view now was a building hosting badly blacked-out windows and a sign overhead that read: The Love Shack.

Outside of it, flaunting their wares, were a pair of scantily dressed women and equally underdressed man. The trio of them quickly reacted to the pointing teenager and the expensively dressed vault hunter who was urged to look over to them. It was Zane who the flexing man blew a kiss at, the women quickly striking sexy poses and joining in.

Zane promptly looked away, brows furrowing within view as he regarded Ava with a forced sigh.

"_I think they like you,_" Ava whispered very, very poorly - obscenely and clearly faking it.

"'Cause I'm a walkin' dollar sign to 'em," Zane grunted dismissively.

"Not because you're handsome?"

"Well _that's _a given but they ain't in the business o' carin'. Moving on then!" he announced, grabbing the girl by both shoulders now and promptly guiding her toward the opposite side of the roadway, regardless that it put them against foot traffic.

"Awww why?" laughed Ava, clearly intending to capitalize on Zane's awkwardness. "I've never been to a place like that! I could probably learn something from it!"

"Lass, you're one _heck_ of a mess. Whatever am I gonna do with ya?"

"Hey, old man, maybe I'm just thinking in your best interest," claimed Ava, laughing bawdily all the while. "I know you have your clone and all but what about making some _real_ friends?"

"_Christ_," expressed Zane under his breath before clearing his throat and looking away. It was clear he hoped she was joking.

Man, if that didn't fuel her further - a fact the operative would have recognized if he wasn't busy being so disturbed. It didn't matter that Ava had recently turned eighteen and as such was an adult. Compared to the man in his fifties, she was practically still a baby and he clearly did _not_ agree with her teasing.

"Apparently," Ava as saying in a serious voice, her sharp eyes scanning the sign they passed, "a threesome looks expensive! Oh wait, look, a handjob is more affordable! Is that a good deal or have you seen better ones?"

"_Ava,_" came Zane's gritty warning. It was clear he was trying not to smile now. The last thing in the universe he wanted was to encourage her about grown-up stuff like that.

The fact that Ava, despite Zane's proper conduct around her, figured him for promiscuous wasn't something he seemed particularly fond of. Unfair as it would be for the operative to hold Ava to higher morals, it proved he could _have_ such standards. Even better, it meant that he cared. For as free-natured as he was, even Zane exhibited a do-as-I-say-not-as-I-do mindset. It really reflected in his Ava-inspired adoption of fatherhood.

"Gotta get ya outta here 'fore ye spend all me money gettin' up to no good at that whorehouse," Zane grunted, seeming reluctant to call it what it was.

"Awww," pouted the teenager, clearly feigning it but her guardian didn't care. "And I wanted to go, too!"

"That's what I'm afraid of, girly," gusted Zane, sounding like he meant it.

Ava laughed. At the same time, she happily thudded Zane on his leather-clad back. "Get real, you big dork. You know me better than that!"

"Sure hope I do," replied Zane, sounding rather terrified of the alternative. "Still can't be too sure what ya'll do, me wild child."

With that, he shot her what must have amounted to a We-Ain't-Gonna-Talk-About-This-Particular-Subject-No-More look, given how Ava rolled her eyes and snickered. Zane then promptly resumed steering Ava down the path with a muttered "_Thataway_." If their renewed intent was any indication, he had a destination in mind, which had Amara looking to Moze.

"What are they doing now?" she asked, clearly having missed something.

"Ava wants to go clothes shopping," responded the gunner, taking a swig of her bottled water.

That had Amara sighing. Of all the places to stock up her closet, why did Ava have to choose one that was so damn busy and, for everyone but Zane, unfamiliar?

In Amara's persisting opinion, that marketplace was the last place they needed to be. She was surprised Zane had allowed it. If a gunfight broke out in a place like that, it would be nothing short of a slaughterhouse. But possibly the operative was somewhat hinging their security on that fact.

Obviously there were still guards stationed throughout the entire marketplace. Zane was still marking their positions on the map overlapping his digital vision. By now, the territory was thoroughly red.

"Oh shit," Ava breathed suddenly, drawing Zane's immediate attention. "I didn't even think of this before now - what if I don't have enough money on me?"

Seemed very teenager of her to consider currency _long_ after they had put so much time into gaining access to the marketplace. Who knew the trade rates anyway? It wasn't something Ava, or many others aboard, were in the habit of, given their travel experiences weren't so extensive.

"No worries," assured the operative easily, giving her a pat on the head. "'s on me. Ye have me wallet. Call it an early birthday shoppin' spree."

"But it's nowhere near rny birthday," Ava uttered, brows furrowing in thought.

Zane shrugged and said flippantly, "It's someone's!" Amara could hear the smile on his lips.

Immediately, Ava grinned. She tried to tone it down and reel it in because she wanted to seem _cool_ but, it turns out, she couldn't help herself.

"Aww thanks, old man," she said, tilting her face at him in an adorable, cheeky way. "You're too good to me!"

"Aye," he chuckled. "That I am."

Amara knew Ava well enough to see that she thought about socking her human companion in the arm but refrained, not wanting to seem like she was starting a fight. Compared to them, no one around really seemed to have much of a sense of humor.

And soon, even the operative reverted to seriousness, much to Ava's disapproval. Zane made it clear he wasn't in the mood for messing around. Right before they entered the door, he settled one hand on her small shoulder and turned her to stare directly at him, pulling her close to hear him over the noise of humanity gathered together in numbers.

"Keep those sticky fingers o' yers mindin' their manners, Missy. Ye do somethin' like get caught an' yer gonna make a real mess fer us."

Snorting, Ava yanked her shoulder away, sighing out a flustered, "_I know."_

"_Nooo_," Zane countered, grabbing and fixing her in place again with only the demanding intensity in his stare. His voice was pitched so low, those aboard Sanctuary wouldn't have heard him if they hadn't been so directly connected. "Ye really don't know. I'm not kiddin'. There're too many of _them_ an' too few of us. Ye get a bug up yer arse, it's gonna get us thrown in the slammer - or _worse. _Most of these places don't even bother with waitin'. Remember the machetes on the guards over there? Those means _business._"

Appearing flustered and embarrassed, Ava looked away. She wanted to be _cool _and to her, that didn't mean being lectured or following some stupid rules. She hated needing babysitting enough, but also understood the dangers of being in a strange place where human - and likely alien - life was a secondary concern to commerce. That wasn't how Sanctuary _or _Athena worked, and Zane was there to remind her.

"Don't even get caught _starin_' at somethin' like yer thinkin'a stealin' it, copy that?" warned Zane sternly, undoubtedly still eyeing her in that same sharp way. "An' don't forget, everyone on Sanctuary is seein' this lil' chat we're havin'. Ye misbehave, _we_ aren't gonna let ya have these wee outings, alright?"

Ava was anything but pleased, blowing an errant lock of blue hair out of her face before she crossed her arms tightly. "I get it! _Geez_."

It was hard being a rebellious teenager on a new planet with unknown rules and even less safety. There hadn't been much on Athenas for her to stretch her wings with before being she had been kicked out as a stowaway. Almost no nest at all if you were basically an orphan to begin with.

Still, that was no excuse, particularly in Ava's commanding position. Lilith had assigned it to her _and_ she had accepted it. She had immense responsibilities now and Zane was mindful of them, even if Ava wasn't. He went on, driving further his point.

"Ye get me locked up, I can't say they won't identify me an' outright execute me or ship me off to some corporation that ain't gonna let me live, dependin' on the bounty they intend to be collectin'. Trust me, law enforcement _always _checks."

Quirking her brow, the teenager regarded her bodyguard with a hint of a smartass smile. "So you're saying you couldn't get out of that?"

Even Zane's voice was frowning now. "Lass, I've broken outta many a' prison but ain't lookin' forward to the one I can't bust. Besides, those guards? I got it on good authority that they might jus' lop off _both_ our arms if they so much as suspect ya stealin'. I kinda need mine, don't I? An' how're ye gonna be an armless siren? Don't think 'Mara can share."

That got a giggle from the girl, unable to help herself. As a result, Zane audibly rolled his with a sigh.

"Lass, trust me - if shite gets _real_, ye ain't gonna like the _business _side o' me, so let's avoid that if we can, a'right? Best I keep pretendin' I'm a law-abidin' citizen," grumbled the operative, snorting under his breath. "'Sides, us gettin' ye outta here would require a whole lot more civilian casualties than ye'd want weighin' on yer heart, sweetie. If it's between them or us, I'm gonna choose us no matter what. An' if it's between you an' me, yer the only one gettin' outta here, got it?

"Ain't like Amara would lemme live anyway," he added a moment later, both seriously and as an attempt to relieve some of that brewing tension.

Looking up at the operative, it was clear Ava didn't know what to say. For a moment, her eyes went glossy. Then she swallowed and nodded, reaching to grab his wrist and pull him along behind her as they entered the shop.

"Oh lordy, what did I get meself into?" sighed the operative, reverting to his casual, dramatic self. Then, with only a hint of pleading, said to the girl all but dragging him, "Be quick 'bout this, okay?"

Ava said nothing, convinced now that time was wasting. She didn't seem to notice how Zane only barely ducked under the low door in time as she forced him to enter the cooler shadows of the store.

To Amara, the shop looked like most others she had witnessed in the slums of Partali and _unlike_ the ones she had frequented now that she had money in her hands. It was rather plain, a number of presumably local-made tapestries along the exterior walls lightly swaying in the wind, but beyond that, there was little else to obstruct the shopkeep's view.

Tables were arranged about and piled with assorted clothing. Along the walls, racks displayed hanging items. There was some faint order to them, their presumed genders separated. Overall, from what Amara could tell, there was no particular style - just a potpourri of pieces intended to appeal to a broad spectrum of shoppers.

Ava was quick to buzz about them, hands poised to grab whatever item struck her fancy. Meanwhile, Zane was once more observing their area while dividing particular attention between the hired guard by the door and the spry Crimson Raider.

"Zaaaane, look at all these cloooothes," cooed the teenager, stopping alongside what appeared to be an old card table so she could poke through the t-shirts piled atop it. "What's my spending limit?"

"What's yer storage limit?" he responded, cybernetic optics focused on the security guard watching the youth discreetly but intently, tech analyzing the gun holstered at his belt.

Not bad stats. Meant business, just as the shopkeep intended. Disarmed as everyone else was, the sight of the firearm would prove enough to deter most of the lesser law-abiding customers.

Already, Ava was appearing to weigh a decision between two different but equally desirable shirts - both long-sleeved, Amara noted. That gained her silent approval, her interest more in helping keep the siren safe than in her making a fashion statement.

Seemingly unable to decide which one she wanted, and taking the operative's offer to heart, Ava grinned at the two garments. With a skip in her step, she quickly jogged over to the counter with both in hand and laid them on the counter. Then, turned to Zane and said, "I'm going to look at the jeans, okay?"

He nodded, earning the girl's full-lipped smile. She was like a kid in a candy store, and Amara couldn't blame her. How often did any of them get to do something _normal_ for a change?

It was the shopkeep who spoke up, pointing a chubby finger where he wanted to direct her attention. "Got a few in your size. Far end of that table over there, by the fan."

"Thanks," she said, tacking to weave her way to that end of the store, looking at everything she could as she passed the various displays. It seemed like all the piles were worth a good combing through, even though most clearly weren't her style.

Patiently, Zane stood there the entire while, shifting only to redistribute his weight a couple times. There was one point where he reached to smooth out his mustache and beard. They had all seen him do that enough to recognize the motion of his hand as it came just within view, combined with that crisp sound of hair. A couple minutes later, about the time Ava piped up, he began adjusting his gloves.

"Aw man, look at this!" Ava was saying suddenly, presenting a black tanktop to the operative, who suddenly cleared his throat. "Amara would love it!"

"Yes I would," nodded the siren on Sanctuary, smirking, treated to that clear view of it.

Anyone who had seen Amara's cabin would have thought the same. The image on the shirt was of a weeping willow, its white trunk artistically surrounded by cascades of twirling, violet-leafed branches. The scene beyond it depicted a multi-colored starscape, the whole mood of it mythical and whimsical.

Without a doubt, it was something she would wear, even if it might need a little scuffing up to blend in with her other attire - an inevitable effect with how often she would wear it. Smirking, Amara could see herself pumping iron in it, the cut of it perfect for putting her muscular arms on display.

Evidently Zane felt the same. That, or he was simply obliging the teenager's enthusiasm. Nodding at Ava in encouragement, he said, "Grab that too, then."

"You think it'll fit her?" asked the girl, causing Amara to snort, considering she very well could have ECHOed her.

Zane's response was an oddly hesitant one, though he chuckled all the same. "Ahh, I'm not allowed to answer."

Ava was perplexed. "Why not?"

"'Cause men can't," laughed the operative brashly, further undermining the tough guy display he had conveyed of himself to the store employees. "Simple, really!"

_Wise man, _Amara decided _\- _not that she doubted for one second that he was well-versed in her measurements.

"Maybe I'll get her the bigger one and then she can wear it as a nightshirt," debated Ava aloud, rifling through the stack of others in order to locate what she had in mind. She asked, as she found one and unfolded it, holding it up on display, "You think she'd do that?"

"Sure," agreed the operative offhandedly. "Don't see why she wouldn't."

Allowing herself to smirk for more pleased reasons than knowing she would receive a gift, Amara's full lips upturned.

_Oh yes you have._

Okay, that wasn't entirely true, but Zane had no reason to believe she wore _anything_ to sleep - because she didn't when he accompanied her. There had been one time where she, shy of starting her cycle, had tried keeping her bra on because her breasts had been tender. Even that had been unceremoniously flung across the room at some point. She couldn't remember exactly when, but with Zane's mouth on her and his member hot inside her, she really hadn't cared.

Her stomach growing warm, Amara was still remembering that time when Zane's voice came through the speakers again, his stance finally shifting as he took one step toward a table and propped his hip against it, sparing his booted feet momentarily.

"Get somethin' for Mozey Wozey too, Shorty. Can't have 'er gettin' jelly."

Beside her, the gunner grinned. "And make it something good!"

At the edge of that transmitted vision, the vendor's security guard watched Ava like a hawk. All the vault hunters hoped the teenager, as sly as she was, prayed that she understood the warning Zane had given her. Sticky fingers got cut off quick in a place like that, and the way the man watched her did nothing to disprove the operative's heeding.

Ava had slung the tank top over one arm now and began rifling through a folded stack of pants, her blue hair shifting as she hummed happily. She made a small _'Aha!' _as she withdrew a pair of camouflage cargo pants and, giving them a thorough once-over, threw them at the operative.

He wasn't exactly expecting the rash decision but reflexively caught the garment the same, nodding to it while thumbing its metal button. "Original!"

Ava was snickering. "I know, right?"

"Very," Moze agreed, leaning back in her seat to cross her legs at the ankles and nod in approval. "I'll wear 'em."

Ava, it seemed, had officially broken the ice. Clothes piled up, the teenager no longer hesitating to choose items she liked. Zane, in effect, had been reduced to a human hanger despite his flimsy protests. After two more pairs of pants for herself and two shirts each for all three women, he grunted in displeasure and called over to remind her:

"Hey now. Still gotta carry this back."

"Pfft," was all he got in response, the teenager busy thumbing some khaki leggings.

She eyed the pair hung between both hands, finding them a little too long in the legs and not the denim she preferred, but pants were pants and as far as she knew, she would grow taller. She was only seventeen. Maya said she would probably reach her full height in her twenties.

"Heyyyy old man," she said, finally waving him over to her. She wore a self-satisfied smirk despite Zane's forced sigh filtering loudly over the transmission. "Bring those _birthday _presents over here!"

He obliged, not particularly discontented but still likely keeping tabs of the time. Lingering for too long in one place wasn't his modus operandi. Presumably, he had expected Ava to be quicker about things, but he still didn't complain. He could be, after all, impossibly patient when needed. And attentive, Zane proved as he carried his companion's clothing choices over, stopping just shy of the girl he towered so highly over.

Then, tipping on one foot to get a clearer view behind him, she asked the shopkeep, "Is there a room where I can try this on?"

"Yeah," replied the man, who the operative briefly looked at. "Leave your backpack outside the door. There's a light switch to your right."

"Thanks," said Ava brightly. When she came back into view, the khakis were atop her pile of goodies and she was holding a pair of grey denim jeans tightly across her waist that she thought _might_ fit - that was, until her mouth turned down glumly upon realizing they were much too wide for her hips.

Pouting, she set them aside and then reached toward Zane to gather up all the clothes she intended on trying on. She began heading to the dressing room, the operative following closely, before he progressed ahead and put a gentle hand out to stop her.

"I'll be usin' that," he intercepted, illuminating the stall with a flick of the aforementioned switch.

He did a thorough job of visibly dissecting the dressing room, running his fingers over the seams of the walls and using his cybernetics to scan for defects. He didn't stop until he was certain the room was secure and actually _private _\- as one could be, anyway. As much as they didn't want a peeping tom getting an eyeful of Ava, they also didn't need anyone recognizing her as a siren.

When Zane turned back from completing his task, Ava had produced another two items to add to her collection: a rather immodest bra and a rather impractical pair of panties. Uncaring, she swung the former by one of its shoestring-thin straps. From the way Ava stuck out her tongue, Zane must have given her his best 'are you kidding me' look. She completely ignored his unspoken pleas for propriety.

And then, pitching his voice low at the siren, he grumbled, "I ain't payin' fer _those._"

"Why not? I need them!"

"For who?"

"Myself!" she laughed - and bumped past him, dropping her backpack to the floor as instructed. "Outta my way, _dad_," she casually added and, without looking back, slipped into the dressing room and locked the door behind her.

Smiling to herself, Amara recognized the hypocrisy. Ava's personal business wasn't any more theirs than their affair was hers. Zane forming a father complex over the teenager didn't change that.

Sighing, Zane shook his head and crossed his arms. Even on Sanctuary, the audience could hear the teenager begin humming a tune and, eventually, start singing some lyrics beneath her breath.

The operative used the opportunity to open a connection between himself and the bridge, grumbling and clearly not happy with Ava's interest in impractical clothing.

"Did ye see what she's buyin'?" he griped. "Ain't she a bit young fer that?"

"Let it go," Amara said flatly, hearing an incredulous snort slip out of his nostrils.

"Girl's gonna be a girl," Moze added with a shrug, not that he could see it.

"Gah," was all he had to say, cutting the connection when the backup he expected was not forthcoming.

Zane huffed out a sigh as he waited, the sounds of Ava making a commotion within the dressing room ongoing in the background. The two vault hunters watching aboard Sanctuary snickered amongst themselves as the operative leaned his head into the stall door and bumped it there a few quiet times before turning his back to it and focusing his gaze toward the front of the store.

He was drumming his fingers on his forearms when Ava finally made her appearance, the click of the unlocking door encouraging him to move aside. The young Commander stepped out of the changing room with unlaced sneakers and the questionable underwear mockingly at the top of the pile she carried. She scooped up her bag on the way to the counter and gave Zane a little wave before dumping her purchase in front of the vendor, who appeared pleased.

The transaction was a simple one. The man went about stuffing the garments in the backpack Ava provided. Zane shuffled about his inner jacket compartments before withdrawing two tall stacks of cash and tossed them nonchalantly on the counter with dual heavy, papery_ thuds._ "That cover it?"

The man's eyes went as wide as dinner plates, Ava's only marginally smaller. The teen was quick to snatch the top mass of currency before the money-hungry shopkeep could, his hairy fingers still poised in wonderful shock.

"I _don't_ think this'll be necessary," the siren interjected, practically hugging the money against herself. She only lessened her greedy grasp to begin thumbing through one end of the bills, teeth positively white in her grin.

"Eh," was all the vault hunter offered, immune to the shark-infested waters. He could care less that Ava hummed out a happy sound and went about tucking the money away.

"_Miiiine_," she claimed in singsong - before she flicked cautious eyes at her bodyguard. "I mean, I will _totally _keep this safe for you."

She was far from convincing. Zane could clearly care less. With one bold hand, he reached over the counter and grabbed her bag by one worn strap, slinging it over his left shoulder in the process. He waited for the vendor to scribble a receipt before pocketing that as well, wanting the accountability it provided them.

"_Hey_," Ava nearly snapped, almost as though defensive against the man who still said nothing. "It's not like _I_ get to loot anything! Geez!"

Amara had expected the teenager's retort to be directed at him taking her bag, but clearly she had been wrong. The girl was more than happy to let him do the lifting, though it wasn't by any means heavy. If anything, she appeared perfectly accustomed to his consideration. How often did teenage girls have their own gentleman?

Zane was gesturing for her to follow now. "Let's go, kiddo."

And go they did, finally, though the siren tried her luck after they departed. She asked, once, "Do you think we can find another shop?" before her older companion snorted curtly at her.

"No."

She had to try. "Not even if I let you have a smoke first?"

Scowling, Amara didn't want to believe the audacity of her siren sister. She was about to speak up when Zane made a sound of consideration and then, fortunately, grunted, "Still no."

"Woops," said Ava sheepishly, a look of foreboding dawning on her face. "Guess Amara heard that."

"Aye, assume she did."

The woman in question didn't confirm their suspicions. Instead, she preferred to chastise her protege in person. For now, the fear of the unknown would have to weigh on Ava's young conscience.

Together, planetside Crimson Raiders were making their slow but steady way back the way they came, Zane in the lead. Not that they could see, but the teenager was following closely behind, one hand fixed around the backpack strap not slung over the operative's shoulder.

"Bribin' yer bodyguard," he was tsking, causing his bubbly companion to titter. She hop-skipped ahead of him just enough to wave a stick of gum in his face.

"Will this work? Something tells me it won't," she said, answering her own suspicions.

Chuckling, the operative reached for it and then hesitated, exposed fingers hovering over it.

"Isn't that janky shite, is it? The stuff that goes bad in sixty seconds?"

"Naw, Z-Money, I got yo back," Ava grinned, once more successfully proving they were spending too much time together - if she was talking like him.

Placated, Zane plucked it from her and said, fondly, "That's me lil' lass."

He made quick work of unwrapping the gum before popping it in his mouth. Then, using the foil he balled up, he flicked Ava on the forehead with it and chuckled at her faint yelp.

Whether he chewed the gum due to a hankering for a smoke or not would remain up to interpretation. Ava had, after all, brought the damn things up. While Amara didn't doubt that Zane would have lit up if they weren't being broadcasted, it was also a given that he wasn't going to let her linger in the market any longer.

He ended up putting the aspiring vault hunter ahead of him and ushering her along until they reached the checkpoint again, subjecting them to another thorough pat-down and bag check before their receipt enabled them to leave unscathed. Despite having her privacy invaded a second time, Ava couldn't depart without saying something to the guards. She was now in a far more chipper mood than she had been when entering.

"Thanks for letting us visit," she said cheerfully and then added, smiling cutely, "You guys have a really cool market."

Behind her mask, the now-female guard smiled, surprised by the teenager's friendliness. Back on Sanctuary, Amara did the same, pleased by her protege's gratefulness. Maybe more of her lessons were resonating with the teenager after all.

Over the wandering of passerbys, FL4K was visible. His form, enhanced by his nomadic attire, towered over all human heads. For Amara, he was a relieving sight - one that meant more security in numbers and that her teammates would soon be on their way back to Sanctuary.

Upon finally reuniting with the AI, they paused to allow Zane to don his gear again. Then, while Ava affably chatted up the beastbot and flaunted her newly bought attire, they resumed their travels. It wasn't until they reached the fast track station that the screen went bright with that familiar, tunneling pixelation. A moment later, the sight of Sanctuary's commons confirmed they were back aboard. Zane waited to display a thumbs up before disengaging the feed.

Ava was the only one among the three to return to the bridge, beaming and brandishing the clothes she had chosen for them. She was smiling from ear to ear, pleased with her experience. Unfortunately for her, the element of surprise gifting had never even existed but she hardly seemed to care.

When asked where the others were, she explained while tossing the first articles of clothing at them for closer inspection. "FL4K went to check on his pets and our resident geezer went to bed. You know, because he's old," she felt necessary to emphasize, clucking her tongue.

Shifting gears instantaneously from teasing to flaunting, the teenager promptly unshouldered her bag and began excitedly unloading its contents. She held her choices for her friends out on wide armed display, so clearly proud to give something to two of her beloved vault hunters.

Moze was definitely sure her garments would fit, as was Amara, who held them to her chest. So the tank top would be a little large but that would be particularly perfect for her exercise routine, provided she wore her sports bra under it. The looser fabric would help her skin breathe, and the design was just as much her taste up-close as it had been over the transmission. She hugged the girl, as did the gunner, and continued asking how her experience went.

All in all, it was more pleasantry than an official debriefing. Ava didn't see much necessity in having one, given they had witnessed nearly everything for themselves. The girl was already suggesting they use that method again - to which both Amara and Moze began shaking heads. They would much rather be present and made that much obvious, but even then, Ava placed her hands on her hips as though she was thoroughly accomplished.

Eventually, the younger siren took her loot and headed to her quarters stationed immediately and appropriate outside the bridge. The two vault hunters followed closely behind, new clothes slung over their shoulders.

Moze stopped at her door first, having left it open, and looked back to her darker comrade with a soft smile. "Going to bed?"

Amara thumbed her lower lip before considering her options. Then, as casual as ever, balled up her shirt before lobbing it onto the bunk at the distant end of her room.

"Think I'm going to go check on Zane," she admitted, and before the gunner could open her mouth to suggest joining in, she stopped her: "Ava said he's tired so it's going to be a whole five-minute conversation. Mostly I think he and I need to clear the air about earlier."

'Earlier' being the disagreement stemming from when he had introduced himself taking Ava to Agoria in the first place. Amara knew it was unnecessary to further elaborate on it, given that Moze had been present and wisely silent during the small clash of the titans, so she didn't. Didn't even revisit it much in her own mind, honestly, because the deed had been done and no argument she posed concerning safety had penetrated Zane's defenses or succeeded at discouraging Ava.

Clearer now than ever, Amara had lost fair and square, however much she didn't approve of it even now, after no harm had been done. She still thought it was in tomorrow's best interest for her to ensure everything was smoothed over between herself and Zane, though she still didn't see him as the type to hold a grudge.

After waving Moze off and distracting her with a goodnight hug, the siren walked over to the older man's door. She lingered there just beyond it, listening for sounds from within. But with the music always playing in the commons, combined with the creaks and miscellaneous noises from the functioning ship, she couldn't make anything out. And, as she thoroughly knew from experience, the heavy hydraulic doors did well to smother noises. Probably privacy hadn't been their intention but was definitely an added benefit.

Truth be told, she knew she wouldn't see Zane that night if she didn't take the initiative. He had spent the previous night in her bed, after all, and it would be another day or two before one of them would drop appearances and text the other to make arrangements. That didn't mean they didn't desire each other in the meantime, but, well...they had to keep up silly appearances, didn't they? Because Zane liked to play _that_ game, it seemed. Even then, Amara was still balancing her options, unable to quite decide what her course of action would be.

Chances were, the operative likely didn't want to have their previous disagreement brought up again - not that Amara had any intention of throwing it in his face, but he probably didn't want to take the risk after what had amounted to be a long day. And she didn't particularly want to put them at odds so soon again - though she certainly would _if _she had to.

Was she being too presumptuous? Aside from that first time she had jumped Zane, she hadn't come to his quarters - with carnal intentions - without forewarning. She hadn't yet sought the older man at a time he wasn't willing, or otherwise able, to fuck her. And that really wasn't her intention, as far as she knew.

So what was it, then? Apparently she was feeling impulsive again. Whatever that lead to, she would see it through. Maybe she would only check up on him or discuss his mission with Ava. Crazier things had happened.

Ready for anything, as always, the siren rang the digital bell on the access panel and waited with one hand on her hip. A moment passed before there was any response, and then the door hissed as it lifted open.

Zane answered with nothing else but his pants and boots still on...and a glass of some strong-smelling, amber liquid in his hand. And, she noted, a heavy dose of stubble covering the bottom half of his face.

It made sense, given how he and Ava had spent nearly twelve hours elsewhere - too long for comfort, certainly. The unexpected sight still made her do a double-take, not accustomed to the sight and _definitely_ attracted to it.

The only time Amara recalled seeing her fellow vault hunter sport so many glittery whiskers was when they had rushed between the heaviest firefights during their conflicts with the COV. Near the end, when they had been in close pursuit of Tyreen and caught up in their own determined inertia, things had gotten particularly hairy for three of them. They'd all had far more important priorities then.

Amara supposed he hadn't been back aboard Sanctuary long enough for him to do much about his appearance, but the casual appearance of him suggested it would likely have to wait until morning.

So fond of Zane shirtless as he was, Amara found she hardly minded. Already, from how he had handled Ava, she carried that rosy warmth for him in her belly. Its presence had her smiling as he looked to her, bushy brows slightly raised, before he conversationally leaned against the doorway.

"What can I do fer ye?"

A seemingly innocent question. It had Amara glancing behind herself. No one there, and no surprise - when the three travelers had digitized aboard Sanctuary, it was late. Few roamed the ship halls save for the custodial bots and the night crew manning the consoles.

Looking back at the operative, she tried not to linger on the sight of his chest, scarred and furred, too long. She would get more up close and personal in a moment.

"Can I come in?" she asked calmly, at least offering him the common courtesy of extending an option. "Figure we should chat about your little trip."

"Here to talk 'bout Ava then. Sure," nodded Zane with a faint smirk. Keeping up appearances? Difficult to tell, but that alone caused him a shadow of reluctance. Still, he stepped aside, gesturing with his glass for her to walk past him.

She did - like she owned the place. Didn't matter if it was too dark and disorderly for her preferences. Even compared to the dark interior of Sanctuary, it was almost a shock to be sealed in that even dimmer blue space as Zane shut the hydraulic door and automatically engaged the lock.

Her suspicions were right - it seemed like he had been intent on settling in for the night. All the lights in his cabin but that dim blue were off. His bed had been laid in and the television at the end of it was flashing random, moving images in a seemingly constant display of interspace commercials.

Amara didn't miss the brown liquor bottle open on his workbench. Presumably its contents were the same as the short glass Zane currently tipped to his lips. She watched as he finished his drink easily and then placed it alongside his future refill. To the siren, he appeared more tired than inebriated, and that was to be expected. For how much the operative could drink before getting tipsy, there were few ways he could achieve intoxication in such a short timeframe. Beyond that, he didn't seem too inclined.

Maybe, _likely_, she shouldn't have encouraged him to drink but he was going to anyway, regardless of whether or not she had arrived to visit him. With that thought in mind, followed by many sensual others, Amara walked over to take the bottle in one hand and the glass in the other, earning Zane's curiosity. Then, she turned to walk with them in her unusual possession.

If her hips swayed just a little more than walking _required_ of them, who had a problem? Definitely not Zane, who had to notice. The siren swore she could hear the thoughts in his head - and maybe, someday, she would have the ability.

_She's puttin' a lil' extra wiggle in that walk. She tryin' to butter me up for somethin'?_

Not like Amara could deny it or would even bother trying...particularly not as she strutted to his bunk and pivoted to sit atop it, balancing the drink in her hands. She definitely didn't prevent her eyes from lingering along that particular spread of silver hair that disappeared beneath the waist of his pants.

She did, however, set both the bottle and glass along the surface at the foot of the bed, wisely bracing them against the box of unknown contents supporting the television humming quietly.

Zane said nothing for a few moments and neither did she. He was trying to determine her intentions. For as much as he appeared inclined to appreciate the silence, Amara detected that he expected _her_ to want _him_ to say something.

And she was nowhere near wrong. The operative wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. For as long as Zane had known her, he understood that him saying anything other than what she wanted to hear could throw them into a tailspin, depending on what mood she was in. Inwardly, the reality made Zane chuckle tightly. Wasn't only Amara who was guilty of that. Every woman who had ever gained traction in his life expected him to be a mind reader sooner or later. Not being a siren, he likely wouldn't develop any psychic abilities.

Things _had_ been tense between them prior to his accompanying Ava planetside, for reasons they had both discussed at length. Still, there hadn't been much compromise as far as Amara had been concerned. Zane had really only gotten his way because the young commander had sided with him. They both knew that. Naturally, Ava had been predisposed to agreeing with him because _he _had intended to get her off the ship - just as she wanted. Now, maybe, he was feeling a little edgy. The lasting effects of being on his guard all day persisted, and he hadn't yet ingested enough alcohol to regain his equilibrium.

There wasn't only that. Zane had still been acting a bit off, as far as Amara was concerned. He wouldn't admit as much, even if he wasn't as oblivious as he seemed to be. The siren had realized long ago that the older man tried to live his life entirely in the present - as though he had no past to burden him. Amara, of course knew better - that he hadn't simply appeared on Pandora alongside her as though out of thin air. The evidence of time and experience was, after all, so evidently weathered into his skin.

Even then, Zane didn't need to put off a defensive air around her of _all_ people. So they had bickered; strong-willed and -minded people did when unable to come to a mutual agreement. She wanted to remind him that their stern tones were now _practically_ water under the bridge. And soon she would, but before that, she wanted to show _some _support of Ava's little adventure...and some leeway considering how vehemently she had been against it.

"Have to admit, Ava had a blast," she said, extending that olive branch with a small smile. There was no denying that, after all, with the teenager sure to skip joyously throughout the remaining week.

Zane looked somberly at his distant drink before absently fingering a sheet of paper among the many haphazardly littering his workbench. Only then did he agree. "Aye, she did."

It was clear he was waiting for a '_but…_' to follow. One sort of did but only faintly. Amara refrained from crossing her arms as she wanted to. "Maybe next time, she can be a teenager in less extreme conditions."

Grunting, Zane nodded in placation.

Finding herself tempted to sigh, the siren regarded him keenly. She had expected him to be a little reserved when facing her again but honestly not _that _constrained. He was being unusually and, for him, impossibly taciturn. Amara found herself wanting to know why. He couldn't have assumed she was all that pissed at him. But then, she reminded herself, he _had_ been pretty anxious the last few weeks. Maybe that wasn't even the right word to describe how withdrawn he had seemed despite having spent more time in her company.

She wondered if maybe Zane, after such a long day, felt somewhat like he was still working under official capacity. The way he reached up to grasp at the tension in his neck and crank on it momentarily might have suggested that. Either way, the operative seemed stressed, quiet as he was about it.

That wasn't how she wanted him. So, she tried again, stating more of the obvious.

"You're really good with her," Amara said, and she meant it. His interactions with Ava made him all the more attractive to her. She found it appealing in ways that were particularly feminine.

That worked a little. Zane smiled faintly, fondly thinking of the girl.

"Ah, she's a great kid," he complimented like that explained everything. And then, in more of his usual Zane fashion, added: "I'm good with _everybody._"

Despite forcing his typical ego, the Irish-Pandoran was still on his guard. That had Amara frowning inwardly again, scrutinizing her partner as casually as possible. What had he assumed - that she had spent that entire mission holding a grudge or had been otherwise simmering in anger? Did he think she wouldn't be relieved to see them safely aboard again? Sometimes, Zane exhibited such utter nonsense.

He should have known far better than that. For Amara, it was well past time to put an official end to the little scrap they'd had, lest they waste even more time than they had on it. She had interests other than bothering with that anymore - at least until the next time there were reasons for such vivid dissension. For now, she reached aside to grasp his bottle of scotch and remedy the empty glass by pouring two fingers into it.

"My disagreement from earlier still stands," she finally said, reminding him one last time of her stance, even despite Ava's mission being a success, "but now I've decided that we're not arguing anymore. That we've made up and put it behind us."

There wasn't much that constituted as 'it', honestly. Had something negative happened planetside as a result of Zane's decisions, she would have been wringing his neck and cursing I-told-you-so's until he went deaf from them.

Instead, Zane gave a little expectant, crooked smile. Maybe he was testing the waters a little when he asked, "''s that so?

"It is," she hummed, extending her body with a muscular stretch before leaning back on her hands, elongating the display of solid abs she put on, now, just for him. "It's best that we let it go...like grown-ups."

Reaching to stroke his beard in long, fond pulls, Zane laughed softly - a deep, enticing rumble in his chest that passed through her body in delightful waves. It made her smile...and her breasts tingle within the confines of her sports bra. She was sure she wanted to feel his whiskers, stiff and prickly, on her nipples tonight. Just thinking of it made her squeeze her thighs together in a way that have been discreet, but then again, maybe not. She couldn't bring herself to care with how much her body missed him.

Appearing oblivious, the operative passed one heavy hand over his mustache and followed through to the tip of his goatee before nodding, frowning at his own unkempt stubble.

"Good to know," he confirmed, but then quirked a rugged brow at her. "An' jus' what is it, exactly, we're puttin' behind us, if ye don't mind me askin'?"

Amara wanted to laugh at that. Instead, she rolled her eyes and fixed him in a mock glare. Men like Zane were so unapologetic. "Your pigheadedness."

Clearly their conversation could resume right where they left off prior to his mission. Had Zane chosen to - or had she pushed - they could have transitioned right back into that same argument. She knew better than to think he would be as irritable than he had been that morning since he had effectively won their argument and achieved what he had been gunning for. Even then, she knew his spirit didn't turn shithead simply because he was tired. It took more than that to dim Zane's mirthful disposition.

Amara didn't expect that to stop him from bragging, however...but he didn't even do that. Instead, he allowed a low chuckle to filter through his self-reflective words. "That does seem to be a problem from time to time, aye?"

It surprised her to hear Zane sound more self-aware than self-absorbed, but rarely was he unreasonable. Maybe he was merely trying to amuse her or maybe he wasn't. Whether he was drawn to the bed because of her occupancy or more due to what it was, Amara figured she would discover soon enough. The operative finally walked over and accepted the glass she lifted in offering to him, the liquid inside shifting like a small lake of savory gold.

With attraction, she watched the rise and fall of his Adam's apple as he knocked back the potent scotch and then leaned to set the empty glass down where it had previously been.

She might have said something snarky in response had Zane not lifted one knee onto the bunk alongside her hip and followed through with the other, the insistence of him forcing her to ease back where she sat. Fluidly after, his other knee follow suit, her partner effectively straddling her lap and balancing most of his weight in the process.

The kiss he gave her stole her breath, her neck tilting to further it, her lips parting so he could ease his hot tongue inside. Only a moment before, there was that tangible difference between them and now, with Zane's initiative, he was atop her, _inside_ her, her body suddenly overtaken by the consuming sensation of him.

And god, if there wasn't something particularly erotic about how he shifted his hips atop her, her strong hands falling to grab handfuls of his ass. Solid and compact like the rest of him, she held it in ways that had him moaning in his chest. That sense of submission from him utterly convinced her that she _needed_ to fuck him and soon. She wanted to see him just like that, his ass filled with a strap-on and his slender hips working as he fucked himself on her lap.

So aroused by the image, Amara sparkled and shivered with it, her mind rapidly racing. And god, if she didn't kiss him more deeply because of it, her tongue thrusting suggestively between his lips, brushing aggressively against his.

He _would _do it too, and that promise of reality was beyond exhilarating. The way he tilted his ass into her hands, leather pulling taut, suggested that maybe he was entertaining the same fantasy...or was she so hungrily obsessed with it that she could help but think it?

If they had the means, she would have demanded it right then and there. She was nearly mad at herself for not having a strap-on aboard Sanctuary._ Now_ she knew what she was going to buy herself for Mercenary Day. What she, in effect, was going to gift them both.

How could she have expected anything other than the physical pleasure the operative was stirring within her? If anything, _this _was how they could best convey their apologies to one another. Words weren't needed. There was that lasting sense that neither of them truly regretted defending their stances, and why would they? Their verbal fight had been fair. Now, their mouths were busier doing what was _far _more familiar and wonderful, their heated kiss sweeping away her cares.

For Zane, she hoped it did the same. She wanted to work that tension out of him that she sensed. Wanted to provide him some relief. Used her hands to begin doing just that, caressing along the tight strength of his waist. Her fingertips blindly chased the risen ridges of scars and brushed through the patch of hair present at the base of his back, enjoying the friction and the texture of muscle and sinew beneath.

For as much as Amara loved women, he was her _man _and rugged was exactly how she wanted him. And with how he was rolling his hips into her, his hardness straining against the front of his pants, the lines of gender weren't blurring so much as interweaving.

They remained that way for a while, continuing to kiss and rock together. Her hands wandered, unable to choose definitively between groping his ass or gliding up the sinew of his back. The way her thumbs caressed along his spine made him sigh, so she dug a little deeper, kneading every muscle within reach. The sounds Zane made had her knowing just how she wanted to encourage more from him.

Determined hands slid under his thighs, her fingers bracing to support his weight as she stood, causing him to grunt. Then, just as softly, he laughed at being unexpectedly lifted, that amused sound transitioning to an aroused purr at how effortlessly she handle him.

She didn't do much despite her ability to. She merely turned his back to the bed and knelt to sit him atop it, easing apart the instinctive way his ankles had crossed behind her legs. Then, as graceful as a large cat, the siren eased onto her knees and leaned forward to brush the fullness of her lips down along the ridges of his defined stomach.

_Now, _Zane tensed in the ways she wanted him to, the heartbeat in his abdominal aorta steadily rising. Even despite her position and the way she teased her lips along his treasure trail, the operative seemed to struggle with the reality of what she was doing - or where, precisely, she was taking it.

Amara found that ridiculous, really, given the way her tongue traced through the hair there and teased along his belt, easing wetly along that smooth, brown leather that was so familiar. Now, his skin twitched in ways that had nothing to do with tickling, his muscles drawing tightly in anticipation.

Without a word, she eased apart his knees and nestled herself comfortably in between, staring deliberately at him all the while. She enjoyed his expression of intrigue and the rapt way his eye watched her skillfully release his belt buckle. A hitched breath later, she had worked his fly open and eased him out, hot and ready for her.

What Amara didn't expect was the sudden outburst of her partner's giddy expressiveness - or, specifically, for him to blurt a phrase he liked announcing during battle.

"Hey looook," he spouted playfully, grinning like a smartass, "it's the _real_ Zane, there!"

Amara couldn't help herself - she laughed, even as she shook her head. She wasn't sure she wanted to ask but still, she did: "How long have you been waiting to say that?"

Zane couldn't yet wipe the look of accomplishment off his face. "Damn long time! Usually when he comes out, me brain cuts off. Then I forget," he admitted with a mustachioed pout. Suddenly, his expression flipping like a light switch, he was boyish again. "Get'm, Amara! Get that attractive bastard right there!"

Then, to his erection: "Hot DAMN, you look good Zane boy! Come on! Be distractin', will ya?"

She wanted to stop fueling him but she couldn't. Zane was just too strange and equally ridiculous and her amusement proved it. And he was absolutely too cute, the way he beamed at her, shooting her a proud wink. "I sure have the best lines, don't I? Though I s'pose I shouldn't call 'im a good lookin' bullet sponge or say that dashin' fook over there was makin' eyes at yer sister, should I?" He made a face.

"No, you really shouldn't," she agreed, her smiling face aching.

Amara had to kiss him again to settle herself down, her chuckles slowly fading into his grinning mouth before they both eased into an erotic moan. Considering she had encountered the _real _Zane numerous times by now, the siren figured she should take the compliment for what it was. If the anticipation of having his penis out around her was all that was needed to derail his thoughts, she considered it an achievement. It wasn't like the influence his member had on her was any different. Didn't mean she had to admit the tantalizing effect it had on her. She proved it well enough every time they were together.

Sparkling violet eyes drank in the sight of him even as a placated Zane settled and moaned softly, grateful to be free. Even that lurid sound of relief, combined with the crooked smile and the way he laid on the reckless charm in thick dollops, couldn't distract from how quickly he got rock hard for her.

"Not that I've a mind to talk ye out of what yer 'bout to do," he lightly chuckled, still grappling with reality, "but what brought this on? Must've been somethin' particularly good I've done…'cause yer never this nice to me for no reason."

If that wasn't bullshit, Amara didn't know what was. She only scoffed in dry amusement, ignoring the obvious. Instead, with a coy and triumphant curl at the corner of her plum-stained lips, the siren purred as she worked him in her bronze hands. Yeah, Zane could try to play it cool all he wanted but his body didn't lie - he wanted her. He always did.

But was he really trying to hide it? Doubtful. He _could_ have done better to deny it, maybe, but he didn't. There was no mistaking the intense desire in that visible eye. Still, she had to play with him - even more than her practiced hands did.

"You really don't remember what day it is, old man?" she questioned impishly, never looking up from her work. And why would she? She loved the way his big member looked in her smaller, darker hand.

"Ahh, lemme see…'remember'," attempted Zane slowly, making a small show of flipping through the pages of either a non-existent calendar or dictionary he never bothered to keep. Had Amara resisting the urge to roll her eyes, so she reached further into his pants to ease out his balls and begin kneading them in her palm. Her efforts earning a faint shudder and a single bead of precome leaking from his tip.

"What day it is, you senile old man," she urged with a gentle squeeze, immediately drawing Zane's attention to her possessive grasp. His eye instantly flitted to hers as though trying to determine if she was actually put off by his behavior or merely pretending.

The truth should have been obvious enough with how her mouth moved along him, her tongue easing out to trace a meandering, teasing path from the base of his shaft upwards. She moved so slowly that when she finally swirled that slick touch along his glans, his breath caught in his throat for a tragically brief second.

That was enough to have her smirking, enjoying the reaction she earned from him. Then the white of enamel widened at the sound of Zane still trying to play her game, the operative trying not to stammer as her slick, wet lips brushed against the most sensitive part of him.

"Blowjob Day?" he tried, one haughty, silver brow winging up.

Amara narrowed her eyes with a sigh.

"Sunday," she corrected with a terse snort, her thumb massaging his smooth, swollen cockhead with small, wet circles. "And why is this Sunday important?"

Likely her game was cruel. She wanted to see him squirm. There _was_ no significance to _any _day anytime soon. She just wanted to put Zane in a precarious position and see if he could actually manage to rub two brain cells together, clever man he was, while she worked to distract him in the best of ways.

It was a recipe for failure and also for success, but who was keeping score anyway?

"I'll give you some time to think," she sighed, breath hot and humid against his arousal.

And with that, she took him into her mouth. Filled herself with him in ways that lit her senses aflame and had her eyes half-lidding in desire.

Zane knew he should compose something clever to say or, even better, figure out what in the feck the siren wanted to hear. Except it wasn't that easy, not that the task ever was - _especially_ with how she licked and sucked and stroked at him, combining all her efforts to thoroughly shatter any hopes he had of concentrating. How could he? Her mouth was so tender and wet. The promise of bliss, still so far away, was one he craved, and the erotic sight of Amara with her mouth stretched around him further fed the heat pooling in his gut.

As far as he was concerned, there was only her, even as she began easing him out of her mouth, her plump lips clinging to him until the very last second, when he slipped away with a soft popping sound.

Amara was smiling as she looked up at him, pausing only to trace one fingertip along his saliva-slick length before her hands began riding him in a twisting stroke.

"How about now?" she asked, watching that pale eye of his darken in sensation. "Any ideas?"

Zane only half-snapped to attention, his reflexes kicking in. He reached for the glass to his side and was quick to finish it - and then attempted to stall with a devilish grin.

"Sorry but no, gorgeous. Might need another couple minutes to think about it!"

Despite herself, Amara laughed. Would have been tempted to drop her act - and finally admit there really _was _nothing significant about any of it - but she also wanted to have her fun. After losing to his stubbornness earlier, she wanted to feel _some_ sense of redemption, even if it meant toying with her partner.

Wasn't like Zane would be mad with her - not with how she wanted to please him.

Ignoring her lapse, the Partalian forcefully glared at him. At the same time, she squeezed both his balls and the base of his erection firmly for emphasis. "I knew it. You men are all the same."

"H-hey now," stuttered Zane with a frown, looking like he wanted to shift his hips but unable to, given the threatening tightness of her grip. "I'm tryin' to rack me brain here! Care to gimme a hint?"

Amara shook her head, giving him her most convincing expression of deep disappointment. It was enough to make him mentally sweat - she could see it in his concerned visage. Looking to exacerbate his sense of predicament, she released a morose sigh...but didn't once let go of him.

In Zane's mind, he figured he was badly fecked. The siren wasn't even sparing him a word. In his extensive experiences, that was never a good sign with women. Had him clearing his throat, more willing to admit defeat.

"Alright, _alright_, I give!" he conceded, tensing his lower lip. "What's so special 'bout today?"

Smiling smugly, the Tiger of Partali filed his caving under yet another achievement of hers - regardless of how unfairly won it was - and began stroking his shaft again, leaning to affectionately kiss its tip

"_Nothing,_" she said simply...and grinned as Zane's handsome face went totally blank.

A second later, he barked out a laugh before forcibly stifling himself, his torso shaking with it.

"You women are feckin' _weird_," he managed soon after, letting out a whimsical exhale. He was still thoroughly amused when he leaned down to kiss her again, grinning the entire time. She enjoyed the extra tickle of his mustache.

"That's just mean," he chuckled, sounding thoroughly pleased. She hummed in return, tilting her head to softly suck at his lower lip.

She could play nice now, and was almost tempted to say so, but lowered her head to prove it instead. Eagerly, she purred again as her hand cupped his heavy balls. She caressed them languidly before slowing to a stop, allowing her fingers to linger there, teasing him, tormenting him. A soft squeeze of them, combined with a coy brush of her tongue along his straining member, had Zane groaning and genuinely smiling. His expression persisted even as she reluctantly released him and focus instead on sliding his pants the rest of the way to his feet. Once there, he eagerly stepped out of them, kicking them away.

Leaning down, Zane kissed her. Their lips pressed together roughly, at first, almost bruisingly...before easing back into blissful comfort. His mouth opened first, the siren feeling his warm tongue brush at her lips, and she immediately let him in. Shivered as his bare hands eased her vest off her shoulders and soon after, encouraged her to draw the underlying sports bra overhead, revealing the soft skin of her breasts.

Zane's hands sought them eagerly, cupping them in ways that had her moaning. The sensation of him kneading their tender shape had her head tilting back, lips parting. Between caressing and pressing them together, his callus thumbs traced circles around their dusky tips. It made Amara quiver, white heat pooling between her legs. Had her fingers grazing up the back of his head and weaving their way into his silver strands.

Somehow, he had eased her further upward, close enough that he could lean in to graze gently at her exposed neck. His tongue traced small patterns against her sensitive skin in ways that had her writhing against him. Wasn't long until he lowered his head to her breasts, his mouth tracing along her cleavage and leaving little love bites in his wake. Worked his way to her nipples, slowly and deliciously sucking one first before sweetly tasting the other. It was enough to have her flushing, her spine arching, pressing closer and chasing the pleasure he gave her.

If she hadn't been wet before, she was positively soaking now. That telltale cling of her panties proved it, teasing her senses further. Her selfish need for more nearly had her discarding her remaining clothing but still, she refrained. Knew that if she undressed, she wouldn't have the willpower to stop Zane from taking what he wanted. Hardly seemed like a bad thing but right now, she needed to taste him.

The siren shivered hotly as his teeth tugged gently at her nipples. Had to ease him away by using the hands buried so deeply in his hair. She had to resist her own urge to drop her clothing and straddle him instead. It would have been so gloriously easy to grip him by his thick shaft and guide him inside. So pleasurable to fill herself with him and ride. To slam herself on every eager downstroke. She would watch his hooded eye as she did. Enjoy the way his lips parted as the ecstasy inundated him. She would shiver as his exerted breathing gusted along her chest and hungrily kiss him until they climaxed together, savoring the slick pulse of him.

But Amara didn't. Perhaps she would but now, she wanted him in other ways. For as much as she craved intercourse as a means of reconnecting with him, she ached for something more...one-sided. It surprised her how much she wanted to focus on him, not that she ever minded - they just _never did. _He was always so willing to fervently pleasure her and she was equally eager to allow him. This time, she had a thirst for something different.

For Zane, it seemed like an immense effort for him to tear his sight away from her chest and force himself to gaze into her heavily lidded, beguiling eyes. When they met his own, the sound he made was positively husky, and the blue of it expressing his barely restrained yearning.

Amara knew that if she gave in, he would take the reins. That he would have her beneath him and tightening in orgasm before she could bring herself to stop him. If given the chance, he could work her in ways that would make it impossible for her to resist him. Often, that was what they both wanted. Just as often, that was precisely what they did.

Now, after everything that had happened throughout the day, her heart warmed for him in ways that made her feel subservient. She wanted him...and more than that, wanted to prove it. Knew she could, that he would allow it, and that she could bestow on him the pleasure she wanted him to have.

Even a man like Zane needed to lay back and relax...and that was exactly what she, with one hand risen on his chest, encouraged him to do. Oriented as the bunk was, Amara decided some minor rearranging was necessary. She pulled away from him just long enough to situated herself atop the foot of the bed, pushing the box and television against the far wall. Following her coaxing, Zane aligned his long body with the mattress and made room for her between his hairy legs.

The siren's silent instruction had one metallic brow raising, Zane perhaps suspecting based on her earlier teasing that there was more to her wishes than that. Instead, she lowered her head and brushed a series of soft, lingering kisses along the velvet length of his shaft.

Atop his bunk, Zane shifted for a moment. He seemed torn between watching her avidly and adjusting to get comfortable. In his attempt to do so, he leaned up on his elbows, allowing him to rest at an incline in order to better see her...and then, attention suddenly reminded of the television still on at the foot of the bed, he haphazardly leaned to reach for his remote.

Watching him, Amara shook with soft laughter, pleased by the lapse in Zane's usual composure. He growled as he repeatedly failed to hit the correct button, unintentionally changing channels instead.

"You can watch it," she said softly, surprised she actually meant it.

To her, there was something lewd about the thought of sucking him off as he laid back and relaxed. Something casually appealing about it...like they did that sort of thing all the time. The thought of it fueled her further, her mouth watering for the warm flavor of him.

She had almost been disappointed when Zane, as she kissed down his rigid abdomen, succeeded in turning off the monitor and fixed his focus on her instead. At the same time, she was proud of the burning desire she saw in that one lust-darkened eye, his other metallic and glowing in the otherwise sapphire light.

"What?" he grunted gruffly, already threading his fingers through her hair, easing it from her face like the considerate gentleman he was. "If yer gonna be doin' _that_, then I'm sure as feck gonna be watchin' _you._"

How could she say no to that?

She didn't. Instead, she slid a firm hand around his base and steadied him for a long, leisurely lick of her tongue.

Zane, in ways that garnered her humming approval, was willing to oblige her. She lifted her gemstone eyes to watch him shift and fold over his pillow behind his head before settling more comfortably onto the bed. Wasn't long after that that he collected the mass of her hair and held it back for her, allowing himself a clear view of her in the process.

Every time Amara sucked him off, she enjoyed it a little more. That wasn't to say she hadn't always been aroused by it, because she had...very much so...but rather, she was growing more confident with it. Felt she could trust herself to satisfy Zane with the skills she had.

In that, she found empowerment. Her self-assurance allowed her to have her fill of her partner while offering him the pleasure he wanted. It seemed silly, honestly, for her to have ever thought there was any sense of competition about it. Wasn't like Zane had ever asked for more, nor had he ever urged her to do anything differently. If anything, his erection was hardest when she moaned around him and savored the weight of him, hot and heavy, on her tongue. Zane was all about _passion _and watching her enjoy his cock was precisely what he wanted.

Amara did just that, settling herself comfortably between his legs, a grateful glint in her eye at the affectionate way he stroked her hair. For the pleasant sensations it provided her, she gave them back multiplied over. With her tongue, she caressed every ridge within that sensitive shaft. Traced her damp touch along his frenulum and around his cockhead, swirling until his thighs tensed. Eased off and focused on the twisting strokes of her hand, spreading her saliva along his shaft. Parted her lips so that burning blue eye of his could watch her tongue trace along his slit and smear the drip of precome around his glossy glans. Then, with a vibrating moan, she eased him back in along the sideways sweep of her tongue, working him deeper and deeper.

For her, it was so erotic to feel the involuntary tensing of his hand in her hair and the twitch of his cock within the wet embrace of her mouth. Pussy sweltering, she groaned when he stroked her hair again and settled his warm palm nearer the base of her neck, applying only a careful pressure. It was gentle but enough to stir something deeply submissive in her. It wasn't intended to, she didn't think, but still, she couldn't deny the carnal effect it had on her. Even knowing herself, Amara didn't expect to feel that tangible shift inside herself. That deep flood of warmth that had her eyes easing shut and a sense of utter submission softening her expression, her touch, her pace.

The soft moan Zane gave almost made her come, it was so luscious.

Breathing steadily through her nose, Amara let her passion dictate her every motion. Allowed her tongue to ease softly along the belly of that hot, velvet length. Slowly she traced over the network of veins, heavily lidded eyes gazing into the pale blue drinking in her languid, savoring movements. Her partner remained fixated on every embracing curl of her tongue. The hugging pass of her lips as she suckled at every inch, each touch fanning the embers glowing in her stomach. His male musk and hot flavor only tempted her further.

She was worshipping him, laving her thorough and supple attention along his aching hardness. Turned her head to stroke her swollen lips against him, brushing plum fullness over the enervated pink of that straining erection. On Zane's chiseled face, that same seductive patience, his gaze half-lidded and pupils dilated to take in the sight of her gazing into him with soft adoration.

Gone was any lustful sense of urgency, replaced by her profound need to thoroughly and leisurely please him. She wanted to, _needed _to. Surprised herself with how much, even. Her womb was hot with it, tightening in ways that had her tingling and dripping between her legs, and had her working him deeper into her mouth. She twisted her head to press his blunt tip firmly against the elastic of one cheek, earning a grunt from him before the firm enclosure of her lips released him with a slow and audible _slurp._

Zane's eye visibly darkened because of it, one of his scarred hands reaching to cup her chin. Balancing the point of it on his thumb, he drew her to him over the visible twitch of his erection and leaned down to her, closing the distance between them.

With how she raised up on her knees to return the heady embrace of his kiss, she could feel the weight of his cock between her cleavage. So could he, if the route of his scarred hands were any indication. She pushed herself up further in offering as his callused touch stroked her breasts, fondly weighing them before cupping and pressing them together around his length. His hips began thrusting idly, his cock grinding there where he held her supple skin nicely around it. The feel of it had her moaning, softly, even before his thumbs brushed over her nipples.

His voice was positively husky, and yet still so patient, when he asked, "Ya in the mood for a lil' somethin'…extra?"

Always. For Amara, there was no denying that. Her body was often filled with tangible longing for him. Craved the feel of his cock inside her, but _this..._she needed it. Felt like she might regret it if she didn't savor him. If this was a mistake for any reason, she was happy to make it. Her body would have to wait.

"Later," she answered, glancing down where his hard and hot shaft pressed against her. "For now, let me take care of you…"

Opening his mouth as though to say something, Zane instead let out a shuddering breath. There was no mistaking the excited bob of his member between them, or the dark depths of his prurient gaze, the presence of his illuminated eye patch doing nothing to detract from it.

Finally, he managed, his voice low and full of anticipation. "Won't take much to convince me, beautiful…"

Eager as Amara was to suck him, she couldn't help but extend the same offer, unable to resist the suggestive tease of her fingers up beneath his sac.

"Do _you_ want something more?"

She was, as always willing. Saw the spark of hot lust in Zane's eye, knowing he felt the same, but even then he drew it back, a wry smirk lifting one corner of his mustache.

"Best not if ye wanna get fecked later. Gonna have to sleep on it if ye milk me. Did stroke one off this mornin'," he said so casually, it made her smile in curiosity.

"When?"

"When you were out exercisin'," he admitted, sounding wistful. "Woke up horny an' couldn't wait."

Seemed oddly impatient of him but she knew her routine was thorough and, as such, long-lasting. There were countless scenarios that could have fueled Zane's lust but still, she couldn't help but ask, "Did you have a good dream of me?"

"_Always_," he murmured, leaning forward to passionately kiss her again. The way he did, with a slick tongue and carnal caresses, thoroughly convinced her of that. The way he grasped his cock and began firmly stroking it suggested he thought back to that lingering dream.

Thinking of Zane masturbating in her room almost got her off, she found it so empowering, her arousal compounded by the knowledge that he had pleasured himself to thoughts of her in her own territory. She could almost see him now, in her mind's eye, wetting his dry lips and panting as he tugged at his cock exactly as she had witnessed in their shared past, head tilted back as his brows furrowed with the fantasy so lustfully driving him.

There was some truth to Zane's warning. Every time she fingered him to a finish, he came so much that he stayed satisfied for at least a full day before his sexual interest picked up again. For as much as she enjoyed massaging his prostate and giving him that intense pleasure, it was best reserved for times where she might not _need_ him immediately after.

That she would was inevitable and invited. Even now, Amara felt her mouth watering at the thought of taking him into her mouth again. With lidded eyes, she stared up at him, their deep pupils meeting as she opened her mouth for him once more, her invitation slow and deliberate.

She watched him stroke himself for a long moment. Heard him moan, his member twitching in his grip, precome beading on the tip again. With his hand, the operative guided himself closer, brushing his shiny cockhead along her lips. Salaciously trembled as she ducked her head and took him in, sucking that heady tang from him. Moaned again as her tongue stroked the underside of him. Resisted the urge to buck his hips as she laved her wet touch down his length and hollowed her cheeks, sucking him in three slow, swirling passes before pulling off again.

Was it cruel of her to tease him? Perhaps, but she loved the hint of desperation on his expression. Zane was always so composed during sex, after all. To see that wane as she sucked over his slit again and circled her tongue there, polishing clean that dribble of precome, was too tempting - and the first time his fingers curled possessively in her hair, the pressure of his hand guiding her mouth back to his erection.

That act alone had Amara moaning around him, closing her eyes in pleasure for a savoring minute before looking up again at his handsome face. She lowered her body so that she could keep her attention on him as she swallowed him nearly all the way, needing to see the way his expression twisted around his rewarding groan.

Zane was huge in her mouth, pressing hard and hot into her throat as she thrust herself slowly along him, doing her best to relax her jaw and accept him more easily. In that subservient position, she could only suck at him and do what she could not to choke, listening to the grunts peppering his ragged breathing. She ignored the tingle in her tear ducts as she swallowed around his blunt tip, working him as deeply as she could before gently gagging. Then joined him in his panting when she pulled off, gasping with glazed eyes, her lips glistening. Was still catching her breath as her lover leaned down and swiped his tongue between them, pulling her closer with the hand still gently affixed to the back of her head.

They kissed themselves breathless, pulling apart only to come together again with fluid motions and intermingling sighs, their minds intoxicated and their mouths swollen. She could only feel him - the brush of his facial hair crisp against her skin, the dance of his tongue against hers, the soft sucking of his lips. It was enough to have her shuddering out a wanton groan and easing herself away, seeing Zane as thoroughly lust drunk as she was. His damp, tender lips remained parted as she began stroking his length again and fumbled briefly at the compartments by the bed. Wasn't until she retrieved his bottle of lube that the operative raised his rugged brows, a small chuckle adjoining the plastic uncapping.

Still, despite that glint of excitement from what that viscous addition might entail, the operative cupped her chin and stroked her cheek with his thumb tenderly. Encouraged her eyes to return to his again, holding that intimate contact.

"That's me girl," he murmured to her, and god if she didn't relax into his affectionate, accented tone.

It was like a magic spell Zane could cast on her when he chose to - one she needed more than she cared to admit. It was enough to entice her to duck her head to his cock again and obediently draw him in, swirling her tongue around him in gratitude.

He smiled gently down at her, the corners of his mismatched eyes crinkling in a way that had her moaning, sending fantastic vibrations through his aching cock. The sight of the siren's own, staring upward at him in devotion, had him husking softly, "Such a good girl."

Amara felt, in those moments, like Zane understood her. That no one else in her life did. That sense of belonging, it made her wish she could tell him she loved him...but that would go too far. That was a door that could never be closed if she made the mistake of opening it.

Instead, she more tightly stroked his shaft in her hand as she sucked half of his length, giving him even more stimulation. It wasn't the same as a confession of love but more what he wanted, his testicles growing heavier in the accompanying knead of her hand. She released them, and his cock, only so she could lick a wet path down to his balls and curl her tongue around one of them, drawing it into the tender embrace of her mouth.

Zane's jaw went slack around a breathy moan, his pleasure burning her ears. The sound urged her to suck at that tender shape and roll it with her tongue before pulling off with a dull, damp _pop_. After nuzzling and kissing it, she repeated the process with the left, watching as another glistening dollop of precome oozed down his tip.

Closing her eyes, she continued to mouth at that neglected part of him, varying between suckling and licking at that soft skin. Mouthed wetly at it as it pulled tight before the operative gave a suggestive roll of his hips, shaft straining uncomfortably within the cage of her grip.

Looking up at his face, his features screwed up with tangible tension, Amara only belatedly realized the effect she had on him. How long had she been pleasurably torturing him? She had been lost in that enjoyable act, and she wasn't nearly finished. The bottle of lubricant left beside her, open and waiting, was proof of that.

She couldn't quite care at the moment. Instead, she closed her eyes and went to work, taking his cock deep in her mouth again. With a relieved sigh, she felt her older partner settle back onto the bed, his pelvis lifting upward for a long and eager moment.

For Zane, the end was close. The tattooed hand that was cupping his balls began to caress them again, fondle them, earning a groan. Amara's mouth was wet, her tongue skillful. Those strong, slender fingers of hers were beautifully working the base of his cock, urging him toward climax. _Definitely_ wouldn't be long now, after watching and feeling her worship him. He had a lot of pent up lust that needed to be released - as if the way his fingers tangled into her thick hair wasn't proof enough. His knuckles ached to guide her, work her head up and down in a rhythm he dictated, but he doubted Amara would appreciate it. As far as he was concerned, he didn't dare.

Zane didn't have the chance to further debate it because he was just about to reach the finish line - when she suddenly released him. Pulled off him in a way that had him bucking his hips and wordlessly swearing, his engorged testicles protesting. His hard, gleaming cock twitched and jerked, vainly seeking out just a little more contact. That was all it needed. Just a little more and he would be _there_.

Instead, he was reduced to gritting his teeth and growling in frustration, doing his damndest not to utter curses and only half succeeding. And he absolutely couldn't stop himself from driving an aggressive hand through his hair and shooting the siren a look of horny disappointment.

Looking at him almost sheepishly, Amara rubbed his hairy thighs with her hands before settling back on her heels.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to…" she began, and then clarified, like it would make any difference to him: "I had something else in mind."

So did Zane, who couldn't help but mutter somewhat irritably, causing her to smile. Amara's amethyst eyes were glittering as she shook her torso with a sexy shimmy. If the operative was about to say anything - anything at _all _\- he forgot the words. Almost forgot his complaints with his attention so transfixed on the firm jiggle of her breasts.

He never claimed he wasn't an easy man.

Eventually, when he found his tongue again, he managed to say, just barely, "What've ye got in mind, sexy?"

At himself, Zane chuckled, tearing his line of sight away from the smirking siren's breasts to make eye contact with her briefly. Within that same second, his gaze returned to her naked torso, causing her eyes to roll even as she narrowed them sultrily.

Retrieving the bottle of lubricant that, until then, had been forgotten, Amara tipped a bit into one palm. Zane could only watch with rapt fascination as she began to rub her gleaming touch across her breasts, using both hands to render them slick and glossy.

"Holy feck, 'Mara," he breathed, thoroughly enamored.

Smirking proudly, the siren paused only to pour more into her hand before she repeated the action, working the viscous substance into her cleavage. Then, to his shuddering anticipation, wrapped one slippery hand around his length and began to stroke firmly and fluidly, until she leaned in and trapped his cock between them. Then, gazing seductively at him, she began to work her breasts up and down, caressing him with her soft flesh.

Verbose man he was, Zane couldn't _not_ say something. Not when he was as turned on as this. Or even half that.

"Goddamn, girl," he groaned unable to hold the words back from spilling from him any longer - but had he ever been trying? "F-feckin' shite. _Feck._"

For Zane, the unexpected was too much. He had been titfucked plenty of times but Amara giving it to him - well, he miraculously hadn't visited that fantasy yet. He had been too busy fecking her. And now, suddenly, he was living it, and what else could he do but curse through gritted teeth?

The sight of her sliding her tits around him, using both manicured palms to stroke them around the rock-hard strain of his member, was utterly delectable torture. Had him at a war with himself to stop his body from reflexively reacting - one he poorly lost, his hips bucking and driving himself within the embrace of that slippery skin. The heat, the sight of her erect nipples, the ethereal glow of her siren markings, combined with the view of his own cock glistening and driving between the snug press of her chest - he was a goddamn goner.

"God, 'Mara," he moaned, voice breaking before he could even finish, "I'm gonna-"

And he _did_, a coarse and elated groan shaking him as the first spurt of white splashed her chin. The force of it had her twitching and smiling, angling out her jawline while those first hard pulses streaked across her skin. Zane's tone elevated to near delirium before one hard shudder shook him and then his voice dropped _deep, _his trapped cock catching the splashback that dripped from her neck.

Amara purred as she coaxed him between the valley of her breasts, squeezing him in a series of tight, gliding strokes. Only after the fiercest squirts passed did she dare looking down, witnessing the ongoing, shorter spilling of his cock as it spasmed and sluiced her bronze skin.

The sight of the operative, his athletic body shaking with the release he was still experiencing, caused pride to flood her. He was gasping as his cock continued to coat her chest, thick wetness clinging to her breasts in ways that accentuated the fullness of her cleavage.

For as pinched as Zane's expression was, slowly smoothing in blissful relief, his eye was glazed over. The sounds that left him were less ragged now, his chest rising and falling with longer, loftier panting, their attentions uniting over her semen-doused decolletage.

Amara couldn't help but make a face, not exactly expecting so much from him. It was as much her fault as his, she realized as she watched the heavier strands dribble down over themselves and collect around Zane's cock, still carefully held in the compression of her breasts. In her excitement, she hadn't noticed how he had placed his hands alongside hers and stopped her strokes, his member bright with overstimulation. He swallowed even as he shuddered out a faint moan, easing her touch away so her breasts did the same.

Graciously, he bent to kiss her, the downward tilt of his head all the encouragement she needed to extend her neck and angle her face into the tickle of his mustache. Invited the brush of his beard as he aligned his lips with hers and eased his tongue inside, kissing her deeply over the mess his pleasure painted all over her.

The parting slip of his softening cock made Amara shiver, already missing that velvet heat. Those thick rivulets of ejaculate began to run down its place. As much as Zane enjoyed seeing her drenched in his semen, he was mindful enough to kick up his discarded shirt from the floor and use that to begin wiping clean her skin. He had to fold over the slimy fabric to adequately finish the task.

Wasn't anything the chore bots wouldn't handle when they arrived to collect laundry - one of the few luxuries Sanctuary provided. All Zane needed to do was land his shot into the metal compartment that served as a laundry bin, which he did, and only then did he eagerly lay back onto the mattress.

She expected him to crack a joke about how what they had just done had taken a lot out of him, because obviously it had. Instead, he made an unintelligible sound and yawned, his throat flexing from it.

Zane surprised her. For as tired and comfortable as he appeared after his orgasm, he managed to convince himself to follow her to the shower. Maybe it wasn't _entirely_ voluntary of him, given how they were both covered in lube and semen, but it had been a mess worth making.

Having been in his room, there was a necessary bit of strategizing to share that destination. Neither of them had wanted to run the risk of Moze needing the bathroom she shared with Zane, so their determination required a bit of collaborating. Amara dressed and excused herself from his room, only to travel to her own and use that convenient digi-clone responder to bring him to her room in a blast of light and a fading of pixels. From then on, they were freer to proceed as planned, stripping each other of their clothing while kissing in between removing garments.

Showering together was nothing they hadn't done before...which, Amara found, was becoming a more and more common realization. Particularly after making their digi-structer arrangement, they had significantly more opportunities to bask in privacy. Never again would they really have to sneak around and dodge onlookers and fuck at a furious pace in one of the vessel's cold, dark recesses.

Even as Zane kissed along her skin and aligned his wet body with hers, obliging the suggestive tilt of her neck, she had to admit that even she missed that spontaneity. And why wouldn't she? It had been exciting. Zane was just as capable of fucking her the same desperate way if she wanted, but the fact that it was no longer necessary...well, that left out that certain level of elevated arousal that had invigorated them back then.

She had absolutely no willpower or reason to complain about their sex now. It was more satisfying in deeper, _completer_ ways. They could almost always take their time. Zane could more effectively wring every ounce of pleasure out of her and render her incapable of moving if they so desired, and they often did. As a woman, she had never experienced more orgasms or as much variety of them than the operative was intent on giving her. She knew her body well but she had never been so relentless in reaching those summits.

Part of her was concerned that she would grow accustomed to that immense pleasure and her enthrallment with those experiences would wane. Even if her physical enjoyment was half of what it was, she knew she would still be contented. But the thought of _adjusting _and taking any of it for granted had her biting her lip. Then again, even harder, at the thought of her partner growing bored with it. For as insatiable as Zane was, his manhood hard again and pressing insistently against the small of her back, she suspected he might lose his intense interest.

Sure, with his enthusiasm, she didn't doubt Zane could find ways to keep his own fire going. He was _inventive_. Most definitely had more tricks up his sleeves than she knew even existed. So really, did she have to worry about any of it?

Her concern wasn't so much that as Zane growing too familiar and bored with her...even if the way he caressed his hands over her curves and mouthed gently at her skin proved otherwise. He was no less devoted to the task as the first time they'd fucked. Was he even _more _committed to it_?_ It was difficult to say, as he had always been generous. She liked to think he was. It was easy to _believe._

He managed to surprise her by not taking things further as they bathed. She could have allowed her insecurity to feast on that but instead focused on the way he held her close and nuzzled into her hair. For as willing as he _obviously_ was to partake in more carnal activities, Zane seemed perfectly willing to limit himself to those affectionate gestures that made her stomach flutter.

She really didn't need to mistake Zane's actions for more than what they were, Amara reminded herself for the thousandth time. The operative's personality was simply warm and cuddly - which was the exact opposite of what many would assume and his enemies could ever imagine.

Amara decided she really didn't care who knew it, so long as she did. She enjoyed it. Still, she suspected him holding her and kissing her shoulders with those tantalizing brushes of facial hair were half her problem. Everything would have been so different if Zane had simply pounded her full of cock and left her to fend for herself. Instead, he chose not only to clean her languidly and sweetly, but continued with that gentle, attentive contact long after.

And he should know he didn't need to, since they had also had their fair share of senseless fucking and parting, using each other only as a quick means of getting off.

Similarly, Amara could have asked to sleep alone that night, had she wanted to. Could have sent Zane on his way, after they dried off and made out against the sink. Or after he unraveled the knot of her towel and dropped his own and lifted her onto the counter, settling himself between her welcoming legs. For as much as she tried to appreciate that previous tenderness, she couldn't deny her own overwhelming arousal. Couldn't think to stop him from kneeling and licking a hot stripe along her slit before he proceeded to suck her clit and finger her to that heart-racing, blooming bliss that curled her toes and made her quake.

How could she? The ecstasy was overwhelming. The things he did to her, she couldn't hope to explain. She only knew _feeling. _Could do little else but pant and sob and grind against him as he rumbled into her skin - first between her thighs, then her breasts as he brought her to climax with one relentless, penetrating hand. Then, finally, against her neck, her lips, her forehead as he sank to the hilt inside, angling his cock in ways that made her cream.

Against the force of Zane's deep, perfect thrusts, Amara couldn't stop herself from slapping a hand behind herself and streaking the steamy mirror. Couldn't care to. She found, as her mouth fell open in bliss, that she couldn't close it, even as she hugged him desperately with her thighs and felt herself tighten around him in another breathtaking orgasm.

Had FL4K occupied his quarters, there was no doubt he would have detected their intense copulation. The walls were thick but the door separating that shared bathroom from the crew compartments was not. The carnal moans and damp slapping produced by their reckless lovemaking would have been both undeniable and unmistakable.

Hearing for herself the intermingling of their voiced pleasure and feeling her partner thrusting so right inside her, Amara couldn't bring herself to care.


	12. Keeping Handsome Company [At a Piano and In the Cargo Bay - Sanctuary]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not sure what happened here. Sexual frustration, obviously. A lot of Zane mind wandering. He interchangeably refers to his clone as 'it' and 'him' and I'm not disposed to correcting him.
> 
> Let's remind ourselves that Zane is a manslut. After all, a BL3 co-writer said he is "technically married in a few systems and those are just the ones he remembers". Among other obvious personal traits, he also has the comment to the Valkyrie Squad, "Wish I could say that was the first time this week three angry ladies tried to throw me out." My mind has too much fun with that one.
> 
> I love him. And he loves himself. And his clone. And ladies! And men. And bots. And so on, so forth.

That morning, the last thing Amara wanted to wake up to was a knock at her door.

Initially, the siren was convinced she had imagined it or that, perhaps, the sound was some lingering remnant of a dream. In fact, she was more concerned with the time. Upon raising her head and blinking bleary eyes, and then pushing the tangle of hair from her face, she reached for her ECHO. Stretching her arm, she managed to swipe it from where it laid on the floor to her right. Then, knuckling sleep from her visage, blinked at the time.

Was just after 0700 - and there undeniably _was_ someone at the door. The indicator light of the panel responded with dual chirp, and for Amara, that was impossible to miss. Just based on the hour, she knew exactly who was waiting for her: the same gunner she routinely met for breakfast.

Yawning now, the siren sat up with a stretch. She barely had a moment to appreciate that unfurling of tension before a fist applied impatient percussion on her door. It most definitely was _not _the upbeat staccato she associated with Zane. Of course, it couldn't be - not with how he was resting right there beside her.

Looking down at her bed partner, Amara noted his scarred shoulders and the stark contrast of his spiky, silver hair against the violet pillow cradling his head. She didn't have to see his face to know he was still, somehow, asleep despite Moze's loud, metallic knocking. To the siren's surprise, Zane didn't budge or otherwise react in the slightest - not even as the Partalian raised her voice to address her demanding teammate.

"Just a minute!" she called out, turning her head towards the door. She then strained to hear for a sound of affirmation. Instead, the electronic calling conveniently ceased, as though out of belated consideration.

Hoping that would temporarily placate the woman she _knew _to be at the door, the siren pitched her voice low to the operative. Wouldn't have to if she wasn't paranoid about their unexpected guest hearing them.

"Hey, wake up."

Nothing. The older man didn't so much at twitch, so she placed a careful hand on his bicep and gave him a shake.

"_Zane._"

Every time she said his name made her heart skip in her ribcage, feeling like she was practically announcing their affair. Her efforts weren't effective anyway so she leaned over him and gave him a firmer shake. She was tempted to smile at the slack wobble of his jaw and the grumble of intelligible nonsense that leaked out of him.

Alright, this was getting ridiculous. Amara expected this from him when he was intoxicated but he had been entirely sober when they'd had sex and he hadn't budged since. The operative was _out_ \- at least until she shook him harder, succeeding in her task.

Zane's waking was sudden, the violence of it causing her to jump back. He reacted with one massive jolt and the abrupt flash of a pinpointed eye. She had never seen more startled blue from him than that, the yellow stripe in his augmentation blinking to life - but did he _see_ anything? It was doubtful with how he reflexively lashed out to knock her back, his other hand seizing the nearest weapon within reach.

The image of a naked man brandishing a melee pillow against a siren would have been amusing to anyone else. Amara simply felt awful, seeing Zane's pulse rapidly hammering in his throat.

"It's okay, it's okay," she tried to soothe, but he verbally stumbled right through it, his wild eye jerking from side to side.

"Wha? What what? The feck is g-mmph?!"

The number of words Zane could manage to spit out before her proactive hand enclosed his mustached mouth was impressive. She felt bad for that too, frowning at his disoriented delirium before his pupil truly focused on her. Instantly, as though getting some grasp on the situation, he visibly settled.

"Keep it down," she urged, sparing an indicating glance at the door. "Someone's here. You have to go."

It appeared the operative had relaxed too much, Amara realized. He had gone from full-fledge shock to mellow in a finger snap. Suddenly, Zane wasn't awake enough to compute - or else he would have been more responsive. Instead, he narrowed baggy eyes and appeared to be deciphering her words like some display of Eridian language, looking very much in need of translation.

Beyond the door, Amara could just make out Moze's impatient sigh. Both of the gunner's fists pounded on the reverberating surface, accompanied by a whining "_Open uppppp_!" By now, Amara would have ordinarily been dressed enough to oblige. Under these circumstances, she had _so _much to do and so little apparent help.

Somehow, despite the ruckus, Zane decided it was a fine time to flop back onto the mat again and sink face-first into his indented pillow. Glaring at him, the siren gave an incredulous sigh. Maybe he just needed time.

Having little of that to spare, she rose from the mat and hastily rushed over to the compartment where she stored her clothing, bumping the hydraulic door open with a responsive hiss. The moment she could get her hands into the extending component, she rifled through the tidily folded assortment until she withdrew a sleeveless midriff hoodie and matching purple track pants, shaking out their tiger-striped fabric.

A fresh set of underwear and sports bra went on, followed by the rest of her outfit. She hoped, given the opportunity and noise she was making, that her partner would truly register the hint and wake up. Instead, he merely grumbled. It was so very tempting for the siren to chuck a shoe at him but she had already given him one heart attack. Instead, she snatched the clone responder from her bedside and, wielding it, walked over to him.

Kneeling now, she ran her free hand through Zane's disastrous hair and pushed it off his lined forehead. For as much as she enjoyed the disheveled sight of him, and found his total disarray strangely adorable, she needed him to leave. She really didn't think she could throw a sheet over him and slip through the door like she wasn't hiding something from Moze. The gunner would likely march in the instant she suspected something amiss. And already, given Amara's belated appearance, it was too late for that.

Thinking ahead, the siren figured she could blame a nightmarish period or something. That would also explain why she wasn't up and ready first thing in the morning. It wasn't like Moze couldn't relate

Leaning down to kiss Zane on one of his grizzled cheeks, she followed through with a press to his lips. _That_ succeeded in rousing him more than anything else did, his one groggy eye reluctantly opening.

"Sorry but you have to go. We'll talk later," she promised and promptly engaged the responder. With a flash, she sent him off to the paired device stationed in his room - or so she hoped. Considering his clothing remained discarded on her floor, she really hoped there wasn't a malfunction - and didn't have time to think beyond that when she recognized that Zane's glowing clone had materialized in his place...laid out exactly as he had been.

In her haste, she had summoned it - in all its unexpectedly naked glory. She should have recognized the digi-clone and _did_, given its identical likeness to Zane - but witnessing the hologram without its gear was a new experience. Familiar with the coded construct as Amara was, she didn't anticipate seeing it so anatomically correct, right down to the pale body hair that brightly contrasted its sapphire skin.

Other Zane's handsome, digital face regarded her with a split second of confusion before it registered full situational awareness. Then, those bushy brows adopted a suggestive angle and its mouth gave a cocky upturn. Situated so close to it, Amara barely had time to fall back from the upward tilt of its chin before she uttered a futile apology and struck the 'recall' button again, causing the coded figure to dissipate with a flash.

Without it there and trying to kiss her, the siren was free to shake herself off and hastily gather up the sheets that _really_ didn't belong there and might have given them away as much as a naked Zane - or his digital counterpart - would have. The bedding was bound for the laundry bots anyway, with how they needed a thorough washing.

It was official - she and Zane _definitely_ had something to discuss when they had privacy again.

…

Tickling ivories, they called it. That was a pretty accurate depiction. Basically what Zane did as he played the music notes that read across his ECHOeye. Had he not routinely practiced weapons mastery, there was no way he would be able to convey sight into the coordination of his hands so easily.

Somehow, the music still managed to flow through him and into the extensions of his fingertips. Muscle memory clung to many chords and his mind translated written notes into motion. In worlds of digital instruments and robotic performers, the human pianist was an endangered specimen. The art had all but died off in favor of _convenience_ but Zane Flynt, well, he had lived prior to that. Even then, his exposure to the practice had been considerably unique.

He couldn't deny that there were other things he would rather be doing than entertaining the patrons of that boozy establishment. In fact, he was trying _not_ to think of certain things. Specifically, certain things that involved a certain siren. Things he really shouldn't have been thinking about as much as he did, particularly at his age. Things he routinely thought about in bed, whether he was enjoying such an act or scenarios ran through his sleeping head.

These days, he dreamed of Amara often. Too much for comfort, honestly. Always, they were in some sexual tangle. Lately, they had done a lot of lovemaking amidst the bioluminescent foliage and particulates lingering in the breeze of Nekrotafeyo…

_Not thinking of that, are ye? _his mind intercepted.

Right. Moving on, then - both from those fantasies and onto his next song…

There was no point in that anyway, given that Amara was presumably off training Ava. Kinda what she did when there was no other official business to be conducted. It was a great use of her time and appreciated by the blossoming younger siren. Left the rest of them sitting on their laurels, though. Maybe it was just him, Zane considered, and then acknowledged that indeed it was. Moze and FL4K had gone off on gunner-related business.

As for him, he was trying to kill time. Eventually, even _he_ got tired of staring at circuit boards and tiny components that strained his organic eye. He figured he needed some downtime anyhow and decided he best not spend it on the couch. The last time he had, the lumpy bastard had destroyed his back. They really needed to chuck that thing into outer space. There had to be a number of floating bodies out there as stiff as his back had been. They could use it.

Where, exactly, Amara and her protege were, Zane wasn't sure. He wasn't privy to all their mystical girly secrets. As far as he knew, the siren duo studied their diaries and lore in one of their quarters. Usually Amara's, now that he thought about it, and it made sense - it was cozier. Annnd he wasn't exactly sure how he felt about the two lasses getting all comfy on the mat that had so thoroughly and extensively christened. Was that weird? Should it have been? Eh, he wasn't going to worry about it. Ava was oblivious. Wasn't like it was streaked with his jizz stains. Ah, feck, why did his mind go there? His mental stumble almost made him strike an incorrect chord.

Moving on from _that_, Zane remembered watching them practice their phase abilities in the cargo bay until Tannis decided that was potentially endangering. As a result, he and Moze had accompanied Ellie to some numerically named nothing-of-a-planet and remained on the lookout for aggressive critters while the mechanic established a fast track system. According to scans, it seemed uninhabited. There hadn't been detectable traces of a sizable settlement or even much wildlife to sustain a decent population of anything.

The teenager ended up laying claim to it, so it was now "Ava's Planet". She claimed she was still working on a better name but said that would suffice for now. She was "taking her precious time" in making her ultimate decision...clearly. It had been some time since then, but who cared what its name was or would be? The planet served its purpose well enough. There, the sirens were free to do whatever the heck they wanted, which usually amounted to reaping destruction.

Zane already knew how hazardous Amara was. Still, standing among others as a small audience and watching her phaselock massive boulders and then proceed to smash them - all while barely breaking a sweat - never ceased to impress. The operative found it equally intimidating and arousing. He didn't need reminding how deadly the woman he fooled around with was, but if he had, that was _plenty_. He was just glad to be on both of their good sides.

So long as their resident sirens stayed safe, Zane didn't care what they did. Sanctuary was always nearby and aboard it, the remaining vault hunters. There was nothing more valuable to the Crimson Raiders than their beloved sirens. Clearly, if anything gave Amara and her immensely powerful abilities a struggle, their team would immediately assist. As far as the planet was concerned, only they had fast track access to it. Another ship would be detected within orbit if another entity arrived. Between that and any transport vessels making landfall, there would be plenty of time for the gals to return home or for himself and others to arrive as reinforcements.

In reality, the vast number of planets out there weren't inhabitable. The majority of them weren't even occupied by humans. Those that were usually had some redeeming qualities, but given that most celestial bodies were composed of gas or boring rock, the exceptions were few and far between. In reality, the chance of someone happening across Ava's Planet or Sanctuary III were slim to none. And the Crimson Raiders, for good reason, didn't exactly advertise their coordinates.

Quiet as things had been around the ship, Zane felt he could safely assume that where Ava was, so was Amara. Or maybe she was working out? He had done a little wandering and hadn't seen her but hadn't honestly been looking. He had been somewhat tempted to shoot her a message but wanted to respect her privacy. Besides, that seemed a little too _boyfriendish_ to him, so he avoided it_._ Instead, the operative acknowledged that she would likely hit him up for lunch. In the meantime, he zeroed in on their friendly neighborhood bar, knowing Amara could locate him there if she felt so inclined.

Despite his persistent curiosity, Zane didn't really keep tabs on his partner or their teenage commander. He figured he was in the know-how as much as he needed to be. He wasn't one to ask questions either - unless he was performing an interrogation, and there was an unfortunate shortage of those nowadays. He figured his lack of inquiries stemmed from his own self-preserving tendencies. He wasn't into breathing down anyone's neck unless it was Amara's during sex, and as he was all-too-aware, that wasn't currently happening.

Hadn't happened that morning, either, much to his dismay. And that hadn't even been the worst of it. For Zane, being woken up as he had been was, for lack of a better term, _unpleasant. _His morning wood hadn't exactly survived it.

Needless to say, he had been less than impressed with being startled awake. In hindsight, he had no clue how someone beeping and pounding on Amara's quarters hadn't roused him from slumber. He used to be such a light sleeper that damn near anything woke him. His role as a mercenary had necessitated that degree of alertness. His survival, particularly after the bounties for him had been posted, had relied on it.

Zane _knew_ that meant he was going soft. With an inward scowl, he knew he had to knock that shite off. Sure, Sanctuary seemed as secure as any place could be. Given that Amara had his back, technically her quarters were safer than his. That must have been why he didn't drift so deeply off when locked in his own cabin. There, he still slept with a pistol and his digi-structer within reach. Maybe not under his pillow anymore but only just beyond it. Old mercenary habits died hard, evidently. Then again, so did he.

...At least until Amara tried to kill him with a heart attack that morning. She had nearly succeeded. Zane couldn't remember much of what happened immediately after that. He figured he had miraculously drifted off again. Then he had sorta made out Amara's lovely voice addressing him. Annnnd then, well...he knew the rest.

What an experience for Zane it had been to be in that cozy bed and room lit with candles - only to be abruptly zapped straight to the responder stationed in his comparatively dark, chilled room. Hadn't helped matters much that he had been fully nude and had fallen a good foot or two to the steel floor. Was shocking enough to be teleported and not prepared for that onset of static sensation. Landing on his arse with a slap and simultaneously discovering an errant slick of mechanical oil was, for lack of a better term, _interesting. _Only got better when he managed to get a piece of paper plastered to one buttcheek in the process of shifting to stand.

For a man of his many graceful talents and suaveness, that departure had been far from his finest, though it hadn't been the worst way he had ever been ejected from a woman's bedroom. Was also _far _from the proudest exit he had made. It most definitely wasn't the relieved, contented condition he usually left Amara's room in.

Needless to say, that whole mess had left Zane with a hankering for a stiff drink. He had headed to his personal bar before he showered off the oil and gotten dressed. It didn't matter what hour in the morning it was - he was accustomed to knocking back booze at any hour. What better way to invigorate the senses than burning one's throat and belly with a brimming shot of scotch? Or a hefty swig straight from the bottle? It put hair on a man's chest and he had plenty to prove it!

Despite having Moxxxi's in mind, he _had _managed to occupy himself closer to lunch hour. He caught up with FL4K and Moze before they made their planned departure. Had casually discovered that it had been the gunner who had rudely initiated his morning. The older man listened attentively while she described how Amara had forced her to wait around while "getting her shit together."

"We do breakfast every day at 0700!" Moze complained, running a gloved hand through her shaggy brown cut. "Can you believe her! I _always_ thought she got up early!"

Zane merely chuckled, shaking his head, and then responded, "Ain't like I know anything 'bout that." They all knew functioning early was _not _his forte. He didn't even eat breakfast unless forced to.

Needless to say, the operative found Moze's obliviousness amusing. Why wouldn't he? It meant his and Amara's affair still ran under the radar. Worked plenty as reassurance, not that he needed any. He just shook his head while strolling alongside FL4K to assist with performing their standard pre-trip checklist.

When he had eventually swaggered to Moxxxi's, Zane hadn't known what his intentions were. Funny thing, that. He hadn't felt like getting plastered, really. He had more a hankering for beer and olives than hard liquor. With that in mind, he supposed he would plunk his arse down on a stool and chat somebody up. Didn't matter who it was, really. Depending on how many seats were empty, he considered having his clone join the fray. Usually the occupancy was low around that time o'clock.

Compared to his favorite pubs and bars, Moxxxi's was never _really_ that busy. Not many folks aboard could pilfer enough odds and ends to gather the necessary pocket change. At least, not unless they went planetside, which didn't seem to happen all that often.

For Zane, it was nice to see Moxxi manning - womaning? - her own bar. Often he had encountered that cute gal whose name, for the life of him, he couldn't seem to remember. It seemed the busty barkeep spent about half of her time aboard Sanctuary and the other at the casino.

Having expected Moxxi to permanently relocate to her massive gambling palace, it surprised him to see her still around. She must have had someone she highly trusted managing the massive outfit, because like hell she wanted to lose it after their successful, and extensive, heist. Even then, Moxxi still also made time to make an appearance whenever their vault hunting team encountered one of her intragalactic drinking holes.

Zane knew drinking.

He had also known a lot of Moxxxi's holes.

That woman sure had a _lot_ of holes.

For drinking.

Right. Lots and _lots_ of drinking.

Smartarsedness aside, it appeared that Moxxi shared a deeper bond with the Crimson Raiders than he had ever expected. Perhaps she even had some sense of debt to them, given what he had gleaned about her past. His mind had damn near exploded out his ears when he realized that _Ellie_ was _one_ of Moxxi's kids. Double whammy there. He hadn't ever made the connection, nevermind recognize the barkeep to be one hell of a MILF. It was kinda strange to think he had dicked the same birth canal Ellie had squeezed from.

As if Zane hadn't heard the rotund mechanic correctly the first time, he'd had to make her clarify _twice. _It had taken him a good while to wrap his mind around that while still chuckling at the fact that he had boned Ellie's mother. Of course, then he had started seeing some likenesses between the two. Some of the resemblances were more _sizable_ than others - a fact he was frequently reminded of while blowing his money away drinking, gambling, or tipping Moxxi for flaunting her glorious titties. Evidently generous mammaries ran in the family.

_Anyway_, Zane did indeed find himself sitting on a stool - just not the one he had anticipated occupying. Instead of situating himself at the bar, he found himself gliding his pitying hands over the thoroughly beaten piano that had been brought aboard and situated on that modest, square stage.

Why Moxxxi's needed _two _of the same instrument, who knew? Preusmably the barkeep did, but he wasn't personally curious - or intoxicated enough - to chat her up about it. Initially, Zane had suspected that her staff pieced one out and used it to repair the other. Then again, after he had poked at both of them, he found that they equally functioned, though the one on stage was better tuned than the similarly scuffed sibling situated next to the bar. Strange. Maybe Moxxi tried to accomodate her customers that weren't as willing to make a spectacle of themselves. To say either piano was _maintained _was an unfortunate mockery of the word.

Regardless, the operative allowed his fingers to linger over the ones dusty black and white keys and _tried _to admire the instrument for the classic marvel of music it represented. It was difficult, considering he had seen some true beauties in more luxurious establishments. There was nothing classier than a sleek and sexy grand piano...except himself. Sighing and wishing he had one of those instead, the operative settled as comfortably as possible on that rickety, lopsided bench.

Ever since Mordecai had dredged up memories of his first recital, Zane had intended on dusting off his former skills. He had eyeballed the piano Moxxi had shipped in but had procrastinated in progressing further than that. It wasn't so much he hadn't had the time - more that he always otherwise occupied himself with booze and conversation. Given as many opportunities as he had, Zane couldn't convince himself he would honestly ever bother, settling on ticking off the possibility as _maybe. _Would he like to? _Sure. _Could he? _Certainly._ Would he arrange to? Nah, he didn't make those sorta plans.

That much was true. It wasn't until Zane felt abruptly compelled by the instrument that day that he walked over to it. Only then did he finally submit to his unexpected compulsion. He gave himself a little pep talk, popped and flexed his fingers, and trusted ingrained memories to serve their purpose. To his utter surprise, he found he wasn't half bad, all things considered. By the time he had truly settled into practicing, the booze-peddling temptress had treated him to a couple of beers on the house and provided another when she came to clean his empty mugs away. If playing kept the drinks coming, then why not continue?

"Thanks for entertaining my guests, Handsome," Moxxi had crooned at him that first time, giving him a long-lashed wink. She was, as always, provocative. How did a lass her age manage to look so damn great?

Pianos, as Zane knew, were not unlike a woman. They could be elegant...and as complicated as one wanted them to be. They were composed of many moving parts that, if tuned and played skillfully, could make the most exquisite music...or an absolute cacophony of noise.

Zane wasn't at his best, considering how unpolished neglect had rendered him, but then he wasn't drunk and at his _worst. _Still, his hands were significantly different than the last time he had played. The accumulated stress on his joints, compounded by his ever-progressing age, worked against him. Made him think, in hindsight, that maintaining the hobby might have been physically beneficial...but that realization was a few decades too late, wasn't it?

Come to think of it, there had been a time in his long life where he had more closely associated the instrument with sex than music. Funny thing, that. Back then, he had counted his lucky stars to meet such a beautiful lass who had a particular fetish for fecking atop a piano than playing one. Hardly mattered now that those tantalizing tryst had resulted in them getting married. He had hit _all_ the right notes, after all. Which wife had that been again…? _Bah_, he was beyond keeping track.

Now, Zane more fondly remembered the days where his digits had flowed across the keys like a gracefully rippling creek. So long ago that had been. He wasn't one to think that far back, yet despite himself, his mind drifted to those influential years. Even as his hands continued to play music aboard Sanctuary, his mind returned home to Pandora.

It was an understatement to say he'd been a hellion of a kid. Pandora had been one massively deadly playground, particularly for a boy who ran around like a banshee and felt at home amidst dysfunction. Members in his original clan had recognized his endless energy and, in an attempt to both force his concentration and keep him from running off, had parked his arse in front of a piano.

For whatever reason, his mother had been particularly assertive about it. Then again, she had always been a tight-fisted wench. Somewhere along the line, their clanmates had captured a Dahl soldier educated in the instrument - and they hadn't tortured him or eaten him. Adolescent and erratic as Zane had been, he hadn't paid much attention to how that had come about. Only knew that one day, he had been thrown into a makeshift cell and told not to bite or otherwise maim the outsider. Too occupied with kicking his way out of the room, the ratty boy hardly noticed the soldier occupying the room...or the clan member who held him at gunpoint.

For the soldier, it must have been more of a challenge getting such a rambunctious and rabid boy to sit still than it had been to teach him. Zane clearly remembered spitting and screaming at the locked door and throwing his pathetic weight at the handle in vain escape attempts. Why he had bothered by then, who knew? The youngest Flynt boy had already spent a lot of time trapped in that space and had no intention of staying in it...until he heard music. Even through his panic, the tinny sounds of the off-tune instrument and all those confusing keys had drawn him in. His hyperactive mind drank up the complex melodies that poured out of the prisoner's hands.

Zane never knew the guy's name. As a boy, he had only been fascinated by that musical demonstration of cause and effect. His untapped mind had latched onto those lessons like a tit and drank them up, growing rapidly from that intellectual sustenance. _Finally_ his brain had something to grasp that wasn't violence, survival, and scavenging. That _something_ had been the first, and possibly, only thing young Zane hadn't had to share with his brothers, and so it became that much more valuable. After all, he been fed up with getting the scraps of whatever his siblings left for him.

It had taken far longer for the youngest Flynt boy to develop into the refined man he had later become, but at six years of age, he had picked up piano quickly. The artform resonated with his natural intrigue in symbols, mathematics, and creating. Pandora hadn't offered much else aside from strange alien scribbles. _Sometimes_ its human inhabitants counted their body parts to see what remained intact. Bandits, of which his kind had been, never bothered taking inventory of bullets, instead favoring blunt force when rounds ran dry. Needless to say, that informal musical education had provided him with the most sensible element of his upbringing.

Young Zane had spent months performing tunes scribbled on whatever paperlike materials he brought to the cell with him. Eventually, those assigned the task of overseeing the Flynt boy's safety pissed off. No other Pandoran, save for his accomplished-feeling mother, wanted to hear that _fancy shit._ She'd had to physically threaten and assault people to attend his recitals back when they had bothered with them. Hadn't been often after Captain had destroyed the first.

That non-native had been the first human to introduce Zane to kindness...and would be his only source for it until he left the planet. The man hadn't tried to kill him, though maybe he would have had someone not held a gun muzzle against his head those first weeks - long enough for the soldier to decide how horrible his fate would be if he tried anything. That, or it had been long enough for the pianist to decide that the rambunctious boy was alright. Even at six, Zane had been anything but harmless...but even beyond that, the soldier had recognized his potential. Had told Zane that he would make a good soldier if he could survive Pandora.

Of course, at the foundation of everything, Dahl lackey had been a prisoner. The more the dusty, underweight boy trusted him, the more determined the man became to capitalize on it. More than ever, the soldier had continued feeding the malnourished boy whatever scraps he could spare. After all, if he intended to bring Zane along with him, he needed all the endurance he could get. Their escape would have been a treacherous one, and the wasteland offered nothing between that bandit settlement and the nearest military base.

Intuitive as he had been, young Zane had recognized the soldier's intentions. Needless to say, he had been suspicious of his nice gestures. Even then, the boy would do anything but turn down food. At the time, he had been the youngest among their clan and suffered from his physical disadvantage. He always had plenty of healing to account for from all the beatings he regularly received. Not only did such violence come hand-in-hand with being a Pandoran, but he was also immune to disciplinary action. Boy Zane hadn't necessarily minded but he was often sore from all the bruises and growing pains. Sometimes, playing piano with the soldier was the only distraction he had.

Even back then, Zane had known he had an impressive brain in him. On Pandora, that had been endangering. He had downplayed his sharpness to blend in, but even then, his mother had recognized it in him. His father had expectations for Flynts and they had hinged only on violence. Even in his fifties, that conditioning lead the operative to refrain from referencing his own intellect. He certainly didn't go on about that like he did his appearance. _That_ was too egotistical even for him, and besides, it was in his best interest if his opponents wrote him off as a loud, drunken idjit.

When that soldier had whispered that first fateful suggestion that they leave, Zane had listened. He _wanted_ to help him escape. He really did. He hated his home too. Everyone was an asshole. The man was so nice and patient. Didn't hurt him and shared food with him. Thanks to him, adolescent Zane didn't have to crawl into his dusty bed with an empty stomach.

Still, family was _blood. _He had been too young and stupid to know better. Too brainwashed, even if instinct told him otherwise. Captain always said the soldier was going to come back with his army and burn down their encampment if he escaped. Zane was _terrified_ of fire - more than anything. He started having nightmares of being eaten up by the flames _again_, so he tugged on his mother's clothes with wet, wide eyes. That time, she had listened.

Zane had been forced to kill him. Baron had handed him a gore-stained nail bat and kicked him into the dust, nearly impaling him on the rusty protrusions in the process. He hadn't been given a choice, really - neither by his clan or by Pandora. The wasteland had taught him early on to kill without remorse or hesitation, so long as he wanted to live. Had he refused or failed, would his own kin have fatally punished him? Likely. After all, he had two brothers to carry on the family name. Back then, Zane had been regarded as the runt. Sharp-minded but frail. Skinny as a rail. And now, thanks to his piano playing, blemished because he had something to set him apart from them.

The soldier's bloodied, horrified shrieks were the first to permanently worm themselves into Zane's brain. Impressionable as his adolescent mind had been, he had continued playing piano to drown out that background noise, feeling less annoyed when he did. Perhaps the seed planted by the soldier had resulted in his enlisting with Dahl's special forces and, through them, escaping Pandora's cruel clutches.

Reminded of the keys shifting beneath his autonomous fingers, the operative continued progressing through his tune as though he had never been distracted. It wasn't like the bar patrons would recognize a lapse or improvisation had either occurred. Everyone continued clinking glasses, spinning slots, and exchanging their meager money for cheap drinks. By the time those final notes met the piano, there had to be a half dozen new customers split between the barstools and the booths. Whether or not they had been drawn in by the intriguing presence of unusual music or thirsty palates, only they knew. However, that hour had never been particularly popular.

At some point, Moxxi had come by to place another mug of ale atop the piano. Suddenly aware of its presence, Zane reached for it and chugged. The barkeep's smokey gaze drew his and he nodded to her in acknowledgment. No doubt she had noticed his mental displacement. She was a perceptive lass. Hell, she did plenty of that herself whenever the operative occupied the joint - and that was often.

Old folks did that, he supposed.

Zane reminded himself that he needed to focus on playing. His performance would only benefit from it. He _really_ didn't need a distraction. Was he perfect? Feck no. It had been decades since he had last practiced. He had a few flubs and even more as his joints threatened to seize up. Would have happened sooner had his precursory cracking not been so thorough. Even then, he swore the damn things should have warmed up from how long he had been playing. Instead, three songs in, his arthritis flared. Still, he was determined to finish his self-assigned set and didn't let the swelling dampen his upbeat mood.

The music was too _good_ and catchy for that. Had the booted toes of his right foot tapping along with the rhythm while his left heel bobbed along. His vocal cords thrummed as he hummed the spunky tune.

How could _Zane not_ play a rendition of the good ol' "Another Irish Drinking Song"? That was the _perfect_ lovechild between himself and a bar. Sure, maybe it didn't suit _Moxxxi's_ but he wasn't getting paid and there were no stipulations as to what he had to play. Which was exactly why he, fingers dancing merrily, performed the upbeat tune with enthusiasm and finesse. No doubt all of Sanctuary could hear it and damn, would they know who was doing it!

...Except no one but him likely recognized it, those darn whippersnappers.

What else would he play but a cheery song? It suited him. Sure, the residents aboard Sanctuary didn't need it so much now as they had during the war, but there was _always_ someone who could use a nice little ditty. Plus, they were as fun to perform as they were to hear, mostly - if only his bones could agree. For as much as his mind loved the fast tempo, his joints did not. They would have preferred a slower song. There would be time for that later.

Probably no one was _really_ listening to him anyway. For Zane, playing was just something to pass the time...and remind him of his age, clearly. He just _loved _inflammation! Really brightened his day and his pale skin. Made him warm and fuzzy - or was that achy? Definitely achy.

There was one gorgeous distraction laid out for his adoring attention. The body posed so sexily atop the instrument was a sight for sore eyes. They captivated everyone with their attractive display. Zane's own eye was busy tracing those tempestuous curves and the luminous glow of a beauty he could _never_ see enough of.

As Zane reminded himself time and time again, he was a lucky bastard. His muse shared that same burning desire for him. Charmer he was, the operative flashed his digi-clone an award-winning smile and steamy wink. In return, his holographic copy blew him a kiss and followed through by tracing one affectionate finger along his bearded chin.

Before beginning, the former hitman had bitten off his gloves and set them atop the piano, maximizing his dexterity for the task. His clone had since pulled them on and modeled them more like a luxurious silken pair than battle-worn as they were. The coded figure elongated one arm and extended his wrist, pointing his fingers daintily as his other hand lavishly accentuated his motions. Was quite the look. Really popped with his glowing outfit. He was a terribly stunning model.

Sure, Zane could have invited his lookalike onto the stool with him. Or, with a single punch of the responder, swapped places and allowed his replacement to pick up where he left off in the event that he tired of it. His clone would accept it as it did any assignment and perform with that cocksure smile of his. Or was it theirs? Both, he supposed.

In lieu of another piano-capable partner, his clone was capable backup. No matter what his task was, the doppelganger never fell short of that. Wasn't like Zane's digital likeness ever required the credit he gave it but he was a man who gave it where it was due. It seemed he was always complimenting his second self on the battlefield, and why wouldn't he? It killed a lot of bastards when he was otherwise engaged. He called it a bullet sponge for a reason. That wasn't to say he relied on his clone but it helped him deflect potential injuries. Better the digi-struct take damage than him, considering it didn't have age and flesh working against it.

But beyond that, his digi-clone served other purposes. Particularly during Zane's long years spent fulfilling contracts, its companionship had helped keep him as sane as he could be. All that interspace travel had practically amounted to self-imposed isolation. Having his clone gave him someone to incessantly chatter at when the need arose. However tempted he had been at one time or another to give his digital likeness a voice, he had refrained. For one, he knew they would probably bicker like fishwives and argue circles around one another. Particularly with someone so like himself, Zane could only _imagine_ how tiring his arguing and bargaining habits would be. Just thinking of it took him back to arguing with his siblings. Lots of burst eardrums. Lots of headaches. To deal with that _indefinitely_? Not a chance!

Besides, as the operative had told the mime at the casino, not talking _was_ the hardest thing he could do sometimes. If he felt inclined to express himself, he could only hold his tongue so long before he snapped. Sure, he could rattle around in his own head and could survive periods of contemplative silence, but when he wanted to talk, he _needed _to. Sometimes, the urge could be compulsive, really. It wasn't as bad as it _used _to be but when he got to chatting, he could carry on his own conversation, thank you very much. The more pints he poured down his gullet while spouting nonsense, the better. Tended to get more entertaining too, though wasn't he _always?_

Eh, his clone tolerated him. Other Zane didn't really have a choice but he seemed affable enough. They had shared enough past times fondly hunched over a bar, the operative's lookalike going through his same motions of drinking with whatever vessel he had emptied. Shame the fella couldn't _actually_ drink but that wouldn't make any sense. More for him, Zane supposed. As it was, he had encountered enough rinky-dink bars that didn't have enough inventory even for him and _that_ was a crime.

Bah, his clone was fine enough company even without a buzz. The handsome lad proved to be a fine card-playing partner who kept him sharp because, of course, the smart bastard had an unfair computational advantage _and_ Zane suspected he cheated.

Okay, he _suspected_ his clone cheated against _him _and _knew _it had been an accomplice in helping him beat FL4K in a few rounds of poker. Experience and honed judgment had Zane knowing which cards to play but his blue boyo offered _reassurance._ It was all in good fun. No one was getting taken to the cleaners or otherwise robbed. The beast bot had the best poker face around - given that he didn't even have one.

For Zane, it was difficult to believe his digital likeness could manage a blank stare, given how easily it broke into his smile. That made his clone quite attractive, but when wasn't it? Even when the hologram engaged enemies and its countenance was very much Zane FerocityFlynt's, he was still a handsome bastard. Second most handsome there was, in fact, and an equally badass bullet sponge.

Annnnd, as much as the operative wasn't keen to admit it, somewhat of a lover. At least...he supposed so. Sort of. What a gray area that was. He couldn't quite view his clone as some masturbatory tool but wasn't that what he was? It sure wasn't the construct's_ intention. _Zane figured he'd had equal experiences having some sort of manual stimulation from it, as well as penetrative. Okay, maybe not. Okay _maybe. _Wasn't like he kept track and it wasn't like he made a regular thing of fooling around with it.

So yeah, he had done with his clone what everyone had expected him to have done. He didn't advertise it and didn't admit to it. That was oddly personal...more so than the comments he had made about human partners. Of all things, he intended to keep that matter private. A good question was, why _wouldn't_ he use his clone for that? He was an opportunist. Sometimes wanking got as downright boring as brushing his teeth, and when underway between missions, he hadn't kept any convenient playmates. And how could he not be attracted to the only entity in the universe capable of understanding him? Sometimes, even a man like him craved that acceptance and connection, despite his refusal to acknowledge it.

Zane did not, on the other hand, _overdo _it. Because he damn well could have and _that_ was the exact reason he kept his finger off _that_ trigger. He had reserved that assistance for when he had been most desperate and physically lonely. Sometimes, a man just needed to feck somebody. So what if that somebody happened to look identical to himself? He found himself attractive, alright. If he met a man who looked a lot like him, he would show him a good time. And there was more to it than that. He had no intention of explaining what people were guaranteed to misunderstand.

For him, a hole was a hole, whether it was holographic or not. Wasn't really like he had fecked himself. He's done that too, kinda, but that wasn't the point. Once the digi-clone's timer expired and the image flashed away, there was nothing left - just like he liked it. It wasn't like his clone held it against him. Zane didn't think of it as taking advantage. The construct was, always, compliant. That wasn't the sexiest terminology he preferred for his partners but, regardless, it was legitimate. And the AI did have the ability to protest.

The way Zane saw it, it was better for him to get off than go crazy from sexual frustration or chafe his own cock raw. Lube couldn't entirely spare a dick from calluses. The more he thought about it, the more he regarded his clone as a high tech aid. It didn't ejaculate or otherwise orgasm, and _that _was disappointing. For a man who had sex to get his lover _and _himself off, there really was no comparison. The clone couldn't even make the arousing noises actual partners did.

Yeah, so Zane 2.0 appeared human. So did a lot of male masturbatory aids if somebody stuck human genitals in a beer can. His digital doppelganger served a respectable purpose and that was the only reason why it resembled him. Zane didn't really feel inclined to design another hologram just for his spank bank. Then again, one with interchangeable features that could cater to whatever got him hardest at the time sounded very appealing. _Definitely_ one that could change genders...

Nah, Zane couldn't. He had to impose some limits on himself. He could more closely relate to being a sex addict than an alcoholic. Knew that if he opened Pandora's vault any further - _hah! _\- there would be consequences. For one, he would probably never leave his quarters. He would probably fuck himself to death or suffer from that….what did Wainright call it…"fatal testicular devastation". Zane Flynt did not have a weak stomach, and he had seen damn near every gory injury possible on the spectrum, but _that_ particular one sounded best avoided.

Either way, sometimes it felt he would require that degree of trauma to stop making impulsive decisions with his genitals. Depending on how insistent they were, he went through periods where that particular hunger downright became an inconvenience. At that stage in his life, even Zane kinda wanted to be over fecking for stupid reasons. _Kinda _sorta wanted to act a wee bit more his age. Sometimes, his quickness to arousal drove him a bit batty. He had once heard someone describe having a high libido as being like "chained to a lunatic" and feck, if that wasn't exactly how it was.

During his younger years, he had felt like he was forced to watch everyone else be 'normal' while kicking himself like a skag digging at a constant itch. Or like he was one in heat, gnawing at his own leg with that insatiable hunger. Why did it have to be him? His brothers hadn't appeared to have that trouble. Sure, they had their own but why did _he_ have to be the hyperactive horny one? Needless to say, had he stayed on Pandora, he could have fathered his own bandit settlement. What more could he have accomplished if he hadn't spent so much of his life chasing tail?

Then again, he had taken some of his most impossible assignments just to impress some of the universe's most badarse women. Despite the odds, Zane had always come out on top...in more ways than one. Clearly his big mouth, zealous disposition, and determined langer accounted somewhat for his stellar reputation - and a fair number of his marriages.

Somehow, the surviving Flynt brother hadn't managed to get himself killed from his libido yet. Given that he was now in his fifties, maybe there was hope that he wouldn't. Life had seemed the most dangerous when he had been working for some very powerful, and _attractive_, corporate women. They'd been smart, too. Just his type, and yet professionalism had dictated that he solidly slam the lid on any hint of flirtation. His situation had been bad enough when he had been young but when his age really ticked up there, he _reall_y had to be hyper-aware of coming across like a dirty old man. His necessary diligence had filled him with all sorts of questions - like was it okay to notice a new dress? Could he tell someone half his age she looked nice? Could he compliment someone without seeming like he was coming onto them? Minefield! Some flub had probably resulted in Cutlord Karuu wanted him dead. She was one well stacked broad.

Ahh, to be fifty-three and have the libido of a spotty, sweaty, sex-mad teenager again. What was wrong with him? Besides everything, that was, given he was Pandoran.

Nothing, really, so long as he kept himself mostly in check. It was about every day he painted his stomach white, provided he wasn't too busy to spare the time. Jerking off kept him sane when he was trying to pace himself and _not_ impose himself on his feck buddy. It wasn't like he asked Amara for blowjobs or for her to put out when she didn't want to. Considerate lad he was, he always tried to make it clear that he had matters covered if she wasn't feeling it. The operative also knew he could get her into it under most circumstances when she wasn't - but _boy_, suggesting that to a woman wasn't the safest, so he refrained.

Truth be told, the Pandoran-Irishman kinda missed how it had been when engaging the COV - back when he had been lucky to stroke one out once or twice a _week. _Sure, it hadn't been the most physically comfortable he had ever been, but he had survived just fine. Even for him, it seemed a tad dramatic to need such severe circumstances in order to resist. Besides, where was the problem again? He was a man. He jerked off. He liked it. It relaxed him. Released tension. Was _perfectly_ natural. Wasn't like that was what he did all day. Wasn't like it interfered with his sexual performance. The fact that he practically wanted to make exclusive arrangements with Amara's body _was_ the problem. And honestly, what man wouldn't? Zane knew he was crazy but he wasn't feckin' stupid.

When shite got real, or his focus was on a mission, he had no problem whatsoever turning off that facet of himself. That was never a challenge and he was confident it never would be. His head _liked_ being in the game. He had brushed backs and boots with Amara since their affair had begun and registered that electric spark without further thought.

It still made no sense to Zane how he had joined up with his fellow vault hunters and hadn't really noticed his teammates' impressive midriffs, their itty bitty waists, and how their hips went on for days. At least, not until he got his hands on one of them. And that obliviousness, as far as he was concerned, had been for the better. He never wanted to be so distracted, he risked being reduced to swiss cheese by enemy gunfire. He was still handsome as hell even with blood spilling out of bullet holes, but was that any way to play the piano?

Wrapping up that particular tune, whatever it had been, the operative finished it with a sigh. With Amara otherwise occupied, he figured it was best to think of his actual hands as opposed to the particular woman he wanted to use them on. Literally redirecting his attention to them caused him to frown, reminded of their aggravated condition.

"Shite," grumbled the Irish-Pandoran, giving his overused digits a testing wiggle. The gesture probably didn't help his situation, nor would continuing to play the piano. Whether or not his hands would seize up within the hour, he would soon find out. Was his own darn fault if they did, he supposed.

Frowning, the digi-clone placed a hand atop Zane's shoulder and used that physical connection to transition to the stool beside him. Like his deployable shield, the doppelganger was stationary unless it was in contact with the operative. Once that limitation was satisfied, the digi-struct could resituate itself and took the initiative whenever it could. The arrangement worked well enough for them. To that effect, Zane didn't need to concern himself with its position or risk inadvertently damaging it. Besides, it wasn't like chess players let their pieces move themselves.

Taking the operative's right hand between its two own, his digital self began carefully massaging its semi-transparent thumbs into his afflicted tissues. Zane didn't know what felt better - the heat or the gentle stretching his clone provided. He'd heard something once about applying ice and avoiding redistributing the edema but that was poppycock. For now, he was content to enjoy the ministrations of his identical - albeit blue - twin. The Other Zane was more than eager to give him his earnest attention, even beyond what his programming dictated.

_That_ was a curious thing, but Zane learned to accept that particular anomaly more than analyze it. After all, that was the clone's job to assist him. The operative attributed its attentiveness to the AI constantly observing everything he viewed through his ECHOeye. They shared DNA and a mind. Why wouldn't they act alike? Zane knew he was a nice guy.

No doubt it hadn't been the wisest time for him to resurrect his musical talent. Between performing routine maintenance on his gear, fine-tuning weapons mods, and tinkering with new projects, his hands had been a wee bit achier than ordinary. Fingering Amara was, of course, another favorite and frequent activity of his, which only exacerbated that condition.

Yeahhh, one of those things he _definitely _wasn't going to stop. Actually, Zane wasn't inclined to dial back any of it. It wasn't like his hands got sore all the time - only when he was busiest. His poor mitts could probably use a little rest. They were, after all, his best tools.

The right one, in particular, was worse for wear. Was his dominant one, after all. Aside from his blasted back, it acted up the most, but he continued to manage. He feigned complaint about his trigger finger getting tired but actually, that wasn't often far from the truth. God knew how many million times he had performed that repetitive motion.

Maybe one day, he would hack it off and become an honorary member of the Metal Hand Club. Then he could learn the secret handshake. High five the likes of Timothy, Ember, and Hammerlock. But for as cool as that upgrade seemed, Zane preferred to keep his organic parts intact - some more than others. Confident as he was in tech and its neurological advances, he didn't want to risk losing sensation in it. It would be a shame for him not to feel everything he enjoyed touching. Life would be pretty sad without the sensation of caressing a warm, smooth woman. Sure, he planned to keep all his other nerves but his hands were only in the condition they were in because he used the feck outta them. And even for him, it was a little drastic of a measure to test his curiosity with irreversible appendage removal.

Plus, wanking with a metal hand did _not_ seem inviting, even if lefty often did the trick. He was a bit of a switch hitter but Righty usually navigated porn. Did that mean it, somewhat like BALEX, navigated bitches?

Chuckling to himself, the operative gave another flex of his cantankerous hand. Beside him, his lookalike was intently focused on him as always. That was great and all but even after all their years together, Zane sporadically experienced a twinge of strangeness while staring at that mirroring face.

What he experienced wasn't a _bad _feeling by any means. Was kinda more like intuition saying _hey, that's not me. _Made Zane wonder if monozygotic twins ever felt the same. That was basically what the two of them were, after all. His clone was, in effect, a double of him that coded off his DNA like a blueprint. Meant it visibly aged like him, maintaining that bluescale yet otherwise identical appearance.

Given that his clone's primary purpose was to disorient enemies and divide their attacks, it needed to closely reflect his image. In order to do so, there were components within Zane's digi-tech that constantly scanned him and updated its appearance accordingly. His under armor wasn't _just _to keep his giblets safe and immobile, resist bullets, or look as cool as it did, but it also tracked his equipment. Like everything else on him, it was saturated with sensors.

Meant that if Zane took off his jacket, so did his clone. The same applied to all his gear. It_ definitely_ meant that if he was nude, his digi-doppelganger also reverted to its naked blueprint. There was little his DNA didn't account for. What external factors changed, the tech registered and factored in. If he cut his hair, the pixels adjusted. If he trimmed his beard, that adapted accordingly. If he managed to burn one half of his mustache - don't ask him how it happened - the two Zanes cried in tandem.

Thinking back to that tragedy, the operative could chuckle now. And did, even as he threw back the remainder of his pint and reflexively wiped his face. The memory of that trauma was forever lasting but his beloved facial hair had since grown back as dashing as ever. Needless to say, making that discovery when looking to his clone for assistance had been less than pleasant. He'd _had_ to shave after that - for the first time in forever. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Unbeknownst to many, Zane's clone also had the ability to deploy itself. There were measures installed that allowed it in times when its operator was incapacitated. Wired within his brain as the tech was, not only did the digital doppelganger maintain constant awareness of Zane's vitals but was also alerted to his impulses. It knew everything he did or thought. It registered his every condition, both good and bad.

Like the one time Zane had been assigned an unfamiliar vessel that had not been constructed for a man of his height. The operative, unaccustomed to the ship, had come up unexpectedly hard beneath a metal hatch with the top of his head and succeeded in knocking himself out cold. Had been _far _from one of his finer moments. He had sustained an impressive number of concussions in his day but that one took a big slice of the stupidity cake. Zane had come to an indeterminable time later with his head cradled by his clone's static lap, its careful fingers combing his hair.

Zane knew better than to make the mistake of misconstruing basic programming for an identity. In actuality, integrated with him as it was, the clone _did _have a personality_: his. _There were, in effect, two of him, even if one was a coded construct.

Only one of them was alive, as strange as that reality seemed. Not only was his digi-clone corporeal but it otherwise seemed so real. It wasn't merely a shadow but an autonomous entity that could interact and assist. And yet it had no survival instinct or purpose other than what was assigned to it. That said, its primary objective was to keep him alive...preferably in one piece.

Zane found himself wondering if his clone could exist without him. In the event of his inevitable death, would that trace of him persist? One would _think_ he would know, having developed it, but he couldn't really say. He hadn't tested the possibility or otherwise disconnected from it since it had come online. Theoretically, he didn't see why it _wouldn't_. It didn't rely on any of his biological functions to satisfy its that sense, his digital likeness was more his offspring than an identical sibling. He had transferred his genetics to it. He imposed his knowledge and habits on it. That was just plain weird to think of - even more so considering he was only now giving it so much thought after neglecting to for so long.

Looking at him curiously, the clone patted the operative on the shoulder and handed him what remained of his drink. Larynx feeling particularly gritty, Zane lifted the mug and began mindfully swallowing its contents.

He kinda liked the idea of leaving his digi-structer to his boyos. Amara already had a responder and basic authorization to use it. Between her wielding his clone_ and _her many ethereal arms, there would be a lot of glowy blue from her, provided she didn't mix things up and go all elemental. Provided his clone could exist after his death, Zane liked the idea of it filling in for him. That way, he could collect all the fivers the Reaper owed him _and _still get his teammates' backs. And it would be ridiculously easy to install his sentinel module on Iron Bear. Plenty of real estate on that metal thing of beauty.

Zane couldn't see _why _his clone wouldn't function after his death. He didn't really know why he was thinking of it, but he supposed he was _killing _time. He often felt morbid, so that was nothing new. Being a Pandoran, that kinda thing was ingrained in him. Thinking more analytically, he supposed his clone _could_ die of old age if it relied on his genetic makeup. Eventually that would expire - or could the technology develop its own means of replicating his genes as it did its own code and omit mutation- or decomposition-derived errors?

_He _sure experienced more problems than his clone did. That gorgeous lookalike was practically flawless and only glitched on rare occasions. Some things couldn't be helped, given that the construct was about as complex as an advanced organism. Shite happened, as Zane always said. Wasn't like the clone sent him errors and flashed the blue screen of death...unless that's what their enemies were calling him.

_Eh_. What did it matter to Zane what happened post-mortem anyhow? He would be too dead to care.

Backstabbing bastard Freddie had been, Zane understood his perspective: that machines were more accountable than humans. He had full faith in his fellow vault hunters but that had taken most of the war to establish. Beyond their team, he didn't trust _anyone _\- and experience dictated that he shouldn't. People were unpredictable. Unless programmed to, AIs didn't act upon their own self-interest. Greed was a human construct. Even an animal's survival instincts were often misconstrued for conscience intent.

As demonstrated by FL4K, a few robots developed sentience - _supposedly_. It was rare but it happened. Given how complex AI could be, it made sense that some would eventually create an algorithm extensive enough to make their own computations and derive independence through their immense capacities.

Possibly his clone's AI could make such an achievement if given the opportunity. Open-minded lad that he was, Zane felt he gave it generous liberties. There _were _some behavioral elements to the digi-struct that the operative couldn't quite account for, but maybe that was because he lacked his own sufficient self-awareness. When his clone surprised him, _that_ stood out. It still happened despite all the years since its development.

All Zane knew was that his clone was his boyo. Often, there was no better company. Maybe, before he bit the dust, he would consider installing a voice modulator in the feller. His teammates would need someone cracking jokes and laughing like a loon when he wasn't personally around to be a smartass. _Someone_ had to keep them on their toes. _Someone_ had to annoy the feck out of them. _Someone_ had to be so damn good looking. Why not have that _someone _be digital him?

Huh, _maybe _he could go the way of Gigamind and suspend his brain in it!

Ah, maybe not, Zane reflected. He wouldn't be as handsome then - unless he increased the holographic saturation. _Then _it should be fine. He had to add that to his neverending to-do list. With those priorities in mind, he had to wonder if Amara would still sleep with clone-him. He would basically be the same, right? Except blue. In his gear, he was practically that already! He wondered if she would suggest installing his brain in New Zane's arse.

Chuckling to himself, Original Zane would have patted his copy on said arse if the clone hadn't been sitting. Instead, he went about extensively popping his knuckles again. To his ears, the grisly snaps were musical. It also felt damn nice to interweave his fingers and extend his wrists outward one final time, giving everything a good, thorough _crunch. _Only then was he was ready to play another round.

And so he did. Zane dove right into Offenbach's "Can-Can", his posture one that suggested he had classical training. He was just like that - poised and pretty. Had to keep up that charm! So he did, posed at the edge of the bench, his back straight, his arms relaxed before him. In contrast, his electric blue counterpart put on the traditional stage performance, using two dainty hands to lift and swish an imaginary ruffled dress while kicking his legs to high heavens. The can-can proved an easy dance for the clone, given it lacked bodily constraints like bones and tendons - lucky bastard he was.

Between pouring drinks and exchanging sultry bouts of small talk, Moxxi mimicked her own frill-flashing movements. For that short time, the bar's appeal was simultaneously more classic _and _ridiculous.

Zane's following attempt at turning Moxxxi's into a midnight jazz bar only sort of worked. His freestyle was smooth and lovely. Slower and teasing. _Sexy, _but needed a bass thrumming along with it, along with a tenor sax. Oh well, they were there in his head, inspiring him. Provided Brick had _any_ taste for jazz, he figured he could talk the brawler into performing a duet with him. _That_ would be something. Zane personally found the style so seductive, especially the _real_ sophisticated kind that could nearly turn water into wine.

Proper jazz piano provided support for the horns that were sadly not there. Still! Their absence meant the operative had plenty of opportunities to keep the spotlight on himself and melodically improvise, and that was plenty of fun. He did so by playing single notes with his right hand while pressing chords in a lively, rhythmic fashion. Arthritis aside, it just felt so pleasant, it had him tapping his foot to his beat and lose himself in that mental velvet. Made his heart ache for a cigar and a snifter of cognac.

It wasn't until a few card players settled at one of the tables visible to the operative that he transitioned right into the ol' "Five Card Shuffle," effectively devolving Moxxxi's to a saloon. That earned a smile and a minor eye roll from her. Zane grinned back, surprising himself with his own dusty library of memorized tunes. He supposed it was easy to commit things to memory through simultaneous tactile, aural, and visual stimulation. Wasn't like the melody was complicated anyway.

Had he the skill or stamina, he would have played "Flight of the Bumblebee". He loved that one. So much energy! So much fluctuation! But his hands would have fallen off and he needed his appendages to remain intact. Enough damage had been done already. Instead, he transitioned to a quick, freestyle boogie-woogie, because why the feck not?

Ah, because jamming out like that, plinking so many keys and keeping the entire spread going was a poor decision as far as his phalanges were concerned. But heck, he was having a merry time. Always did when he had an excuse to be exuberant. He performed with the genre-appropriate flair, since he naturally kept a surplus of it. Tipped his head from side to side while rapidly bobbing his knee and tapdancing his metal boots. Unfortunately, by the time the older man slowed down and brought his playing to an end, his joints were practically sizzling.

Was worth the applause he got, Zane supposed...even as he blew across his afflicted anatomy like many steaming gun muzzles. He tried to shake the throb of his hands off before he swept them down in a grandiose bow, and then another, before he started for the bar - until Moxxi arrived to intercept him.

The buxom lass was quick to push him back on the piano stool with the sure power of her boobs. Her hands were occupied with another frothy beer and a towel-wrapped bag of ice.

"Getting old, sugar?" she purred, still a decade shy of being able to relate. Didn't mean she couldn't sympathize with her handsome vault hunter. "You want something stronger?

"_Old?_ Never heard of 'im!" Zane chuckled, graciously accepting the drink with a smiling nod. In perfect unison, his clone mirrored the gesture. "Nah, no thanks. Drinkin' light tonight."

Moxxi leaned over, treating them both to an extra generous dose of cleavage, and pressed the back of one hand to his forehead. She then frowned like the mother he still couldn't fathom she was, seemingly searching for a fever. Finding none, she smiled and leaned over to press a lipsticked kiss to his clone's glowing cheek. How her tits didn't spill out while so precariously held in her bustier, the operative wasn't sure. Must have been some industrial-strength tape keeping her goods in - or possibly magic.

All Zane got for his efforts - besides an abundance of ale - was a suggestive wink and a cigarette that had been tucked away between her generous tits. _Of course_ he graciously accepted it. He immediately tucked it into the wrist of his left glove, already planning to enjoy it as he did others before it. That little airlock they had used to dispose of Claptrap's popsicled pets did the trick. He smoked right next to it and cracked it enough to suck out the fumes. Worked like a charm, seeing as he hadn't yet been caught using it.

Delighted by Moxxxi's feigned favoritism, the operative gave her one final smirk before she turned and sashayed away. He then shivered as his coded copy situated the ice over his right knuckles and give him a gentle, comforting pet. The clone then applied its own affectionate kiss to that same sided cheek before pillowing its head on his shoulder. Silently sighing, it settled in.

"Thanks, boyo," Zane murmured affably, meaning what he said. "Dunno what I'd do without ye."

Gazing fondly at him with those intense cobalt eyes, the clone used its free hand to pat his thigh. Then, shooting him a flirtatious smirk, its familiar touch transitioned into a lingering stroke.

Shooting it a similar look, Zane pitched his voice low. "_Behave_," he chuckled, but he barely meant it.

Its stare was salacious now, the clone slowly licking its lips before its body shook with a soundless chuckle. Its organic counterpart shoulder bumped him before guzzling down the rest of his beer. Clearly his digi-struct had other ideas in mind of how to ease his discomfort, that handsome devil.

Sex, sometimes, was a temporary fix. Of course, there were more drastic methods of alleviating the unfortunate effects of his age. He had drugs in storage that were capable of erasing the worst of his pains but he tried to avoid them. Given that he wasn't particularly fond of their side effects, Zane reserved them for when he truly needed them - which certainly wasn't now.

The one time aboard Sanctuary he had thrown his back out, Zane had little choice but to curl on the floor of his cabin and summon his clone to retrieve his pills. His poor, concerned digi-struct would have carried him to his cot if he had allowed it, but jostling him in that condition was precarious. Instead, it had knelt beside him and given him a bottle of water to chase down the tiny white pill that liquified his seized muscles and effectively skyrocket him to the clouds.

Muscle relaxants were the damndest thing with how they rendered one's body to jelly. That strange sensation and subsequent trip to la-la-land weren't exactly appreciated but compared to sharp agony, Zane accepted it. And rarely, after the prescription worked its magic, did the operative remember having made that decision. He most certainly had no awareness of himself, nevermind the fact that their team had been called to the bridge for a mission. When he hadn't shown up, his fellow vault hunters had used administrative access to override his door lock and found him drooling face-down on the floor.

Assuming he had passed out from alcohol toxicity or had suffered an aneurysm, they had startled. Zane's clone, who had been diligently standing guard over him, had thrown them his pill bottle but they had insisted on carrying him to the medical bay anyway. Needless to say, that had been one of the only missions he hadn't been fit to attend. He had snored Tannis deaf before he had woken in the infirmary, groggy and disoriented. Wasn't like the gurney helped his back any, but it was mildly better than a steel floor.

He got downright wonky on painkillers. If his boyos thought he was weird off them, _ohhh boy_, were they in for a treat! That was why he didn't take them unless necessary. Even by Zane's own definition, he got downright weird. That level of incoherence was dangerous. He would rather be sobered by pain than blubbering nonsense and wobbling around, prone to furthering his injuries. Most of what he slurred while under their influence was utterly incoherent and made not a lick of linguistic sense.

As fun as that was, that was far beyond what he needed now. For as much as Zane enjoyed extremes, he also appreciated physical touch. Fortunately for him, his clone was more than willing to provide it. The Other Zane appeared perfectly contented to gently knead its static heat into his cantankerous joints and sooth his callused skin...with a caring touch that warmed more erogenous parts of him.

Rolling metaphorical eyes at himself, the operative questioned his own intentions. He didn't know what kind of heat he was in but he was over it. Was it Pandoran mating season? Sure seemed like it. With how often he was getting his balls drained, he really had no reason to feel so amorous. Just because his clone was smirking at him with half-lidded eyes didn't mean he _needed_ what that look suggested.

Argh. Wasn't Zane bad enough at torturing himself? Having his clone so willing to come onto him proved problematic. Then again, with his testicles intent on dictating so much of his behaviors, it was inevitable that some degree of that would reflect in his clone...and it absolutely did. Already, he'd had to reboot the horny bastard twice, back when he had made the missteps of fooling around with it. He couldn't blame the guy - it was only doing what it was designed to do, and that was to adapt and satisfy his needs. Of _course_ that got him into trouble.

What did those recovering alcoholics carry around with them...a token? Whatever it was nowadays, Zane supposed his digi-structer was kinda like that, he thought with a scowl. A symbol of "Ye Can Feck This But Better Not".

For a brief moment, the operative turned his attention toward Moxxi who was, as always, spilling out to her nipples at the bar. Why wasn't he reacting the same way to a woman who amounted to a walking pair of tits? Sure, Moxxi had other redeeming qualities but those were physically the biggest and most sexually obvious. And he had gotten off recently to Amara's really stellar rack. If last night had been any indication, his attraction to breasts hadn't been satisfied yet.

Zane most definitely didn't overlook the fact that getting off in Amara's cleavage and coming all over her harkened back to their first night together. He hadn't instantly made the connection, but in effect, the vault hunter had lived the fantasy of one bar-going bastard whose face he had bloodied on Xeros. Specifically, the fugly jackarse who'd gone on about how he wanted to feck the "tits of a goddess". Zane knew, for a fact, that Amara's certainly met those expectations and had personally seen to spilling all over them.

The operative caught himself smirking in pride. He actually felt some of his libido wane in favor of the righteousness he suddenly felt. Damn _right_ his semen had marked her. Never in a million years would he have dreamed it before that night, but he _loved _sexual surprises. And given how he had enjoyed the experience, it was no surprise his mind reverted back to it.

And got hard from it. _Damnit_.

Groaning inwardly, Zane cursed the hungry beast caged in his pants. He willed it away but it refused to listen. Made sense since it never liked to obey him. Maybe if he gave in and excused himself to his cabin - and broke out the lube - _that_ scene with Amara was what he'd get off to. Thanks to his ECHOeye, he had that footage at his personal exposure.

...Was that bad? _Likely_, but Zane never claimed to be a decent man. He kept his collection of personal pornography extremely private, reserved for his augmented eye only. How could he resist practically reliving those enticing experiences? He was a hot-blooded man, damnit, and if all he had to do was close his true eye and access the files...how could he resist?

The only downside to that particular scene was how he had tipped his head back for a portion of it. In the throes of orgasm, he hadn't been complaining or even aware of his own action, and the raw footage of it was hot as hell but still…

And yeah, that meant he had watched the recording since, despite how recently their tryst had happened. In that sense, his likely having a sex addiction hardly _seemed_ like a problem, given he had methods of sorta satisfying it...

What mattered was that he was _trying_ to resist his dirty urges, damnit. Some days were physically harder than others. Sometimes little things tested him. He couldn't really help if seeing Amara's hair caress her neck sometimes necessitated a cold shower. Or when seeing just a _hint_ of her deceptively delicate ankle gave him a stiffy. Zane would be the first to admit he was ridiculous, really. So feckin' ridiculous.

Sometimes, having Amara so close, yet just out of reach, was a breed of torture all its own. He didn't think she detected his lust or had the capacity to understand it, and _that_ was for the better. Zane knew that had he paired up with someone more like himself, they would have fucked themselves off the ship - as in, been ejected for public indecency. He didn't even understand how it was Amara got so deeply under his skin. His attraction to her was more intense than he felt it should have been, but he sure as hell couldn't deny it. His cock didn't allow it.

Damn thing wanted to follow the siren around like a loyal dog. Obviously he had to remind it who it belonged to.

Their whole frequent sex thing was turning out to be somewhat of a problem, Zane suspected. He had initially assumed having that outlet would help him cope but _ohhhohoho_, did it sometimes exacerbate his condition. Had the ol' testicle factory working in full-force. Even then, his mind was the manager responsible for pushing an outrageous quota.

Back on Promethea, when he told Amara that he'd like to do her more often, he had meant maybe twice a _week. _Wasn't like he had assigned them any real expectations but he hadn't expected their trysts to be as frequent as they were. Aside from furthering their risk of getting caught, was there any harm in it? Zane sometimes refrained from initiating because he didn't want to seem as single-minded as he could be. It wasn't always that he lusted after Amara but then he wasn't given much reason not to. Even when it was her not-so-monthly time to bleed, he resisted informing her that he definitely didn't mind. Most lasses found that kinda squicky - but what Pandoran would he be if blood bothered him?

Needless to say, Zane hadn't _always _been on his best behavior when seeking partners - and he wasn't always a knockout with women. Sometimes his maleness took precedence when he didn't care otherwise. Particularly when intoxicated, he was a bit too blunt or lewd. Said shite like, "'Ey sweetheart, I don't wanna date ya, I just want ye to hop on me cock," and a plethora of similarly forwardly tasteless lines that hadn't achieved the desired effect. And he had said far worse - at which he still grimaced.

As a result, he had spent his fair of time eating dirt after having been forcibly ejected from both bars and bedrooms. He'd gotten really proficient at guarding his genitals. He had also been on the receiving end of enough face-numbing and bruising slaps to know he should have been put in his place by now. No doubt Amara would break his jaw if she ever felt so inclined. And given what it would take to earn that, no doubt he would deserve it.

Zane knew he had it good. Meant he didn't want to go and sabotage their arrangement if he could help it. He suspected some part of him was already planning to downshift gears in order to prepare for putting a stop to things, far as they'd gone. Probably his increased libido was trying to make the most of what was left. That had to be it. There was no other way he could be so into a lover after so long.

He knew he spent too much time thinking of Amara. Of the smell of her hair when he presses his face to it when he comes. Of the way her fingers dance along his chest and back when he's inside her. The way he enjoys kissing along her collarbones and shoulders. The feel of her body as she curls against him between fucks. Her sleeping presence alongside him when she sleeps and the whisper-sigh of her morning voice. The familiar heat of her when she's against him or beneath him, or atop him. The warm, honey-sweet taste of her sex and the way her thighs tremble around his cheeks. The soft, breathy sounds she makes while he pleasures her.

He prefers to think of those more than he does the time he woke early and traced his thumb across the faint mapwork of veins beneath the paler skin of her wrist. How he marveled at how something so delicate could keep such a fierce woman alive and there with him. How he prayed that she would always be that way, and how he hoped, despite knowing better, that he would never see another bruise on her skin for as long as he lived. For as brave a man as he is, he can't accept what that does to him.

Contrary to how he presented himself, Zane Flynt was _not _fearless. That was a truth he also refused to acknowledge.

What he didn't want was for Amara to think that was all he wanted her for. They were still teammates first and foremost. Still boyos. He tried to exclusively treat her as such between liaisons, avoiding any sexual undercurrent. Zane figured he did alright at that. But after things ended between them, his resolve would likely go to shite. He'd be so physically frustrated that he'd have to bite his tongue off - and probably gnaw his hands down to his wrists. One way or another, it seemed he was destined for metal hands.

Probably would be a fine time for him to oblige Rhys and double up between vault hunting and tinkering at Atlas. Maybe hit up a pub with Zer0 and buy him a pint like ol' times - just not one catering to assassins. They could chat and laugh over their former tutelage. The Raiders would remain the operative's priority but even then, they weren't keeping him as busy as he needed to be. If they had, he wouldn't have been playing piano or thinking of fecking Amara yet again. Wanting her so much, as far as he was convinced, was a recipe for disaster - but at least not a genetic one. It was a damn good thing he'd had the snip, since he didn't suspect there was enough birth control stocked aboard to accommodate him.

_Alright, _Zane's mind chuckled_, now yer makin' yerself tired jus' thinkin' about it. Might be time to go to Tannis and ask if she's got somethin' to kill the ol' libido. Then again, jus' talkin' to her does it, aye? Ice Queen personality…'cept she is attractive. Nice pale skin an' that dark hair. I'd do 'er._

_Ah, _damnit, _Zane boyo! C'mon now!_

Shite, he seriously needed a wank. He needed to wait for Amara. He needed a wank while waiting for her. He definitely needed to wank _to_ her. She was who he wanted. Argh…as if his hands could manage. There was nothing hot or comfortable about arthritic hands. Given time, maybe the edema bubbling at his knuckles would look like titties on a finger puppet. Depending on how big they were, maybe he could draw a mini Moxxi on them.

Despite himself, Zane inwardly sighed. He was accustomed to extremes. He _was_ extreme. Wasn't like he minded being the way he was, mostly, but he still had to ask himself, _why are ye like this again?_

He didn't know, but one would think Moxxi would captivate him if he was indeed hard-up. The gaze he shot the barkeep was anything but covert. He needed to get a full look at her tits to decide how he felt about them...and realized he really didn't react to her at all. Why would he? Even a hot-blooded man like himself could see too much of a good thing. Besides, she was a bit chestier than he usually went for. Anything bigger than his mouth and hands could be considered a waste, not that he hadn't been known to rise to the challenge.

If anything, Zane was disappointed that his dick didn't behave accordingly to the vixen. And by 'accordingly', he meant how it should have, even if he wanted his libido to take a hike. Seemed his body was out to disobey him one way or another. Meant another drink was probably in order.

He went to reach for it, only to brush his fingers along electric blue ones harboring the same intent. His clone smirked at him, nodding to his beer. Great, now he was back to eye-fucking his identical digi-struct again. After all, Zane was quite fond of himself and that was a fact _no one _doubted. Still, his own sexuality was behaving strangely to him.

Could he blame it? Nah, because damn, he was handsome. Made him wish he was straight, almost...except that wasn't as much fun. Made him wish he had an Amara clone. _Hnngh-_ _no. Knock it off. _Not safe territory to let his frisky mind meander into. After all, he _did_ have enough visual references to- _nope!_

But that was the truth. He absolutely was a lecherous old man. Had been the same while young. Zane figured he had paid the price of having lost his left eye, so why wouldn't he use his tech to his advantage? It wasn't like he hadn't encrypted the shite out of it and ensured that all access required hardwiring into his _extremely _integrated system.

The operative was in no way planning of exposing or remotely sharing the mere existence of his personalized porn stash. Never. It would die with him for a number of reasons. He might even die because of it. Would _definitely_ meet an untimely demise if Amara knew of it. Sure, he had designed the system, but it wasn't _entirely_ his fault it recorded everything he viewed. It very much _was_ his fault he backed it up. It was most definitely his fault that he watched it over and over again - until he practically memorized it. And then he watched it again!

Why wouldn't he? There was no better porn than watching his own cock pounding his partner. Was there even real siren porn out there? Doubtful. And did he really just think that? What siren he knew would willingly star in that? There were others out there but none he cared to see. Alright, so he had checked Lilith out. Who didn't? She called him _Killer. _That was a direct way into his pants...but not really. She might as well have called him by his name and he would have banged her. Or Zane Killer Flynt. Was basically his legal identity already!

Beneath the piano, the operative kicked himself in the shin. Didn't do much good given how it was encased in his metal boots. If anything, the metal _clang_ of it brought attention to him. Fine by him, he both liked people looking at him and they enjoyed doing it - or should have.

Taking another drink, Zane tried to distract himself with it. He also tried to deter his libido with what likely amounted to nonsense, choosing to think that Amara probably wouldn't want to get laid again so soon. His balls twinged at the thought, causing him to mentally sighed in exasperation. They were as melodramatic as the rest of him. What he _really _needed to do was slam his dick in a door somewhere. Then casually hand its remains to the siren and walk off with a merry whistle. Sure, he might bleed to death from his stub, but wouldn't that teach him a lesson - as well as Amara for not being available when he needed her? Didn't she _want_ to be a hero?

Then again, his penis was _anything _but innocent.

Shifting the towel of ice to his left hand, Zane resisted an urge to slam his head onto the piano before him. However amusing the noise would be, provided he hit the keys, he knew he best not. As if sensing his urge, his digi-clone rose to its feet and placed both hands on his shoulders, kneading at the tension there.

"Thanks, boyo," he gusted out, immediately appreciating the strong thumbs and palms digging into his trapezii. He allowed the digi-struct to work its magic before he mentally shunned the physical contact. For as nice and needed as the gesture felt, he pulled away from it.

Deciding he was in need of a stiffer drink instead, Zane stood from the bench - and immediately realized how tired his body had grown of it. All things considering, the protesting of his spine wasn't too bad. Flexing out the crick in his back, the operative recalled his pouting clone and headed to the bar. There, he insisted on paying Moxxi for a tall glass of whiskey and took it with him to the furthest booth, where he comfortably arranged himself. Once settled, he knocked back a swallow and braced his chin on his palm, absently drumming his fingers on his cheek while returning to his thoughts.

It wasn't like Zane had anything better to do. He had no interest in tackling any issues - particularly not his own. He knew he sometimes craved sex to distract himself from whatever he didn't want to think of. As far as he was concerned, getting off was the best method. A man could hardly think about anything but his cock during it. Still, he didn't see himself in need of avoiding demons or anything of the sort. He had them, sure - who from his homeworld and profession didn't? But unlike others, Zane preferred to laugh at them.

Of course, he hadn't been too impressed back on Nekrotafeyo, where his teammates had united in thrusting him at the doorstep of that damn robo-therapist. Sure, he had been a good sport, but he had grit his teeth the entire time. Had been his own fault for openly admitting he was fecked in the head. Still, being the Pandoran that he was, Zane neither tolerated or believed in that spiritual nonsense.

As it was, the operative doubted any amount of psychobabble would help him understand what had gotten into him that day. Then again, he usually didn't question it. Zane didn't _think_ his increased arousal had anything to do with that morning. He and Amara had really great sex that night. He couldn't recall having any frisky dreams. And he really hadn't had the opportunity to know if he intended to bang her again before being startled awake. Sure, the surprise had been a bit of a rude one, but it had also been necessary, he supposed. If Amara thought it was imperative to kick his arse out, then fine. It wasn't like he had misbehaved and earned it; she just hadn't expected company.

He could even respect that she hadn't spared him and instead sent Moze away. Why would she, ordinarily? After all, the two of them were still hiding their arrangement. As far as the gunner was concerned, Amara hadn't had a reason to refuse her. She assumed that the siren had been all alone and behaving herself - as opposed to sleeping with their much older, mustachioed teammate. If it hadn't been for his responder, Zane would have been corralled into the bathroom and forced to wait there until the gunner left. At least after being returned to his room, he had been able to throw some clothes on and lay down in bed. For a half-hour, he had burrowed beneath his pillow before reluctantly starting his day. His first order of business had been to message Rhys back about some schematics for a mobile turret the CEO had forwarded him.

Had Zane _not_ had his tech, he would have been stranded in the siren's bathroom for some time, stark naked and cold. Amara hadn't messaged him an apology until a full hour later. He had waved it off, assuring her it was "no biggie", and it really hadn't been. He had decided against asking what time-consuming lady business they'd had. Knowing what he did about women - though he often considered the two lasses an exception - he knew they didn't _need _a reason to yammer on. In fact, he was the exact same and no one needed reminding of that fact.

Had he suspected his fellow vault hunters been up to something _naughty_, he could see why his interest would be sparked. He still suspected that the siren and gunner might have been up to something of an adult nature. Every sign pointed to Moze's willingness to jump Amara if given the smallest window of opportunity. And really, if the two had proceeded to bang the everlovin' shite out of each other, would he have minded? Maybe only because he hadn't been there to watch.

_That_ was a scenario Zane didn't need to linger on. At least, not unless he wanted to walk out of the bar with a raging hard-on. One would think, given the mass amounts of woman-on-woman action he had watched in his day, the novelty would wear off. In reality, it was more likely that his dick would be skinned by his hand.

_Plenty of ice left to jam down yer pants!_his mind assured, reminding him to resituated the towel on his knuckles.

Listening to the cubes and their muffled clinking, Zane wished the sound was more crystalline within a glass of liquor. He wasn't sure how he was so determined to avoid the bottle and not the existence of his penis.

That had to be his problem: he wasn't drinking enough. Like hell his piqued need for Amara would be related to something stupid like...oh...his maleness reacting to some perceived notion of competition. Zane wasn't stupid enough to think that hadn't happened to him in the past, because he knew it had. It just wasn't as common when a woman got involved as it did other men. Even then, he wasn't all that territorial. He had shared plenty of lovers with others - often freely.

The only thing that tipped him off to the possibility was Moze's obvious attraction to Amara. He liked the gunner plenty. A lot, really, though he didn't view her as the type to be particularly aggressive about who she wanted. Then again, did she need to be? Who was to say she and Amara weren't already an item?

_Uhh, Amara maybe? _his mind supplied helpfully. More like she would have mentioned already if the two of them were dating. Knowing the siren as he did, Zane couldn't sink his teeth into the idea that she would fool around with him behind Moze's back. She just wouldn't. And if she was, then Amara should have been aware that she wouldn't have to hide that from him, of all people. Moze might have a problem with the whole deal, but he was open-minded as hell and all for collaboration between teammates. If things were sexual between two of them, why not all of them?

Alright, even _he_ wasn't blind to how reckless that was, but it was fun to consider.

Moze standing at the front of Amara's massive fan line looking for a ticket she misplaced didn't mean _he _couldn't strut inside with VIP access. Sucked to be her. Sure, the loss would probably be his someday, but Zane planned to enjoy the ride while he could. He knew he would have a hell of a time finding someone who got him going _and _wouldn't try to kill him. Amara being a safe outlet wasn't the _reason _he got with her in the first place, but it made her that much more appealing.

It wasn't like he'd had any longer to work his charm on Amara than Moze had. Despite the gunner's tragic backstory, she hadn't taken all that long to warm up to her fellow vault hunters - _specifically_ Amara. Attraction was often a powerful motivator, and it hadn't taken long for the soldier to develop hearts in her eyes for the Partalian. Hell, even he had gotten all romantically sappy imagining the two of them together.

Time and time again, Zane had tried to be the better man by talking himself out of Amara's bed. He wasn't into fecking his boyo's partners - at least, not unless they wanted him to, and he doubted Moze was the sharing type. Not only was she his drinking buddy but she was the only other vault hunter aboard who even drank. He might have been disappointed had she not been such good company to get wasted with. Sure, she got moody over certain subjects, but then most folks did. That was only a problem when he inadvertently stumbled onto one. He _definitely_ knew better than to bring up her time with Vladof. Since meeting her on Pandora, Zane had heard plenty about her shite past while passing his flask back and forth between them.

Moze also cracked his back the best. That wasn't why the operative liked her but sure as hell made her cooler. She manned a walking death machine but unlike FL4K, wasn't one, nor was she some outrageously strong siren who could crush his spine. In fact, Zane suspected Moze enjoyed walking on his back as much as he liked it, even if the ugly noises he made while his vertebrae crunched back into place suggested otherwise. It also went without saying that Moze was the one most compatible with his antics. It was adorable as hell when she tried to joke back at him. She really sucked at it - in a good way. Made her an easy target. And it went without saying that he would put his life on the line for her, same as he would his other teammates.

Regardless of all that, Zane was pretty sure he would hear about it if Moze discovered that he was laying it down with Amara. That short lass had a vicious mouth on her. Even if he couldn't relate to Moze's predicament, he sympathized with her having emotions to work around. Those damn things really mucked things up, he imagined. They definitely made everything more complicated than what he had to contend within - which was _nothin_'. He just listened to his cock like FL4K did Mr. Chew._ What is it, boyo? Ye see somethin' interestin'? Did Timmy fall down the well? _Then he patted it on the head and gave it a treat.

Damn, it was nice being a man. Zane knew he wouldn't want to live with ovaries, even if his testicles kept him busy.

Still, thinking of himself subconsciously feeling like he had to reclaim territory - _that_ was a good one. He was still amused by that ridiculous idea - to the point of laughing quietly to himself. Really. Amara wasn't his. She could share herself with whoever she pleased. He liked the thought of her doing that too. It wasn't like he was looking for some excuse to expand his playing field. Aside from being frustratingly into fucking Amara, he was sitting pretty.

If Zane was honest with himself, which he never was, he was pretty damn happy. Maybe the happiest he had been...ever? At least for as long as he could remember. He had a consistent place to throw his belongings...not like that really mattered. He had a kickarse team - and not just that, but one he trusted. He had his _found family_, as someone wiser called it. He had one hell of a feck buddy _and_ a full bar a short ways away from where he kicked up his feet. He also got more sleep than he had in ages. What more could an old man ask for besides a jacuzzi? Or an instant spine replacement?

Best he not think of that or he would take for granted what he had. Or worse, his mind would wander to entertain the limitless possibilities. What mattered was that what he had in the _present _seemed to be just what he needed. His job got a little bland and repetitive at times, but more than one would imagine, so could being a mercenary.

Nothing truly gave him a thrill anymore. Considering how long he'd been at it, nothing should have. Now, his missions were all about hanging out with his boyos and shooting shite and never for money or fame. Even Zane had to admit, though, how it was kinda nice to have someone to yank him off his arse when he fell onto it. Sure beat crawling behind cover and getting further shot up in the process. His collection of scars was impressive enough, thank-you-very-much. And it was always fun to have someone else jab him full of needles. He never knew where they were gonna land!

Boy, had things changed. Back when their team had first settled aboard Sanctuary, the operative had looked forward to turning in for the night and shutting everyone out of his personal space. He was a nice guy and all - didn't mind being the center of attention and had the outgoing personality to prove it. Even then, he had been a loner for so long that having other people up in his business all day had been just plain strange. He had adjusted well enough - if not surprisingly well - but at the foundation of everything, he remained an introvert.

At the end of the day, Zane just wanted a pint or five and some peace and quiet. He wanted to be left alone with his projects. He liked zoning out to mind-numbing television or perusing ECHOnet. Sometimes he read books, because those used to be a thing. And he liked sleeping, even if it often evaded him. All his downtime preferences still applied - just not as persistently as before, if his desire to be with Amara was any indication.

And it was. More and more, he found himself at ease with spending the entire night in her company. If he was completely honest with himself, which he utterly failed at, he hadn't minded since the second or third time he had slept over. Sometimes he dared to think he wouldn't have minded that _every_ night. Waking next to such a stunning, beautiful woman...what could he have against that?

That was, of course, rhetoric. He was far from being a normal man. It was sometimes interesting for him to consider possibilities, but enacting them was an entirely different ballgame. Sure, Amara seemed willing enough...or maybe he simply misread her. Either way, it didn't matter. What the two of them did suited them just fine, as far as Zane knew. Probably he should have concerned himself with everything more than he did, as their arrangement was beyond what he had expected. Their affair felt like one long game of Russian Roulette. In time, Zane figured he would lose one way or another.

Had anyone told the ex-mercenary, a few years ago, where he would be now, he would have brayed his arse off - and he _loved _a good laugh. But then he probably would have shot the messenger. Or punched their lights out and then paid their tab for the inconvenience. It had been a year and a half now since he had hooked elbows with his teammates and he struggled to wrap his head around that less and less. Zane supposed that's how it went after so long and spending day in and day out with three vault hunters - not to mention a spaceship of friendly Raiders.

By now, he had done enough reflecting to understand why his current setup was best for him. As an assassin and freelancing mercenary, that setup would have never worked. For as much as he bitched about paperwork, he had done most of his trade as a contract killer and that necessitated solo-practice. In fact, that was why he had been naturally drawn to it in the first place. The youngest Flynt son had never wanted to be accountable for anyone but himself. Had never wanted arseholes stabbing him in the back, either, as he had learned early on that they virtually always did.

As an operative, Zane followed the adage: prepare for the worst, hope for the best. Shite rarely went without flaw. Knowing himself as he did, he was well-aware of how he held the detonator to his own bridges. And he had blown them a time or two. As far as he was concerned, some part of him had poised his thumb above the trigger since the beginning of his and Amara's arrangement. That being unfortunate didn't make it any less true.

Already, their situation had gone on far too long. He intentionally avoided counting the months. As successful as he had been at destroying every decent relationship he had ever had, Zane was equally as proficient at shooting himself in the foot. It was hard not to, given how he was enjoying himself. As time went on, the sex only got better - and what made everything worse was that he had grown accustomed to it. _Expected _it. Far be it for him to voluntarily torture himself by ending it. Beyond that, how Amara handled the aftermath was more important to him. He just needed a promising exit strategy.

It was only a matter of time, he kept telling himself, until Amara realized she deserved more than he could give her. Maybe, for now, all she wanted _was_ a good time. Just because the siren had her heroic shite together didn't mean she wanted whatever Moze offered her. Far be it from him to try to understand them, but it was clear as day that the soldier was tapping her foot and waiting on Amara for something.

In fact, even Zane was doing the same exact thing. By now, he figured that Amara would have gotten tired of his nonsense - or that she would have finally addressed whatever she had going on with Moze...or even Axton. _Anyone_ but him. So he had bided his time and waited.

There was _easily_ such a thing as too much Flynt. As many could attest, his clan was highly toxic and best handled in small doses. As it was, Flynts could hardly stand themselves. For Zane, that explained his frequent drinking. Even the surviving son knew he was a lot to handle. He had to admit, though, that Amara was a smart lass for using him to get off while keeping her romantic options open. He was damn good at what he did. She knew that. It worked for them. He got to keep his skills honed while not subjecting her to the rest of his shite. Lord knows she put up with enough of it as his teammate.

_C'mon, _he sighed at himself. _Actin' like yer doin' Amara a favorite by feckin' 'er has _gotta_ be one of the arseholier things ye've done. Just admit how much ye like it._

_Oy! he protested_, arguing with himself,_ I already did!_

Had he? Sure, whatever. What did it matter? If neither of them was in a rush to jump in the sack with other people, where was the harm in what they did?

_Ohhh, y'know...jus' everywhere, _that inner voice threatened.

As if taunting him, an indication suddenly appeared in his augmented eye, announcing a message from Amara. He didn't hesitate to read it. Not even for a fraction of a second. In effect, his previous thoughts dropped off into nothingness.

[Lunch?]

Simple. Straightforward. Withdrawing his ECHO, Zane scowled at the state of his hands. His thumbs weren't too bad, all things considering. He used them to quickly dictate:

[Ava coming?]

That couldn't backfire, even if it inspired Amara to ask her protege to join them. At least then he would have to behave.

The Partalian was quick to respond. [Nope. Tired her out.]

That got a smile out of him. Sounded like nothing short of successful training. It was far from the first time Amara had thoroughly exhausted the teenager, which was no small feat. The Tiger of Partali was _intense._

He shot back: [Good. Help with our ship?]

And now Zane waited for Amara to call his bluff. She should know as well as he did that Moze and FL4K had taken it out for a spin. Supposedly the gunner had needed replacement parts for Iron Bear that were too large to transport via fast track but should happen to fit in 'Baby Sanctuary'. The operative could see somewhat of a small-scale resemblance.

Even though Zane had shelled out the dough for the spacecraft, he considered its ownership shared. Sometimes their team needed it and so, any one of them had access to it. He preferred to maintain it himself because he was capable and it kept him busy, but Moze pitched in with mechanical work as needed. And with autopilot, a pilot only needed coordinates to send it speeding through space. Sometimes, the ship was good for a spiraling joyride.

The slight delay in Amara's response had him chuckling. She _had _to be wracking her mind or doubting herself. How much did she trust him? Enough to finally send her message:

[See you there.]

Being located at the bar gave Zane the advantage. Situated nearer to the bay, he was sure to beat her there. All he had to do was flounce over to the bar and fill Moxxi's jar before going on his way. He paused only to shoot the seductress dual finger guns as she blew him a shimmying kiss. Only having one eye as he did, sometimes his winking wasn't obvious.

Had Zane been feeling _really _smartarsed, he would have dragged out a set of tools, reclined on a wheeled creeper, and said something with an exerted sigh like "Finally! Got the camo online an' operational!" Then watch Amara eyeball him and maybe reach tentatively for a ship that wasn't there. If only he was that patient. He made a mental note to pull that stunt when he was.

Amara should have suspected something was off just from the fact that he rarely enlisted her as a helper. Indeed, the siren was a woman of many impressive talents and unreal abilities but she was more _de_structive than _con_structive_._

Zane trusted her with damn near everything but _not_ detail-oriented mechanical work. The last thing he wanted was to spend time hammering out the dents she put in metal when frustrated, assuming she didn't punch right through it and into underlying electrical components. Repairs, he could perform on anything, but he preferred to keep exterior welds to a minimum. Though quality patches maintained the integrity of the hull, they messed up the _aesthetic._

In no time at all, the operative was entering the expansive bay and pressing himself flush against the entrance wall. They typically met up in a utility alcove, dark and concealing as it was, but this was better for his purposes. Amara wouldn't be expecting it. Sure, a man couldn't exactly be sane to surprise a siren, but did he ever claim to be? Not in the slightest! So he waited, and he smiled to himself when he heard the familiar sound of her boots.

As expected, Amara walked right past him, her inviting ponytail trailing behind her. Zane watched it slither behind her shoulders as she turned her head to the left, and then right, as she searched for him. He could practically see the thoughtful furrow of her eyebrows through her head, he knew her so well. He allowed her to wander a dozen feet or so ahead of him before he put his stealthy skills to proper use. His steps leading with his heel, the operative silently made his way over to her and arrived as she called quietly out for him.

"Zane?"

Ahh, Amara really had no clue that his hands were hovering over her, did she? By design, she wouldn't until he made his move. That meant time was of the essence!

"Gotcha!" was all that needed to be said. Simultaneously, his body did the rest, his capturing arms seizing Amara by her solid, tight waist. What a brave move it was to leave himself with little opportunity to dodge a fist. Fortunately, for as much as the siren startled, she didn't react with a fist. That might have been a first for her, but then again, she _had_ expected him - just not like that.

Despite her older partner pulling her tightly against him, Amara managed to turn and face him. Pressing insistently to her as he was, Zane had no intention of stopping her. Instead, he invited that intimate closeness, eagerly leaning to kiss her.

A small laugh had left her at his pouncing, but he had barely registered it. Now, he heard that signature purr of hers, velvet and pleased. Felt it as their lips brushed together, the glowing tendrils of her arms and hands rising to his chest. She pressed into him, the muscular whole of her as hot and willing as ever, even as he swept his tongue inside and treated himself to her natural spice.

That was, until she drew back from him, just long enough to playfully growl, "I knew you were full of shit."

"Indeed I am," Zane managed, husking against the grin of her lips. The feel of her amusement caused him to break into his own. It was surprisingly pleasant to stand there with her, smiling and teasing. Made it that much more inviting to keep kissing her.

So he did, eager to drink her in, moaning gently at the sensation of her brushing against him. His right hand rose to cradle the back of her head in that same moment, enjoying the feel of her heavy, rich hair. Even against his thick calluses, it still felt so silken. He marveled at it, even as he craved the rest of her, delighting in the weight of it. Made him forget the bitterness of his joints. All he could feel was her.

The operative's left hand moved of its own accord, cupping the round of her ass. Had he a choice and not been so lust drunk, he might not have gone so quickly for it - but then who was he kidding? Likely he would have. They were past the point of politeness.

Apparently Amara agreed. She all but shoved him into the wall, the intensity of their kiss renewed as his back collided with the metal. The sound was dull, muffled by worn leather, but he had heard louder. Had been thrown against surfaces significantly harder, though always with crueler intent. Fortunately for him, his lover held back and even _then_, her mindful force was still solid.

Being manhandled had Zane moaning into her, his enlivened nerves tingling with excitement. As if he wasn't aroused enough. Kinda made him fantasize her slamming him there by his throat and _that_ got him hot - but what didn't? He thrust into her mouth harder as a result. His hands were brushing beneath the open sides of her vest and squeezing her tits, delighting in the sudden distractedness of her kiss. For as much as he enjoyed his position, he had another arrangement in mind. More importantly, he was feeling feisty enough to fight Amara for it.

Zane chuckled as he felt her resist the press of him, his voice dropping to a groan as her teeth pulled at his lower lip. Had him grabbing her breasts tighter, his thumbs grazing hungrily across the erect press of her nipples. He was actually surprised when the siren relented, releasing her nip to tilt her head back. Had him rewarding her with a series of toothy kisses along her neck while he maneuvered his hands beneath her sports bra, craving to cover them instead with his hands.

And he did, for one long, glorious moment. He kneaded their supple shape before he reluctantly relented, easing his right hand up along her back. His left rose to cradle the base of her head again, even as he pulled away from their hungry kiss and used his body to turn her, only to shove her against the wall where he had been. Arranged just so, he ensured the metal spared her and struck his hands instead, which hadn't been his _best _plan. He bit back a hiss and moved them to her breasts again, cupping and weighing them. Then, with a heady kiss, he forced her harder against the steel.

Zane liked it rough. Liked violence, depending on the partner - and lacked any intention of subjecting Amara to that. To him, it didn't really matter that she could take it or how solidly built she was. Likely his reluctance stemmed from being the protective partner he was. As her lover, he only wanted to pleasure her. And that he did, continuing that hungry kiss, their mouths working together and tongues fluidly wrestling. Amidst it, the feel of his nose grazing against her own. The bristles of his facial hair brushing her skin. The scent of her, warm and jasmine.

Already, Zane was drunk on her. Rubbed himself against her in a way that had them both moaning, his hands pulling her by her arse into that dry humping. He pulled from their kiss to breathe raggedly and mouth at her jaw and her neck. Growled at her, his brogue an octave deeper and rough in her ear.

"Want ya," he practically groaned, aroused by his own admission. "Been drivin' me crazy all day."

Too forward? _Never. _Amara was gripping him by the flaps of his jacket and rolling herself against him. Her moan was void of amusement, filled instead with wanton and impatience.

"Then have me," she urged, not a tone of hesitation in her sonorous voice.

_Those_ were the words men dreamed of hearing. They were far more than the permission he needed, his aching hands immediately unfurling her sash like its knot had never heard existed. They dropped her holsters as easily as if they were his own. Unbuttoned her pants and peeled that snug denim down her shapely buttocks and powerful thighs, noting the way her purple panties clung damply to her slit.

The sound that escaped the operative was downright guttural. It caused Amara's teeth to flash brightly - or was it at the way he so excitedly dropped to his knees? Once there, he immediately unstrapped her boots, practically yanking them from her feet so he could divest her of her pants and pocket her panties, causing her to make a noise of incredulity. Man he was, he needed them more than she did. She only wore those damn things for him, didn't she? He liked to think so.

Zane only laughed, darkly, and rose up to hush himself with another sweltering, impassioned kiss. Despite Amara scoffing into his mouth, she rose to the occasion, sucking his tongue and returning it as hot and wet as he gave it.

He could have had her right then and there. Could have thrown her up against the wall or hoisted her up against him and pounded her freestanding, as he had done before. She would be willing, he was sure of it, but even then, after having made matters so undeniably sexual, he wanted to prove he considered her.

"How d'ya want it?" he managed, sounding a tad choked. Just asking her made him dizzy with lust.

Amara said nothing, instead opting for a wry lift of her purple-stained lips. To answer, she turned her back to him and braced her hands against the wall with that familiar click of her beaded bracelets.

Instantly, Zane was fixated and thrumming with need. He felt the suggestive arch of her spine like a pleasant punch to the gut. In fact, he was so turned on, he almost didn't know what to do with it. However, his body did, even if his brain was intent on short-circuiting from mad attraction. Specifically, his cock was confident as hell, and it strained so painfully against his pants that he grunted and rapidly released his buckle. It took him a single moment to effectively capture his zipper and release it with a rasp, and virtually no time at all for his member to spring out. According to it, it had never been more ready in its _life._

Of course, his langer usually insisted on that, but hard as a diamond as he was, with precome oozing from his tip, it was pretty convincing.

Still, Zane grunted, "Yer kiddin'."

It felt like he couldn't breathe. Was it the sight of her arse that did it to him? Definitely her arse. Always her arse. She had _all _the arse. All of him loved all her arse. He was such an arse man and arses like her's were exactly why.

What was he saying again?

_Right_ \- wait, he had planned for this a while back. He had stored a footlocker there for that exact purpose. Where was it? It was the only thing that could tear the operative's eyes away from his alluring partner, searching right and left and finally turning to scrutinize the wall behind him. To his dismay, the valued item was nowhere to be found.

"Who the hell moved me toolbox?" he growled, looking this way and that for it. Even his implant couldn't detect it, which meant it wasn't there. "Damn wankers!"

Amara snorted behind him, contrasting his frustrated sense of urgency. She found it easy enough to redirect her partner by reaching and curling her fingers around him. Not only did she succeed at seizing his attention, but the brush of her thumb along his glans caused him to shudder in tangible lust.

"Come on, handsome," she hummed, her violet eyes twinkling. "You're not getting any younger."

If she knew how true he _felt_ that nowadays, Zane doubted she would have teased. With her, it was always a compliment. She didn't toy with just anyone…_especially_ not as she was with his cock, beads of excitement dripping with each pass of her pumping fist.

As far as he was concerned, he was her fecking plaything and he _loved _it. He wanted to get on with the show and couldn't seem to help himself. Still, Amara couldn't have forgotten how that position had been a little complicated in the past. Granted, it had been some time since they had attempted it. Then again, women's bodies were fickle things. They often changed day to day. That was simply the nature of the beast.

Some days, Amara wanted it hard and deep. Others, he had to wield his equipment more carefully and watch his angle. Still, his partner knew her own body, usually, so who was he to argue with what she wanted? Wasn't like they couldn't change positions. The way Amara was gazing at him, her sex plump and damp and posture so lewdly willing...Lord have mercy. He would have to be a madder madman than he already was to deny her. And he would have to be functioning with significantly more blood in his head to truly consider.

The way she wiggled her hips at him suggested that she damn well meant what she wanted. That was a damn thing too because in giving him that show, she was gonna get it regardless. Zane all but groaned and bruised one of her hips with the aggressive grip of his hand. _Mmm,_ how he wanted to hold her by all those sinful curves he could die for. If he had her ethereal extensions, he damn well would have. It was probably best that Amara did instead, given how she could better control herself.

He, on the other hand, barely had the mind to strategize. More than anything, experience dictated his actions. Reaching with his left hand, he eased it beneath Amara's leg and lifted it on his arm. He used that same hand to grab his member and give himself a series of yearning strokes. Enough to smear his precome along his shaft and a few more to satisfy the urge he'd had for _hours_ to touch himself. Wasn't like he could ever get harder than he was with Amara soaked and ready as she was.

The fact that their arrangement had her standing on her tiptoes drove him wild in its own unexplainable - and likely inexcusably intense - way. He found the sight of her flexing calf extremely erotic. The way knee fit into the crook of his elbow was comfortable. Feck, holding her that way spread her so nicely for his taking, and she sure as hell wasn't protesting.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" he rasped, attempting a soft laugh. Instead, it sounded desperate. His voice was hoarse in that ruddy way and she was offering herself to him so eagerly, he begged for self-restraint.

Grasping his erection, Zane pressed himself against her. Worked his blunt tip against her slippery entrance until she pushed back onto him. She was, as always, soaked and hot and willing, and still, he entered her in stages. Drew back before working himself deeper, continuously gripping his shaft by the base until it separated them by those final inches.

Intently, he listened to his partner's body. Felt Amara hold her breath, anticipating discomfort as she had experienced in the past...until she released it in an ardent moan. Adjusting herself, she reached between them and nodded in permission, easing his hand away. Still, he took his time sinking into her, pacing himself until her body had swallowed him whole. Against the flushed shell of her ear, he growled his approval.

Turning her profile to him, Amara smiled sensually. Reached her hand up to stroke through the fringe of his sideburn and brushed her lips along his cheek, teasing her breath through his mustache. That was more than enough to have him catching the corner of her lower lip between sexually feral teeth. Then, with passion, he leaned closer to kiss her, feeling her return the gesture with equal dedication.

Only when their mouths eased apart did Zane push further - so deep, her hand reflexively clutched at his hip, curling desperately. She needed that nail-biting purchase, even as he rolled his hips and somehow sunk even deeper, the leather press of his pants and the cool metal of his belt buckle vivid in her senses, even as the hard heat of his cock consumed her.

Grunting gently, Zane pulled back before driving in again, the intense sensation of his penetration making Amara gasp. So aching, so full, even pushed to her limit as she was, she still pressed back against him. One hand remaining fixed on his hip, her other rose to his hair, diving into that dense silver even as he drew back and plunged deep again, forcing another sharp breath from her.

So lost in it already, the siren could only clench around him and bask in the way her body accepted him when before, in that position, she couldn't take him. It could have been the time in her cycle that allowed for it. Could have been all the times he had taken her, her body having adjusted to him. She knew that to be true, her cunt greedier than ever for him, and sensing this, Zane hilted sharply again. Pistoned his every thick inch so that he struck her womb, her body pliant and submissive for him.

It wasn't long until he was repeatedly ramming himself into her, filling her fiercely, his breath ragged with sensation against the humid side of her neck. His hands were equally greedy for her, one firmly steadying her hip as his other captured her concealed breasts and grasped so tightly, the material of her sports bra strained within the harsh grasp of his fingers.

"Missed this," he rasped to her, voice laden with lurid exertion. "Tell me you missed it too."

_Oh, _how her walls tightened greedily before she answered him. Was enough to have him bracing his damp forehead against her shoulder, breathing through a moan.

"Yes, god yes," Amara whimpered, biting her lip. She knew that if she didn't, those words would continue spilling from her. Knew her volume would escalate, same as the intense pleasure welling in her, if she didn't stifle herself.

And that was part of the allure, wasn't it - having Zane fuck her, so exposed and forbidden? Still, she wondered how it was that others didn't hear them - the sound of their hips sharply colliding, the audible slick of him working in and out of her tirelessly, the slap of his balls against her as he hammered her, stretched her, filled her over and over again. The sound of _force_, shameless and sexual, the wall beneath her hands unyielding against the hard movements riding through her body, her hips fighting to brace against the barrage of his deep, hungry thrusts.

It wasn't to say they didn't savor and make the most of their private fucking but _this _took them back to the beginning. The spontaneity of it, combined with the risk of being caught - _that_ was invigorating. And for as much as Zane enjoyed feeling his partner with nothing between them, the brush of clothing was erotically stimulating. It felt so illicit, so rushed, so forbidden, that his head swam with it.

Their sex was desperate, heated, sweaty. Amara savored the feel of Zane's loose shirt as it shifted and clung to the damp small of her back. She groaned deeply at the slap of leather and metal against her ass. At the vibrant pleasure of his velvet cock heavy against her slippery walls and the angle he pounded her with. Even the coarseness of his fingers, as he forcefully drew her into each desperate thrust, sent her fast and hard over the edge. She could only _feel_ as her face contorted in a silent scream.

At the onset of her cunt rippling and squeezing him, Zane groaned his encouragement into the back of her hair. Felt her ponytail brush against his cheek and silently damned it, preferring its natural flow. Even then, that dark fall of her aromatic hair was perfect to him. How could he not love the blue glow of it against the luminescent lining of his jacket? Together, the two were his colors.

His chuckle was downright sexual as he rode through her contractions, savoring the bright swell of bliss that tempted him. The renewed wetness easing his thrusts elevated every sensation, leaving him awash in them. It would have been so easy to accept that promise of orgasm and fill Amara with every drop he had, but more than that, he wanted to make her come again. Knew that if he did, his finish would be that much better.

Their fecking couldn't last much longer, though. Everything felt too intense, too exhilarating, too wanted. Just the physical force of their intercourse had Amara moaning in that eager way. She was meeting him on the downstroke, furthering the blissful collision of their bodies, the muscles in her thighs jumping and her pussy ablaze.

For Zane, easing one hand between her spread legs felt like he was playing with fire. He found her clit straining and scalding to the touch, the slightest contact causing the siren to keen within her chest and her to cunt squeeze him. _Perfect. _It took no effort at all to ensure his touch was dripping in her juices before he began stroking her. Parting his index and middle finger alongside that precious bundle of nerves, he stroked back and forth toward her slit. Only when she pleaded did he swirl his strokes over that most sensitive place.

As a siren, Amara was a force to be reckoned with. Her body nearly crackled with electricity as she responded to his touch, the pleasure she experienced pouring energy through her bioluminescence. The breathtaking cursive in her skin came to life again, brighter than before, and the sure static of that ethereal glow raised even the hair beneath his clothes.

Filled Zane with glee was what it did. He grinned lasciviously from it before the pleasure of her reaching another high threatened to overtake him. His moan was guttural as he felt her body judder in the throes of climax. He could all but feel for himself the coil of prurient tension tightening inside her. More and more, the pressure grew until Amara saw no other choice - she sank her teeth into the mottled tattoo of her forearm, crying out as the tension snapped and broke her.

_Bliss, _pure and blinding and so deliciously pulsing. Throughout Amara's body, everything turned to light. By the end of it, she could only bow her back and gasp harshly, breathlessly, as it overwhelmed her senses and sent slickness pouring around Zane's plunging hardness. They both expected him to go and yet he didn't, needing something more to take him over the edge. Amara felt she couldn't take it, her thighs trembling as though threatening to collapse.

He didn't let her, instead holding onto her as he withdrew only long enough to turn her. Solidly grasping her legs, he hoisted her up with an eager grunt and shifted her knees into the crook of his elbows. With an experienced maneuver, he was thrusting up inside her again, pushing until he brushed her cervix and groaned at that satisfying resistance. Amara's needy moan spurred him to resume pounding her in earnest again, the new angle causing their mouths to fall open in tandem, desperate noises escaping them.

Christ, how could he not lean back and watch his cock thrust into her? The way he supported her weight, her gorgeous legs spread over his forearms, exposed that sexually filthy, amazing sight. Her cunt was so pink and the way it simultaneously stretched and drew him in did impossibly heavenly things to a man. The view of his veined shaft soaked with her juices, more smearing down his length with each enjoyable pass_ \- god_, words couldn't describe it. Aroused as Zane was, he was convinced that if he saw nothing else for the rest of his life, _this_ was what he wanted burned into his eye. It was nearly impossible to tear his gaze away, even as he edged dangerously close to that familiar point of no return.

Feck the vaults, _this_ was what Zane wanted - as if he could deny the lurid pressure building in his balls or the way his gut pooled with salacious heat. He wasn't ready to come yet but his body undeniably was.

Only his willpower prevented him from grinding into that sweet pussy and unloading every spurt he had deep inside. Craving that as much as he did, even he didn't know how he managed. He knew better than to give himself _that_ much credit.

Instead of further risking it, Zane bid that shameless sight farewell in favor of thrusting his tongue between Amara's lips, seduced by their plumpness and the way she drank him in. Sharing that dual connection - penetrating her between her legs and slanting their mouths together - was fully and utterly consuming. He could only continue pulling out and sinking back in, subjecting them both to those blissful sensations. At the same time, his hands more tightly embraced Amara's thighs and appreciated her womanly curves.

Clearly he wanted _every_ piece of her. Always did, and sexually, he was shamelessly on board with that - and with finishing very, _very _soon. The intense pleasure that rushed through him at the sight of her face made him think he was, his heart fluttering from it. Her gorgeous expression was so flushed, her lips heavy and kiss-swollen, her eyes hazed and lidded. And still, despite how lost as she seemed to bliss, her gaze found his and held tight over their clothed, colliding bodies.

Now _that_ was just what he wanted - to admire Amara's flushed visage and watch her reaction to his every movement. Knew, from the way her mesmerizing violet drank him in, she felt the same. He had recognized it before, and did again, how the air positively galvanized around them. The connection they shared was reckless, intimate, and so intoxicating, he couldn't help but get his fill of it. Even as his lips hovered just shy of hers, he drank in her air and returned her impassioned, captivating gaze.

Feck, their sex was everything Zane wanted. It was _fire_, same as her markings when they burned like a sun. Even the wetness that clung to his cock felt mind-numbingly right. With each thrust, that molten, tangible pleasure thrummed through him. Stole his breath was what it did, forcing it from his chest with each heady, panting exhale. They punctuated the mounting slap of his hips, drowned out by Amara's expression of ecstasy as she came again.

Zane's head fell back from all of it, his neck adopting the same tension building within him. His eye squeezed tightly as salty tracks trickled down his temples, soaking into his sideburns. That venereal conundrum overwhelmed him - he wanted to come _now. _He wanted to last forever. He just wanted to _feel_ her. And he did, his every sense overtaken by her. Of all the pussy he had fucked, _none _felt as amazing as hers. No other woman was as intense. He had never been more certain that the marks branding Amara's skin burned throughout her - so deeply that they bled into _him_, bonding them with bliss.

_This, _this was what men waged wars for. What they destroyed whole civilizations or entire _planets _to have. Sex was a powerful force to be reckoned with. Men did reckless things to have it, to hold it, to keep it. All of Sanctuary could have been under siege and still, Zane swore he would only see Amara, her expression a mix of sweat and bliss, her mouth tasting his name.

Watching her face as he came was nothing new. Even then, as that sordid sensation overcame him and that carnal tension broke, the anticipation on her visage brought him ecstasy. Words might have spilled from him, yet all he heard was the satisfied elation of her voice as he pulsed inside her, filling her in a series of pronounced, fervid pulses. The force of his ejaculation was enough to have white encroaching the edges of his vision, a wonderful sense of relief inundating him.

Suddenly, he was deeply kissing her again. He was using that delicious melding of mouths to draw out the pleasure running wonderfully through his veins. The way their lips touched added a sweeter tingle to the deep warmth permeating him, his partner pulling him closer as she moaned from it. Her arms felt so right around his neck. If he could keep them there together, and stay inside her forever, he probably would have.

Ahh, such a damn amazing orgasm did that to a man. Had Zane chuckling even before their kiss ended, feeling positively high on all those beautiful endorphins. Being so full of them surely did nothing to discourage his addiction to them, but could he really convince himself to care? Not when he was still balls deep in his lover. Where was the harm in indulging in it with such a receptive, perfect partner anyway?

He might think about that later - well after he recovered from the experience. For now, he was nuzzling Amara's neck and her chin, feeling overwhelmed by fondness. He was settling his face between the juncture of her throat and shoulder, settling heavily against her, knowing she could endure until he could find his senses again. When he finally did, probably the last thing he should have done was talk.

"Damn, 'Mara. The things ye do to me," he breathed huskily, and couldn't even manage the hint of panic such an admission _should _have caused him. What hint of it there was easily bled into the lingering comfort of orgasmic endorphins.

That was safe to say, right? He meant her making him horny, of course - and felt like saying so but _that _caught in his throat. From the amused smile on her features, Amara must have known, otherwise why else would she lean in for a perfectly pleasant, easy kiss?

Sharing that, with her, made it easy for Zane to forget his not-flub. The operative could only recognize that christ, he loved kissing her. He didn't feel much too afraid to acknowledge that for what it was. The usage of _that_ word was acceptable simply because no other words adequately described his enjoyment of it, and it only occupied his vocabulary under _opinionated _context.

His fondness for kissing her had him, as she eased back, leaning in to encourage her to continue. Humming gently into her mouth, he proved he wasn't finished. Amara had very, _very _kissable lips, after all. _Perfect, _really. By the way her fingers caressed one of his cheeks, it didn't seem she minded his insistence any. Her willingness had him grinding his softening member into her, unable to resist that primal temptation.

Eventually, all things had to come to an end. That didn't mean Zane couldn't continue to enjoy himself. He knew he had to act quickly in order to seize what he wanted and felt so enticed to do. He withdrew from the siren and spared only the necessary moments to balance her on her feet before eagerly settling to his knees.

His hands on Amara's hips, he turned her to face the wall and arranged himself behind her. That was the prime position to grant himself access to _everywhere_. Tipping her arse toward him gave him the sweetest view of her freshly fecked slit and the fluids clinging to the insides of her thighs.

Zane never tired of seeing his seed ooze from her, thick and white. Just the sight of it had a moan and growl intermingling on his breath. Spreading her with his thumbs, he raptly watched that spectacle until his semen threatened to spill - and caught it in his mouth, aligning his lips with hers, tongue poised to taste.

Stretchy and bitter, semen didn't have the most appealing texture or flavor. That really wasn't why people ate it, though- the mental factor was the motivator. Some were better than others, Zane knew. His own was kinda mineral, but it was a taste he had acquired. Licking it from Amara made it so much better, her flavor adding her signature sweetness. After he was finished, she would be all over _him_, his beard and mustache already damp with juices...just how he liked it.

At the first taste of himself from her snatch, he moaned in his chest. Allowed his tongue to catch the thick spill of it and smear it in a stroking pass along her pussy lips. He used it to softly swirl around her clit, her body shuddering as a soft gasp left her, causing him to smile against her sensitive skin. He only stopped to catch another stretching drip, extending his tasting touch to lap it up. He had a mission, after all, and he was glad to do it.

There was no way he couldn't play there, gifted with such an inviting opportunity. With relish, he did, lapping at her opening and skillfully teasing around it. Feeling Amara shiver made him growl, the operative thoroughly pleased with how willingly she leaned into his shameless caresses. He responded by delving deeper, nuzzling in until his nose brushed her little pucker and his mustache tickled her sensitive skin. Compared to the first time he had eaten himself out of her, Amara had warmed up considerably.

And damn well she should. The more comfortable she was sexually, the more arousing Zane found it. _He_ clearly had no reservations about performing the act and always ate her out with enthusiasm. There was little he wouldn't do to please either himself or his lover and he was more than willing to prove it.

Doing just that, he licked the siren to another whimpering finish before he pressed a moist kiss to her quivering sex. Eased his tongue up inside, as deep as he could reach, he curled it along her walls to capture what he could of his semen.

Amara relaxed as he eased back from her and stood up behind her, hugging her close. Likely he should have drawn her clothes up with him. Instead, he leaned to kiss her and cover the whole of her in one hand, cupping and holding her. The contact of his possessive hand had her instinctively arching against him, pressing her sex into his palm. Her receptiveness had him chuckling, thick and filthy, before he knelt again and teased her firm cheeks with nuzzling kisses. He continued to lavish her smooth skin with affectionate attention until he eased her jeans up her muscular legs.

Her panties, of course, still burned in his pocket. Thinking of them made Zane wonder if she would mind him getting her something sexier. It wasn't that he didn't find her practical undergarments attractive because he did. In fact, he jacked off with them enough to prove it - but seeing her in frilly lingerie? Lord have mercy. The day she surprised him with slutty panties or a thong was the day his cock would pop a blood vessel.

Brave man he was, that was a risk the operative was willing to take. If anything, it was probably safer that he provide her that sensual attire so he knew what to expect - and didn't jizz his pants.

Amara could damn well wear anything and he would find her irresistibly sexy - especially nothing at all. Still, she might be put-off by the kind of unmentionables he would buy her. Maybe he would start with something more modest like a babydoll nightgown. Purple, of course. Sweet heavens, just imagining her wearing one was dangerous. By sure willpower alone, he might knock her up. He would sure try his damndest!

Miracles aside, it was likely for the best that he didn't go that far. He didn't want Amara taking it the wrong way or have her feel like some sort of mannequin he masturbated with. Or like she needed anything to, ah, _accentuate _her attractiveness. Probably he was being overly cautious, which gave him pause. Ordinarily, he had no qualms about waltzing up to a woman, thrusting a gift at her, and informing her that he would be waiting for her on the bed.

Zane found himself entertaining that particular scenario as he rearranged his parts in his underwear and went about tucking his shirt in. He didn't dare split his attention between _any_ fantasy and ensuring his package was in the proper place before raising his zipper. His belt and holsters were due to follow, and Amara's touch helped with that. She used the opportunity to press her mouth to his again and accepted the confident glide of his tongue.

In his head, everything was good and fun. In reality, Amara wasn't exactly the kind of woman he typically worked his charm on. And she was a siren...so she _definitely_ wasn't the same. She certainly had more identity and a stronger need for dominance than what he was accustomed to. Zane had no problem with that whatsoever. In fact, he found it exhilarating to be at the mercy of her and her many hands. He would just prefer not to be strangled by them.

...Okay, so he would be into that too, along with her choking him with her gorgeous thighs, but he didn't figure she would be. Phew, they had a lot of communicating to do if they were ever going to determine what was fair game versus foul play. He figured they could tackle that when they got to it - or just tackle each other instead. He wasn't a picky man.

Chances were, he was sweating too much. What harm would there be spicing things up a wee bit? It didn't mean he had to take it far. If Amara got all in a huff over him getting her something pretty - well, she could spank him. He would also accept other forms of punishment. He supposed he could play it off as him replacing the panties he had borrowed from her. He _did_ try to remember to return them, but he was pretty bad at it - and not just because he wanted to think of her having nothing on. However, if he pulled _that_ stunt, she could accuse him of not paying attention to her personal style. He very _much _paid attention to it, and he had no reason in hell to complain.

And how could he? He was there, with Amara, after all. He was fifty-three. He was kissing a sexy younger woman. A _siren. _One he had crazy chemistry with. If _that _wasn't a sign that Lady Luck loved him, Zane didn't know what was...and had not a single clue what he'd ever done to deserve it. Old bastard he truly was, he really, _really_ didn't belong there with a woman as perfect as her.

_Woah, there._

That, now - _that _was the closest he'd come to having an internal conflict in damn near forever_. _It_ really_ wasn't like him to feel...like he wasn't good enough. Even though he had done a lot of morally questionable - or outright immoral_ \- _shite in his day, he couldn't regret anything he had done. After all, everything had led him to her.

Zane didn't have to feel any particular way about himself to _know _what he was, and he couldn't swallow the swell of protectiveness he felt for Amara as a result. How silly was it to think a _siren _needed that? What in the feck was wrong with him anyway? One minute, he felt elated. Literally the next, he felt like the biggest piece of shite in the galaxy. He experienced both just from looking Amara in the eye. To add to his confusion, the protectiveness he felt for her wasn't entirely unlike what he felt for Ava. It was a complex thing, yet one as natural as any instinct.

At the same time, that sense of wanting to shield Amara wasn't sobering enough. It was one thing to _know_ better, but that didn't mean he had to stop wanting her as he did. He was often terrible with having a conscience. Him curling his fingers in his partner's hair and drawing her into another slow, melding kiss, proved it. His chest almost ached with how willing she was, her long-lashed eyes easing shut.

At the sight, Zane had the insurmountable urge to sweep her into his arms and take her somewhere luxurious and warm. To lay her out on the softest sheets and most welcoming bed in the galaxy. He wanted to ease his hands along every inch of her and provide her with all the sweetest, softest touches. Wanted to massage her feet. Kiss her ankles. Paint her toenails. Rub her arches until she melted into a smooth puddle of pleasure. He absolutely preferred that to feeling so sexually ravenous - or like he didn't deserve her.

Of course, there was never a time where he wouldn't have done those things for Amara. He was just that kind of man. He_ loved _pampering a beautiful woman. Hell, he would have given both Amara and Moze a nice little spa treatment shortly after meeting them. Did that make him odd? Maybe - but not half as strange as he was currently feeling.

It wasn't beyond his nature to decide, seemingly out of nowhere, that he would send his teammates to a spa somewhere. Ava, too. That seemed a bit less obvious than him tending to them personally - and less like he was fecking one of them. Hell, he would join them, Zane decided. Even he could use a mani-pedi. His cuticles were kinda going to shite. He would let the gals decide what colors to paint his toenails. He could appreciate his feminine side sometimes. Maybe he would get his spider emblem and triangles painted on them. Totally on brand!

Amara's curiosity pulled Zane away from that thought. She asked, her brows curiously raised at him, "What's that smile for?"

His grin was _also_ on brand. Still brandishing it, the operative gave her a quick peck on the lips and then added a wink. "Plannin' a lil' fun fer us. Ye think FL4K would like their nails painted?"

Ahhh, there it was. That look she gave him was one of his favorites.

…

Later, as the two of them sat to lunch, Zane caught Amara paying particular attention to him. He doubted her renewed interest had anything to do with sex, given that they had so recently had it - not that he wouldn't be up for seconds.

At first, he suspected she was going to get on his case about his deep-fried meal choices and the rate at which he had inhaled his cheeseburger _yet again. _He actually _waited _for her to nag him.

But she didn't. She continued eating her whatever-it-was-in-wrap-form and smirked at him as though waiting to call a bluff. He had been too busy sneakily paying for her meal to hear what she had ordered. How had she thanked him? By punching his arm and likely bruising him in the process. Even wincing, he had laughed.

Now, stuck in suspense and waiting for the siren to say what she was thinking, Zane wasn't so amused. After a few minutes of mounting paranoia, his resistance snapped.

"What is it, gorgeous?"

Amara waited to swallow before setting down her food. Then, in a manner that concerned him despite how casual she appeared, she rested her chin atop one curled hand. The question she asked was one he definitely didn't expect.

"Did Rhys ask you out on a date?"

The puzzled look the operative gave her was almost comical, but it only took a second for her reference to dawn on him. As soon as it did, his chest shook with laughter.

"Ye saw that message, I take it?" he ventured, stating the obvious because Amara had no other reason to ask. At her nod, he shrugged honestly. "I dunno, does goin' out for fro-yo constitute as a hook-up? Ain't the move _I'd_ use, personally, but I guess he did mention drinks - so maybe!"

She blinked those same eyes he had so recently, and intimately, stared into. After a moment, she sighed incredulously. "I said _date_, Zane. That and a hookup are two different things," she said flatly.

"That so?" hummed the older man, chuckling lowly. He didn't claim to know how kids - and Atlas CEOs - dated nowadays. "News to me!"

Amara continued to stare at him until that smirk of his waned and he rolled his eye heavily.

"It's not like that," he groused, feeling like he didn't deserve to explain himself. "What'd I tell ye? I'm keepin' it in me pants _and if I wasn't - _and I said _if_ \- Rhys wouldn't be the one to get it."

Amara frowned for the CEO's sake, teasing Zane with it. "Poor Rhys. He's going to be so crushed. You said you liked his mustache, after all, and yet you wouldn't sleep with him."

Zane chuckled, reaching to stroke his beard in thought. Didn't take much of it is to reach his decision - not that he truly considered it. "I mean, if someone put a gun to me langer an' told me to feck 'im or me cock gets it, I'd hit it hard. Honestly? He's, ah…"

The operative suddenly looked like he didn't want to be honest after all, piquing her intrigue. Amara pressed on, staring expectantly at him. "He's what?"

"Gonna get shite fer this," muttered Zane beneath his breath before chuckling despite himself. Then he relented, smirking crookedly. "I kinda prefer younger bottoms."

Yeah, they were thinking the same thing, joining in a mutual snicker.

"_I see,"_ she snickered, able to relate. Then she smiled wryly at him, unable to resist a jab that was equally relevant and true. "He _is_ younger than you."

Expecting that very thing, Zane feigned shock. Pressing a dramatic hand to his chest, he gasped, "Say it ain't so!"

Amara attempted another angle, quirking her scarred brow at him. "So he'd top you?"

At that, Zane about laughed them deaf. His instant outburst answered _that_, and still he eventually managed a squeaking, "_Nooo_."

One would think she would be accustomed to his raucous laughter by now, she had heard it so often. Clearly not.

Despite how she snorted, Amara appeared surprised. Fumbling personality aside, she found Rhys decently attractive. "So he's not your type?"

Furrowing his jaunty brows, Zane shrugged and thumbed his chin as though recalling his appearance. "Lad's good lookin' enough, I s'pose. Dresses like shite though. An' I gotta admit, prefer 'im without the siege stache. But _nah_, I don't have the urge to Strong_fork_ 'im."

She let out a short laugh, shaking her head at him. Damn _right_ she appreciated his clever humor.

Waggling his eyebrows at her, Zane grinned. He expected that to be the last of it but then was promptly reminded how he should have known better. That siren of theirs was persistent.

"So, what do you two have to talk about?" asked Amara curiously, still smiling and all ears.

Figuring he had nothing to hide, Zane didn't hesitate to expose his truth. It wasn't like he had really been hiding it anyway. He didn't consider his spiel with Rhys as personal so much as unentertaining and hardly worth sharing.

"Business ventures," he said with a grand flair of his hands, chortling softly, and then added, in true Zane fashion: "Or some shite. Since helpin' Atlas, he's been on me arse a tad 'bout doin' some R&D for 'im."

His Partalian tablemate frowned - quite possibly in thought. Knowing her as he did, Zane detected a hint of concern.

"And...you're interested?"

"Eh," responded the operative nonchalantly, tilting his head in a way that said _neither this nor that. _"He's willin' ta pay. Can't say I've decided, honestly. I don't _need_ his money, an' I got me own projects on-goin'. Kinda enjoyin' the flexibility I have now...that my back doesn't," he added with a pout.

Amara smiled at him softly, trying to hide her relief. She went back to her meal, appearing placated and that much more contented while chewing at a wrap that appeared full of something green and disturbingly healthy.

She was a worrier, that one, for as much as the infamous Tiger of Partali tried to hide it beneath brawn and bravado. Zane could only reach for her hand and give it an affable pat, reassuring her like the sweet friend he was.

For them, everything was business as usual. They were simply two vault hunting teammates who hadn't fecked in the vessel bay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My self-confidence as an author has been particularly inconsistent recently, so any feedback would be greatly appreciated (but not attacks, thanks. Already had some drama with that). 
> 
> Good, bad, whatever, I'd like to know how I can improve. I've put a lot of time and love into this fic and would truly appreciate knowing that I'm not yelling out into the void.


	13. Siren Abstention [Clearing Camps, Christening Cars, and Conversations on Cithea]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Between migraines and insomnia, I've been pretty dead. Even then, delayed updates suckkkk. Fair warning, though: this one is long. Grab a snack and a drink. There are a couple breaks.
> 
> I did post another fic, 'Eighty-Sixed'. It's NSFW Timothy/Zane. I'm considering it a pre-Ultraviolet. I have ways.
> 
> Some notes. Why not?  
-Is Zane's white shirt sleeveless? I'd say so, based on his concept art.  
-Given Baron's hair color, I tend to think of Zane as having been brunette and going gray rather early. That Bloody Harvest coloration stuck with me. Love dem grouchy eyebrows.  
-I'm tossing around the idea of roleplaying Zane on Tumblr. It could be fun!

Reconnaissance, as Amara was already convinced, was boring as hell. She never pretended to enjoy it, even if she knew it was sometimes necessary. She supposed, given the circumstances, that it currently was. Still, she wished she had either Moze or FL4K waiting alongside her. At least then, they could entertain each other. Zane, despite his usually talkative self, was being unnervingly quiet.

Initially, their plan to divide their team had seemed good enough at the time. Working as two separate units would theoretically allow them to clear out the two bandit camps at war with each other half the time. Not only would simultaneously engaging both factions keep them from uniting over a single enemy, but it would allow the vault hunters to return to Sanctuary.

Their vessel had been underway when BALEX had detected a transmission from locals desperate for outside intervention. Responding from pure curiosity, Ava had reached out to her, describing the locals as "needing help and waving a whole lotta money."

Ordinarily, the Crimson Raiders would let the warring factions settle their differences among themselves. Unfortunately, their battles had reached such severity that they were effectively endangering everyone in the region. According to the elders pleading for assistance, crops and water supplies were being poisoned. Among other tragedies, civilian transports were being misidentified and wrongfully targeted. It was the kind of senseless violence that got under Amara's siren skin and had her eagerly summoning her powers to defend the innocent.

Amara was glad Ava had a soft heart. Had she not, chances were the Crimson Raiders wouldn't have gotten involved. Had her protege not involved her, the consequences could have proven fatal for undeserving people. She had quickly ceased her meditation and rushed to the bridge to listen in. Naturally, her fellow vault hunters followed.

FL4K, as always, had their 'survival of the fittest' mindset. Moze had unnecessarily reminded her that they weren't responsible for people who couldn't handle their own problems. "We aren't space police," the gunner disputed.

Even Zane had branched off from that, giving a dismissive shrug while speaking his Pandoran stance. "If their own people are turnin' 'em inside out, it's only a matter o' time 'til someone else wipes 'em out."

Amara had shaken her head at all of them, disappointed in their negative standpoints. To their credit, they were always willing to back her and take advantage of any opportunity to get off the ship. Despite their arguments against the job, her teammates had accepted it without further protest. She hadn't even needed to inform them that she would have handled it regardless. As far as the siren was concerned, she was a tiger beyond Partali.

It had taken virtually no preparation for them to board their ship and set out for Cithea, leaving Sanctuary looming in orbit. Simplistic as the settlers were, they lacked fast track technology. Had it not been for Zane's proactive planning, drops pods would have been their only other option. Needless to say, their skeletons were grateful to be spared.

After landing, the four vault hunters found themselves in an area of dry, rolling grasslands. In the distance loomed impressive mountain ranges, their faces jagged and perilous. Even then, plantlife rooted there, leeching minerals from the geological formations.

Across that distance, Amara watch clouds collecting among the peaks. Even to her uneducated eye, she could read the story provided by the landscape. She imagined weather patterns must accumulate moisture across the range and then break over its formations, bathing them in rain. After the foliage drank its fill, there was little remaining to support life beyond.

Still, the expansive settlement there proved that humans could co-exist with that divided environment. Their ship had touched down a safe and considerate distance beyond its footprint. Using their vessel's onboard Catch-A-Ride station, they digi-structed two vehicles and sped toward their destination.

A young man named Malik had met them at the main entrance...and promptly favored Amara with unmistakable interest. Since rising to fame, she had seen similar hearts in her fans' eyes. Still, the questions he generously asked her suggested he knew nothing about Partali _or_ sirens.

Amara really wasn't accustomed to anyone being so enamored with her without those associations. Sure, it was obvious he found her physically attractive. He all but tripped over his own feet to walk side-by-side with her and focus on showing his best angles. In the short time it had taken them to near the city center, Malik had told her everything about his family and how hard of a worker he was.

Before he had proceeded further, Zane had cheekily intervened and startled the poor man in the process.

"C'mon, lad, give the lass some space!" the operative had said, not so much muscling between them as slithering himself there with the grace of a housecat. "Ye ain't gonna impress her by _droolin_' all o'er her, ye manky git. Now go on an' learn some manners!"

Needless to say, Malik had stuttered something and high-tailed it. As a result, Zane had brayed and bent at the waist - and nearly toppled when the siren gave his posterior a playful kick.

"Behave," was all she said.

Moze had snickered while locking arms with her. "Old man's jealous that you're getting all the attention."

Having corrected himself, Zane had promptly caught up to her other side and pouted. "They don't even know who she is an' she's gettin' groupies!"

Honestly, Amara could think of far worse things to have happened. Considering what was befalling the settlement, she was focused only on saving their people.

For the population there, irrigating water from the mountains was the key to their survival. Citheans used it to sustain fields of crops located at their basin. According to the elders, it was a practice they had developed and perfected over hundreds of years. Given the minimal materialism and natural balance of their society, Amara had experienced an immediate fondness for them. After so long, most human settlements expanded through development and still, their people remained modest.

It was sad, truly, to hear the story behind the discourse taking place. Citheans prided themselves in being a peaceful community whose success depended on cooperation. Unfortunately, a number of their own people were to blame for the situation endangering their sustainability

The situation, to Amara, always sounded the same. Someone turned selfish and began demanding more than their fair share, upsetting the community's careful balance. It was that disagreement over resources that had caused one group to split off on their own. Then _that_ encampment had experienced similar dissent and divided again. Unwilling to take responsibility for their own shortcomings, the two had begun to accuse the other of its problems.

Now, with both struggling encampments equally exhausted of their resources, they were becoming more threatening in making demands from the original settlement. All attempts to establish trade has failed when interacting with one inevitably enraged the other. Disputes were becoming violent. Entire crops had been uprooted and stolen. Fields had been lit aflame. Water trenches had been destroyed in hasty attempts to reroute them. Without intervention, their peril was imminent. The situation only worsened when the elders claimed hostages had been taken.

"A couple dozen of our people had gone missing!" one wrinkled man had cried, clenching tremoring fists with teary eyes. "This has gone too far! Crops, we can replace, but our families are far more valuable!"

If only the rebels related. Meeting Zane's gaze, she watched him nod and contemplatively pull on his beard. "Tell us more"

To Amara, it amounted to a bunch for children unwilling to get along. Had they only agreed to settle their differences, they could have focused their energy on their productivity. Now, resentment had reached such extremes that the original settlement was desperately willing to pay outsiders to restore order.

"Do you people even _have_ weapons?" Moze had asked, thoroughly unimpressed.

"We have guns for hunting and defensive purposes, yes!" responded a despondent woman, an impressive mass of wiry hair piled atop her head. "Before the others left, they stole nearly all of them and have been constructing more with a synthesizer scavenged from a shuttle that had crashlanded a while back."

"Nice to know," Zane had snorted, preening at the length at his chin again. "Thanks, folks, fer tellin' us that upfront. _Jaysus_."

Needless to say, none of them had been amused. The operative among them had gone on, tilting his head expectantly. "Since yer bein' so bloody _candid_, ye care to share how many of 'em ye figure there are?"

The first man verbally stepped up, though he shied away from the vault hunters' close scrutiny. "T-there's...more than four hundred between the two groups."

Amara had sighed. Moze had growled, the primal sound earning FL4K's attention. Zane had spouted a terse laugh before saying what they were all thinking:

"Don't s'pose we need'ta point out that ye should'a nipped this in the bud sooner."

From how the elders regrettably shook their heads, it was clearly unnecessary.

Regardless, those numbers weren't anything they couldn't handle. Even Amara, as disappointed as it made her, could see a need for drastic measures. Enough lives had been lost already. Numerous peaceful attempts at correction had failed, if not outright resulted in retaliation. Those who branched off were irreconcilable and felt they were _owed_. Beyond that, they were now unwilling to reintegrate and revert to their former ways. In effect, their pride and desire to self-govern had doomed them as much as their starvation would.

As far as she was concerned, their downfall was their own. They had no excuse to risk the livability of their formerly peaceful origins. They should have settled their differences, admitted their mistakes, and not blamed others for their failed ambitions. The fact that the assholes were jeopardizing families and children was plainly inexcusable.

Satisfied with their grasp of the situation, the vault hunters had decided on their plan.

The siren had exchange waves with the gunner while she and FL4K had sped off to the South, while at the same time Zane had revved up their own Catch-A-Ride. They had since reached their destination to the north, parked their technical behind a hill, and crawled, on their bellies, to the top of it.

Zane, in his element, had remained attentively silent and watchful through his binoculars ever since. All she had really done was dust the dirt off her abdomen and shake sediment from her jeans, sparing some time to admire her own rock hard abs. They were, as always, on point.

And then they'd waited. And waited. And _waited. _It might not have been so unbearable had her partner not been so laser-focused on his task. As far as Amara was convinced, Zane had three modes: he was either pitching small talk, occupying himself by drinking, or was busy thinking. His silence proved what he was doing, and there wasn't a flask in sight.

"Remind me again why we can't just go in there and punch them to death?" Amara asked after a time, blowing an errant lock of hair away from her face and back where the others framed it.

"...'Cause orders?" offered the operative, appearing rather comfortable situated on his chest. Amara had only seen him withdraw from his binoculars once and blink his eye clear before settling back into position.

Huffing beneath her breath, the siren found herself irritated with her own restlessness. Still, it surprised her how composed and patient Zane was. He wasn't even being his usually talkative self. Despite his outgoing behavior, he proved immensely diligent and calculating. In his element, the operative closely resembled a hawk in waiting.

Oh well. If nothing else, his position treated her to the sight of his ass, slim as it was, placed on full display in its leather encasement.

Sensing her frustration, Zane looked over at her and flashed her that charming smile - before playfully kicking a bit of dust in her general direction, making her scowl.

"Look, Ava doesn't wanna make the same mistake as the twats we're out fer," he offered as an explanation, sparing another moment to glance back at her before looking ahead again. "Doesn't matter if they're the only folks out here. We both know we got the right wankers, but orders are orders. Unless ye wanna deal with Lil' Miss Bossy, than we oughta placate her a wee bit by doin' our due diligence."

"Then hand over those scopes," demanded the siren, gesturing to them even despite how his mismatched eyes were fixated elsewhere.

Giving a sigh, the operative obliged her and tossed them over his shoulder, trusting her to catch them mid-air. With sharp reflexes, she did. It helped that his aim was spot-on.

"No tellin' if all them folks are accounted fer, but we shouldn't risk survivors if we can help it. Only takes one to do some real damage if he or she comes back an' sees a slaughterhouse. Means possible retaliation 'gainst the folks we're lookin' to protect. 'Course they could blame the other band o' shitehawks, but they'll be good as dead too so they're gonna know a third party was involved. An' it won't matter much if we spray painted 'Crimson Raiders' everywhere - they're gonna blame the civvies fer bringin' in enforcements."

"So how do they expect us to kill all of them?" asked Amara, chewing absently on her lip. "I can't make out much with this trusty toy of yours. We can't be sure they're all here."

"Ye got that right, gorgeous," Zane said with a small tut. "That's always the case. Jus' a calculated risk we gotta take. Chances are, if any of 'em are out on an excursion an' miss the party, they aren't gonna have the balls ta do somethin' rash, _'specially_ if they know their people have been targeted. Best for 'em to lay low an' pretend it never happened.

"Still," he continued, stroking his goatee thoughtfully, "we might be one transmission away from gettin' our arses back here an' dealin' with some consequences. There's always that risk. Can't say these folks are crazy zealots like the COV, an' they probably ain't brave 'nough to do somethin' without their numbers like they've done so far. Maybe knowin' their neighbors called in reinforcements kickarse enough ta clear out _both _settlements of 'em will be a capable deterrent. Guess we'll find out, aye?"

Nodding, Amara began giving her knuckles a good and thorough cracking, finishing with one final adjustment of her faithful glove. "I _love_ not knowing what we're in for, not that anything is ever a challenge."

Zane pushed himself upright with a grunt and a series of spinal pops. He then proceeded to roll his neck in a similarly audible manner. After spending so long in a prone position and motionlessly staring into the distance, his body was right to protest. He promptly followed through with a thorough pat-down, brushing the dirt and debris from the smooth surface of leather before giving her a mysterious smirk.

"Do ye _wanna _know what's in store or would ye rather be surprised?" he asked, though his lack of enthusiasm suggested she would be sorely disappointed...as always.

Frowning, she challenged him. "What, do you know something I don't?"

"Aye. Usually do," he teased, earning a skyward turn of her eyes. "Can't blame ye not for knowin'. Zoomer's one stealthy lad."

Fixing him in her curious gaze, Amara raised her shoulders in question, leaving Zane an opening. It wasn't like she couldn't understand what he implied, forward as he was, but she wasn't in the mood for games.

"Huh. Ye really didn't notice me send 'im off? Too busy starin' at me sexy arse, were ye?"

Amara blinked. She actually hadn't noticed Zane dispatching his drone. Contrary to what he had teased, she hadn't been particularly preoccupied with that specific attribute of his until recently. Dropping her shoulders, she sighed at him and didn't say anything. She figured she didn't need to with how unamused her body language was.

"What, ye think FL4K is the only one with stealth camo? _Ha! _Give this ol' man some credit. I've been usin' Zoomer fer recon for a loooong time. At least expected ye to notice the lift-off."

Come to think of it, she had probably been double-checking her gear or informing the others that they had arrived at their location and were, per the operative's suggestion, performing a stakeout.

"So _that's_ why we've been waiting here?" she huffed, agitated that it had taken so long.

For as different as their methods were, neither of them wanted to risk innocent casualties. She felt more strongly, morally, about protecting their livelihood, but wasn't sure how much of Zane's agreement was out of compliance with their mission parameters. Experience had the veteran operative insisting they their enemies might be expecting them.

_"Ye never know when shite has been leaked," he had said at the time, lightly frowning. "'Course us Raiders are gonna keep this on the down-low, but we can't trust the folks payin' us. Eager as they are to bring a bloody conclusion to this dispute, ye know someone's gonna slip. Element o' surprise might'a been lost, not that we'll be needin' it."_

"Aye," agreed Zane presently, responding to her question. "I've been watchin' Zoomer navigate the camp the entire time. Turns out, those well-meanin' coots had it all wrong - there aren't any hostages. Must'a been a cover story for people skippin' town an' changin' sides."

Amara's contempt was immediate, her expression darkening accordingly. She didn't doubt Zane's assessment. "Cowards. Can't they see that only worsens the situation?'

"Prob'ly past the point of carin'," offered her partner, brushing a hand over his mustache before giving a flippant shrug. "Better fer us not havin' that situation muckin' things up. I'd say we're in the clear to crack on. What Zoomer couldn't access, he scanned. All looks good to me!"

"You're telling me that Zoomer lasts that long?" she had to ask, never having seen the drone be engaged so extensively. It made her curious, though she knew Zane was constantly improving his tech whenever he had the opportunity.

The way Zane smirked suggested he was tempted to make a lewd comment but resisted. Instead, he nodded.

"You betcha. Granted, it ain't havin' its energy stores depleted by sustainin' its shield. Sure, stealth camo is a drain, but that's majorly offset by it runnin' on low propulsion. Slow an' steady as 'e goes. The only downside is, after all this time, its energy core is thoroughly depleted. Don't tend to keep another on me unless I remove it from me digi-clone, so Zoomer's gonna be outta commission 'til we get back to the ship. No skin off me back - it did its job. Collected a lotta good intel fer us an' paints a clear picture that we aren't gonna need it fer backup.

"If the other camp is anything like this one, Moze an' Robo-Boyo aren't gonna have any trouble tacklin' it themselves," he assured her while combing through his beard. "'Course we could'a picked the lame one, but I'm guessin' not. With how these gangs have been neck an' neck, it's pretty clear they're evenly matched...or else one would'a been ended by now."

Amara nodded in agreement, her confidence reinforced by Zane's assessment. She had so wrongfully assumed he had been observing their target from the outside when in reality, he had already infiltrated and analyzed the encampment. She supposed her poor assumptions suggested more about her than him. She felt she knew what to expect from him but even then, he still kept a bag of tricks. Chances were, all she truly knew was that their resident operative was proficient at what he did. He had the track record and impressive bounty on his head to prove it.

For as much as Amara appreciated her partner's thoroughness, she felt unfortunate disappointment. Then again, if the Calypsos and their tens of thousands of demented followers couldn't give her a challenge, how could an average bunch of assholes? Zane didn't even have to discourage her with his intel - she shouldn't have gotten her own hopes up.

At the thought, Amara tossed her ponytail behind her shoulder and, reaching both hands to divide its mass, drew the elastic tight. What good was it to be a siren if no one could put up a fight?

Zane's perceptive eye regarded her as he stepped closer, one of his gloved hands applying a gentle squeeze above her elbow. His touch didn't linger, however much she wouldn't have minded. Instead, the gesture was intended to draw her attention, which it did.

"Look, gorgeous," he began, leveling with her. *We both know the folks writin' our checks wanna keep this place intact but that ain't yer style. Ye wanna go all-out on 'em, feck some shite up to enjoy yerself, I'll back ye an' swear it was necessary."

For that, Amara shouldn't have kissed him. She really shouldn't have, yet she hadn't had any actual intention of trespassing that professional boundary. They did that enough during their off-time, when it didn't matter so much. Part of her wanted to be better than that. Firmer. But still, hearing Zane voice his support of her and being so willing to side-step their mission parameters invariably drew her to him. There was something seductively empowering about being his exception.

She was half-surprised, and half-wasn't, that he allowed her kiss. The way he lowered his head and granted her easier access was almost reflexive. Even then, the way he parted his lips to the brushing request of her tongue was intentional.

There was something strangely domestic about it. Like she was kissing her husband before they both set off for work. It was morbidly humorous how far off track _that _idea was, convincing as the image felt. They were two vault hunters off to slaughter a settlement of murderous assholes who didn't know when to quit.

They stopped themselves before things became too heated. Given the circumstances, it wasn't difficult. They weren't over their heads but still had theirs squarely on their shoulders. Being on official business made this neither the time or place for intimacy. That didn't mean she couldn't enjoy a minute and show her partner her appreciation. Besides, her kiss doubled as an affirmation for what he had said - and a pleasant one at that.

Zane often knew just what to say and appeared convinced of that as she eased to the flats of her feet, his single eye glittering.

"Alrighty then," he said simply and reached for her nearest hand, intertwining their fingers. She didn't hesitate to allow it or the way he merrily swung their arms while leading them back to their technical. "Shall we go '86 those suckers?"

Amara grinned wickedly at the encampment in the distance, the blue amidst her skin growing brighter with mounting eagerness.

"What else would we do?"

...

Contrary to her nature, Amara _tried _to keep her chaos to a minimum. It was quite the task, though Zane had his methods of adapting to her abilities. He told her to cover the promenade of the settlement, allowing her the most open territory, while he adopted soldier-like precision and engaged in close-quarter combat, funneling out what enemies he could into her path of destruction.

The downside was that she couldn't witness Zane in action, the same as he wasn't as readily her cheering audience, but the results were unmistakable. The arrangement allowed her to appreciate the operative for his use of strategy, engaging the inhabitants with controlled bursts of gunfire that were both efficient and deadly. He impressed her with how nimble and sure-footed he was, the number of fleeing bandits surprising for a one-man assault.

Eventually he appeared, parting an outburst of fleeing men, his silver hair a sharkfin behind them, his height exceeding the rest. Amara watched as he reversed the rifle in a skillful, fluid motion and fiercely slammed the butt of it into one man's skull, sending him toppling. Then he dropped his firearm to fix both gloved hands on a balding man's head before twisting it sharply. She swore she could hear the morbid snap of his neck before Zane tossed aside his spasming body, limbs flailing from severed nerves before he struck dirt.

In his element, the operative resembled a deadly ballerina. There was a dancing finesse to his every movement. For how determined his expression was, he was still prone to cast a deadly grin as he effortlessly kicked up his rifle. Catching it in ready hands, he sent a strafing of fatal gunfire across the backs of retreating cowards, his body smoothly absorbing the rapid recoil of the stock braced against his shoulder.

It didn't take half as long as Amara expected for the populace of that territory to swarm out like a flood of angry ants, spilling from every orifice. Standing there, her body glowing with power, she was more than ready for them. Between Zane's quick footwork and her abilities, not a single one of them stood a chance. They were too busy tripping over bodies to find their bearings, forced to meet their ends at her fists or the operative's sharpshooting.

Clearly the people of Cithea had never encountered a siren - and why would they have? They were _nobodies_. After she finished with the rebels, not one would be left to attest to her mystical powers. Even then, her mark would remain.

Later, after everything was said and done, Amara would stand with arms akimbo and reflect on the massacre left in her wake. She would recognize the benefit of Zane having performed neater kills within the infrastructure. When the surviving settlers came to claim the grounds for their own, the cleanup would be easier.

It couldn't be truly helped that the nature of her magic was so destructive. She saw the violence of her siren-granted abilities as inevitable. Sirens, as she proved to every audience ever-present to witness her fight, could be devastating forces of nature - of which she was proud to be the fiercest. She was the Tiger of Partali, her markings sprawling the full extent of her body and brightly flaring with beautiful rage.

To either side of her, Zane engaged the rebels who ran in terror and escaped her crashing, ethereal fists. His true form to her right, his blue clone to her left, they raised identical rifles and popped heads in rapid succession. Both operatives readily readjusted their aim and targeted the bandits clawing over themselves to scale fences and climb buildings.

In a deadly display, gore and gray matter splattered like fireworks, her glowing fists the savage stars of the show. Had she the liberty, she would have willed her markings to flare green and splash caustic destruction over everything. For as strong as her temptation was, Amara showed restraint. Her wrath was catastrophic enough and already, her victims were severely outmatched. Those desperate enough to return fire had their hopes dissolved by her shield.

Between Zane's lethal precision and her siren hands reducing bodies to calcium dust and bloody mush, there was nothing that could stop them. Even a mech, haphazardly constructed with broken fuel lines and repurposed drop ships, couldn't stand a chance against her mythical gift. Stopping onlookers in their tracks, Amara effortlessly seized the metal monstrosity and elevated it in an orb of frozen space-time. Then, with a visible crackle of electricity and a vibrant pulse of her scrollwork, she not only crushed the mech like a tin can but launched it into the grasslands. There, its remains caught flame, sending black smoke billowing into the air.

Immersed in pride, Amara hardly recognized her shield responding to gunfire striking her from behind. She had barely an opportunity, as Zane had her covered by the third bullet, returning fire even as his shield module struck dirt and deployed at her back.

Turning her head, she watched him unholster a Torgue rocket launcher with a familiar spill of pixels and take aim. Within a second, he sent its payload whizzing toward an outrunner-style vehicle careening down the road toward them. The rapid outpour of turret fire went wide as the driver, in an attempt to avoid the projectile, wrenched the wheel to the right.

Quick as the driver's reaction was, that futile attempt was his last. With a shockwave and a burst of fire, the explosive struck the front fender of the vehicle and sent it sky-high, its spiraling liftoff sending its occupants flying in three directions.

Amara heard its metallic crash landing as she redirected her attention to the last dregs of gun-toting bastards rushing at her. With an uppercut of her fist, she drove an illuminated projection up through the ground and seized the mass of them in a phaselock, witnessing their terror before she broke every bone in her summoned grasp.

Overpowering them so fully, Amara could feel what she imagined the Calypsos experienced when demolishing civilizations and instilling horror in those refusing to conform. With her powers arcing through her so intensely, she felt she could take on the _universe_ and nothing could stop her. It was a revelation she had felt before, deep in her bones, but now...seeing so many faces splattered with the flung blood of their comrades and _feeling _their hopelessness only furthered that tyrannical esteem she felt welling inside of her.

It was Zane's expression that extinguished the ember threatening to light her aflame. Even through her reddened haze, she could see the faint consternation present in the cut of his crow's feet and the tension throughout his jaw etching the firm edge of his mouth. It remained with her even as he turned toward the rebels, their faces stricken with horror, and raised his gun.

"Show's over, lads," he told them before laying on the trigger, ceasing their tremoring pleas for mercy.

Standing there, muscles throughout her body rolling with adrenaline and skin sparking with electricity, Amara watched Zane flatten one hand and lower it at her. _Stand down. _And while she didn't mistake his apprehensive expression for fear, as surely the operative knew no harm would come to him, she noticed him maintaining a careful distance.

That was, until she remembered to breathe. Until she willed away the power pulsing like an organ through her, not a single soul in sight left to punish. Until she realized how she had become so deeply fixated on eradicating opponents not even worth her gift.

It wasn't until the static resonating from her dissipated that the cloud of dust surrounding her settled to the ground. Only then did Zane ease his mismatched eyes away and turned them instead toward their surroundings. From the gradual turn of his head, she knew he was scanning for things only his cybernetics could detect - heat signatures, motion, soundwaves...signs betraying anyone in hiding. Finding nothing, he disengaged his rifle and sent it pixelating back into his holster, retrieving his more minimal but equally lethal pistol instead.

Without further word, the vault hunters went their separate ways to best cover the area and comb it for anything of interest. When they paired up again by the main gate, it was clear that neither of them had found anything.

"Whole lotta junk," Zane sighed to her agreeing nod, giving a what-can-ye-do-shrug. "'Spose there's not a whole lot better than what we already have, aye? 'Sides, had they anything decent, they would'a used it against us."

Amara nodded again, entertaining herself with a bracelet, ensuring it remained securely around her wrist. At the same time, she bit her inner cheek in an attempt to stave off her remaining tension.

"Y'alright?" he asked, his voice unexpectedly quiet. Speaking with notes of concern, he pressed further. "That, ah...happen often?"

"And what is 'that'?" demanded Amara squarely, knowing _precisely_ what he referred to. It happened to be the same subject she wasn't prepared to address.

For a pregnant moment, Zane said nothing. He just gazed at her expectedly, expression patient. He gave her more than enough time to respond before he visibly softened, trying to assuage her defensiveness.

"No point in puttin' on a show fer this ol' man, 'Mara. I know what ye can do," he told her. With that, he approached her. Placing his hand on her shoulder, he gently squeezed and maintained that comforting pressure while gazing down at her.

At a loss for words, Amara diverted her eyes. She felt her mouth downturn before she could prevent it, thoughtfully accepting it.

Zane was all wrong, wasn't he? They both knew her intention had been crueler than that. Even then, he was offering her an out - one she could have taken - but didn't. The Tiger of Partali was never a coward, and she would _never _be a Calypso. At her worst, she needed to remember that.

"...My powers...they're addictive," she said finally, reluctant to admit it.

Still, her reservations didn't change anything. It didn't seem to matter that Zane appeared both accepting and understanding. Even then, she knew there was no way, _no way_, for someone like him to comprehend _something_ like her. Amara doubted even her siren sisters could.

That was why his attempt to comfort her accomplished so little, as ashamed as she was to say. Perhaps it should have, because...she respected Zane. Beyond that, she trusted him to be unafraid despite having witnessed firsthand, time and time again, the destruction she so passionately left in her wake.

Despite her admission, he still found it in himself to nod. Then, gently cupping her chin, softly brushed the bare pad of his thumb along her lower lip.

What Zane _did_ understand was the effect his touch had on her, intended all along through that quiet, tender gesture. He allowed the weight of it to hang there, for a moment, before redirecting himself. Amara understood the necessity even before he touched his earpiece and looked into the distance at the vehicle awaiting their return.

"Mozey-Schmozey," he cooed, transmitting across the channel uniting them with their teammates. "How the two o' ye doin'?"

A few seconds passed before the gunner responded, the unmistakable cacophony of a battle underway competing with her voice. Such familiar sounds those were, punctuated by cluster explosions depicting the detonation of FL4K's modded grenades.

"Getting shit done, Lucky Charmer," she said. "What's your status?"

"We jus' wrapped up here. Gonna head yer way," Zane informed her, gesturing for the siren to follow him. It wasn't like she needed the invitation, as she was equally as eager to back their comrades.

If the conversing vault hunters said anything beyond that, Amara didn't hear them - not even as she fell into step with her much taller, older companion. Instead, she found herself submerged in her mind, trying to formulate how she could explain herself to Zane.

It wasn't that he expected her to. Even then, Amara wished to better understand herself. Even her siren sisters had never mentioned experiencing the extremes that she did. Had Lilith, Maya, or Tannis felt the same lust for power that she did, they certainly hadn't spoken of it...and Ava was still comparatively a novice. Even if they could relate, would they have ever confessed it? It wasn't as though her time fighting alongside the Firehawk had been nearly long enough to discuss it. Similarly, her friendship with Maya had been cut so tragically brief...and Tannis was anything but personable.

Amara could admit to herself that she wasn't the best communicator, particularly given the circumstances. She felt threatened by the prospect of admitting what she didn't want to be misconstrued - or maybe not even acknowledged at all. She could, as she displayed time and time again, prove herself a force to be reckoned with. Her very nature as a siren favored _ruination._

Still, she would be damned if she allowed someone to misinterpret her penchant for power for being anything like Tyreen's lust for annihilation. The pure disgust Amara felt for the mere memory of the Calypso twins was assurance enough that she was _nothing_ like them. She had no interest in controlling anyone or ruling the universe - not that one required such aspirations to be unstable or otherwise psychotic.

Had she been forced to drain the life force from others in order to sustain or better her power, Amara swore she would never have. She pitied whatever woman found herself afflicted with that curse. If anything, she was grateful that a cruel entity like Tyreen hadn't been granted _her_ powers. There was no telling how she would have abused them, but one thing was certain: there was simply no comparison between her own altruism and the Calypso's narcissism.

What was wrong, Amara questioned, with her experiencing the thrill of battle? What shame, if any, should she feel? It wasn't even that Zane had regarded her with caution - only that he sensed her lapse in self-control. And he wasn't wrong in his assessment, was he?

For Amara, it was necessary that she invested a great deal of time meditating and centering hers or. Through that, she developed her capacity for controlling the strength she wielded. To her, training her mind was more vital than physically conditioning herself - a system she tried to instill on her youngest siren sister. Neither herself or Ava could go wrong in handling their abilities with utmost awareness and seriousness.

All sirens had their own unique powers but even beyond that, Amara felt she differed from the others. Even to that day, she hadn't sprouted wings as all her sisters had. Her brute strength was still unparalleled, she had elemental capabilities, and she didn't need to summon her powers to be visibly distinguishable from the others.

Throughout the war with the COV, her tattoos had expanded across her entire body. The sleeve that had united her with the others had so gradually spread, she hasn't realized it until Moze had eventually commented on. Only then had Amara skeptically looked down at herself and realized that ethereal scrollwork had extended past her navel.

From then on, she had watched the calligraphy brand her inch by inch. The process was as mysterious as the markings themselves. The more and more she used her powers, the more territory her tattoos claimed until finally, the swirls completed their pattern.

Not even Tannis knew what to think of it. To say she had been fascinated was an understatement. Still, despite all her examining and researching, the sirentologist had no explanation for it. Determined as she was to compose her own legacy, Amara regarded her condition as a testament to her strength, even if a sense of segregation lingered.

If anything, Amara blamed her craving for power on human nature. Even if she sometimes found herself caught up in her abilities, she remained capable of commanding them. Even Zane, experienced as he was, could react impulsively. Still, there was a large discrepancy between the aftermath they could cause. A lapse in her own composure could lead to significant wreckage. For that reason, it was far more imperative for her to control herself.

Sighing inwardly, Amara didn't know why she was concerning herself with any of this. She hadn't gone out of bounds on this mission, nor had she throughout any other. So her abilities were impressive. There was no need for her to doubt her own self-assurance because she had likely misinterpreted a look Zane had given her. And if he was concerned? She would give him reasons not to be.

Zane, as she already knew, was in no position to judge her. He had just as easily performed what had undeniably been the systematic execution of a couple hundred people. The manner with which he dismissively turned his back to the scene of slaughter was so casual, and his expression so void of consideration, that she might have preferred seeing _coldness._

That aftermath, she realized, amounted to just another day for Zane Flynt. He was, undoubtedly, a man who had spent more decades than she had been alive exchanging lives for wealth. And he was very much a man who intended to continue for as long as he could, same as he would collect his share of what was owed to the Crimson Raiders. That reality, backed by her knowledge of how worthless money was to the operative, proved how inconsequential cold-blooded murder was to him.

Amara had to stop that train of thought - purely because she knew she was no better. She wasn't sure what was worse - the way she experienced her siren-driven bloodlust or the way Zane killed with such banal disinterest that he didn't even apply himself. Ultimately, she didn't know and didn't care to decide. In contrast, her partner was too easygoing to bother with justifications.

In her own defense, she _knew_ what they did was for the greater good. It wasn't as though they had targeted a peaceful settlement. The bodies littering the ground were of _criminals _\- men and women who prioritized their own selfish aspirations for territory and resources over the well-being of others. _They_ were the fools who profited off destruction - not the Raiders.

Tiger of Partali she was, she always fought on behalf of the innocent and would have killed the rebels all over again, that same way, if given the chance. She didn't regret doing it - and why should she? It wasn't like the rebels had shown any consideration for anyone who had been killed in their crossfire.

She knew, however, that Zane's motivations were not her own. The man he was, he had no qualms about exchanging services for profit. Given he had no personal _need _for money, she wouldn't have second-guessed if he merely performed the task because he was ordered to.

Nothing in the universe was so black and white, she knew. Though she could bring herself to stare her own bias in the eye, she couldn't convince herself to criticize Zane at her own expense. To her, the actions she had witnessed Zane take throughout their partnership, in combination with how he treated others when not wielding a weapon, were enough for her to accept him. Her definitions of right and wrong didn't agree with his, and even then, she couldn't bring herself to view him as a person worth punishing for his variant perspective.

For that same reason, she couldn't bring herself to judge Moze or FL4K, both of whom had come from different walks of life than hers. Amara understood that her roots differed significantly from theirs. She wasn't some sentient robot with a fixation on death. She wasn't a soldier who had been conditioned to accept war. And she wasn't a Pandoran, of which she was grateful. Partali might have had its fair share of criminals but her homeland wasn't lawless. Far from it, in fact, and from that, she had made a name for herself.

For however long she survived as a siren, Amara vowed to remain a positive influence in the cosmos. Regardless of how powerful she became, she vowed that her values would remain the same, and with that affirmation, knew she could only do good.

For now, she felt her time was best spent watching the scenery rush past them as their technical sped across the rolling plains, leaving dust in their wake. She spent time tracing the jagged mountain ranges with violet eyes before quietly turning her attention to the man driving beside her.

Zane truly was handsome as he sat there with one gloved hand on the wheel, the teal sensors on his knuckles tilting with the adjustments of his steering. She found herself surprised to see a rather rare expression of relaxation softening his face. The way the tips of his snowy hair fluttered in the manmade wind beckoned her.

So often, she had seen him appear so severe, there was no mistaking his career as a contract killer - when his brows were furrowed, and his jaw was clenched, and the fissures of experience cut deep into his aged skin. Seeing him from the side, she wondered over how the presence of his eyepatch, nearly bifurcated by that yellow stripe of light, made him appear that much more dangerous.

Despite his lofty persona, she could never forget his potential. She couldn't count the times she had seen him head-rush their most vicious opponents without restraint. Powerful as she knew she was, the operative surpassed her in cutthroat confidence.

Zane was one hell of a conundrum. He was such a sweet man, yet had such a severe edge. He could be stone-cold one second, then dancing and giggling while committing a bloodbath the next. From the sharp spiking of his metallic hair, to the fringe of sideburns that accentuated his flamboyant character, to the beard and mustache he kept religiously trimmed, Zane represented disorder _in _order. And he was, of course, as handsome as he thought he was.

Try as she might, Amara could hardly imagine him younger or in any way less than the mature man he was now. She certainly couldn't fathom him having auburn hair as he had once described or a face that was smoother than the distinguished lines adorning of his features. She liked his untamed brows...his firm lips...the sharp definition of his nose. The way his beard complimented the forward fan of his hair. Even the glint of stubble he hadn't tended to, which was highly unlike him...and mysteriously erotic.

It made sense, though, that Zane had forgone his usual strict maintenance. Before entering their current star system, they had been hammered by constant conflicts. Among a half dozen planets, the Crimson Raiders had been quick to make allies and, through them, more enemies. It was impressive, really, that none of those heavily armed assholes had branched out and found Cithea. Prior to stumbling upon it themselves, the vault hunters had spent a series of long days fast-tracking to Sanctuary looking every bit as exhausted and filthy as they had been.

The nights Zane had occupied her bed had been less frequent. On one particular occasion, she had opted to kick him out, unwilling to sacrifice her sleep for his snoring. When it came to intimacy, their indulgences had been particularly docile. It seemed they had reached some unspoken agreement that their time together was best spent not trying to break sexual records or perform impressive acrobatics. Instead, they had favored more gentle, sensual intercourse.

Amara hadn't minded any. That wasn't to say she would have refused, had there been the offer for more, but she had simply enjoyed the physical contact. She always found Zane's weight atop her to be reassuring, and admittedly after showering, she had little inclination to work up a sweat. Even now, she valued the opportunity to sit back, breathe deeply, and appreciate simply existing.

...

Since arriving on the outskirts of the southern settlement, the two of them had run out of things to do. That was the downside to being quick and efficient. The first thing they had done, when nearing the encampment, was call ahead and announce their rapidly approaching arrival. They had ended up stopping short when Moze had refused their assistance, insisting instead that they "park their pretty asses". Loudly pouting, Zane had pumped the brakes.

"Keep your grubby mitts off our loot," Moze had warned before adding: "You guys already got yours! And besides, we want some action too!"

That was how she and Zane found themselves waiting in their technical, bored out of their minds like two grounded children.

In effect, Amara guess they had earned it? Already, she wished their battle had challenged her, but in reality, she hadn't even broken a sweat from it. At least of she had been tired, she could have tried taking a nap.

Old as he was, Zane surprised her by not doing just that. Of course, she knew he was a ball of energy for his age...if him rapidly drumming his fingers on virtually every damn surface of the interior didn't prove it. When she snapped at him to stop _that_ and he finally succeeded in listening, he started fidgeting in other ways.

They could only do so much fiddling with their ECHOs and weapons. Impatience reached a point that Zane started the engine again, much to her quiet surprise, and looked at her with a wicked smirk.

"Ye in fer a rough ride?"

So maybe her mind took that too lewdly. She didn't say _no_ immediately or give any indication of not being on board, and she didn't dismount the vehicle, all of which amounted to a good enough answer for Zane.

Amara, not knowing his intentions then, almost wish she had inquired further. She fully expected the operative to hit the gas and plow the vehicle right into town and into the middle of the remaining firefight. She knew, for a fact, he enjoyed making a grand entrance. He was often a man of excess.

Instead, he found his own means of entertainment, using the vehicle and its powerful engine to take their minds off everything and, quite literally, send the brains in their heads spinning. The threatening revving, combined with his foreshadowing, had been warning enough for Amara to seize the roll cage and brace herself for action.

With relish, Zane laid on the gas and spun the wheel, using the high-powered technical to cut donuts in the underlying field more times than she could count. She felt herself violently whip from one side to the other as the operative changed directions again, and then again, the world beyond them a smear of rapid motion. It wasn't until the engine began steaming and the heavily tractioned tires started shredding the ground that the vehicle kicked up over the gorge carved by Zane's steering frenzy.

It made for a crazy, dusty ride. The air around them colored with dust clouds and rubble as the tires sprayed sand and launched clots of sediment, rubber squealing hotly. The siren found herself laughing at the thrill of it, her body pinned by centrifugal force, her hair flailing behind her. Adding to the energy was Zane's wild guffawing. He was grinning like he drove - like a delighted lunatic.

Amara swore she could go dizzy just from watching his gloved hands slap at the steering wheel each time he changed their direction. Turning it fiercely, he nearly collided with it as they spun, the technical shuddering and squealing around them. Had she not held on so tightly, she would have been thrown into him - until Zane repeated the dizzying process and nearly bowled into her, practically hanging off the wheel as they whipped around.

All things considering, the technical handled surprisingly well. Even then, the back end managed to get ahead of them, careening them around with a whiplash jolt. Engaging the boosters caused the tires to launch off a rut and sent their back end bucking like a bronco, the two of them bouncing from their seats while they laughed like loonies. How they caught air after that, Amara didn't know - she only felt the force of their liftoff.

Futilely, the tires spun in mid-air, flinging debris from their deep surfaces, and then they were subjected to gravity, heavy vehicle landing gracelessly with a massive slam of motion and the springy squeal of shocks. The force was enough to have them launching from their seats, Amara nearly knocking her head on the roll cage. Zane did, one of his hands reflexively raising to spare him the brunt of it. Even then, he laughed, full of glee and giddiness that lasted long after they slid to a stop. By then, the engine was overheated and hissing, angry at their antics.

In contrast, Amara found the operative's boyish antics endearing...even if it left them so dizzy, they were both dry heaving by the end of it. Needless to say, if she hadn't been strong enough to successfully brace herself against the G-forces, her opinion of Zane's decisions would have been far different. She watched him rub his head with a scowl, grateful to be shorter.

Eventually, their heads stopped spinning. The dust settled and their adrenaline faded, the vault hunters falling into a comfortable silence. The siren found herself staring at the mountains in the distance, noting a flock of broad-winged creatures taking flight from the greenery. Across such distance, she noted how considerably large the species was.

Zane, it seemed, had taken a momentary interest in the same scene. By the time she looked to him, intending to point him toward it, she discovered him nodding in that same direction. All-to-soon, the aerial display ended, the creatures adeptly taking roost.

Her partner promptly dropped his head against the seat behind him and gave a drawling sigh. "Boooooored."

Amara snorted at his dramatism, reaching over to give his right hand a placating pat. It wasn't like she couldn't relate - she just wasn't as expressive. While she felt the old man had behaved so far, she could tell by the rapid bobbing of his knee that he was a bomb set to blow.

She didn't understand the conundrum that was Zane Flynt. He was simultaneously the most patient, composed man, and was also equally fidgety, high-energy personality. Couldn't the two sides of him cancel each other out and result in someone a little more...normal? It wasn't like she truly wanted that, but still, he tended to get a bit agitating when he didn't have something to entertain him.

Amara figured it would be best for her to keep him occupied. As it was, she had been waiting for a promising chance to broach a more thoughtful conversation with him. Maybe pick the mind of the man she was sleeping with.

"So," she said simply, throwing in her two cents, "let's talk about something.

Casting a curious glance at her, Zane appeared divided already - almost as though intimidated by her idea. Funny, considering he was usually such a talker.

"...Like what?"

She shrugged, not wanting to lead on that she had anything in particular in mind. Naturally she _did_, but she letting Zane in on that would give him time to build his defenses. Besides, it was usually entertaining to let the former hitman decide their direction.

"Like anything," she hummed, keeping the horizon open.

Zane didn't like it, giving her a dismissive snort. "_Too _vague."

Shifting in her seat, Amara half-turned to the older man and, balancing on her left hip, tipped her left temple against her seat, settling in like a polite audience.

"Like yourself," she suggested, a small smile on her lips.

That icy eye narrowed further, metal cybernetic surely scanning her. Zane, as he was about to prove, was intent on being a bit difficult…but not entirely unwilling. Either way, it was clear he hadn't bothered wracking his brilliant mind.

"...Gimme some hint here."

_Men._

Well, wasn't that the window of opportunity that she was looking for? She did want to know him better and had a number of subjects filed away that she was undeniably curious about. Why wouldn't she want to better connect with her partner?

She had to _pretend_ to think and did give some honest consideration to the endless possibilities laid out before her. While they were truly innumerable, she wanted to best satisfy elements of Zane that had stoked certain fires of interest.

How could she not ask for specifics - or rather suggest them and see where they lead? Such as the topic of Zane's siblings, which had come up throughout their journeys on a noteworthy number of occasions. The little insight she had gleaned from them had left their impression on her. Having brothers of her own, she knew how influential they could be.

Maybe, Zane wouldn't be so avoidant of answering questions that weren't directed at himself - even if, inevitably, he would detect her intentions. Perhaps more than anything, he would appreciate her trying to be clandestine for a change, even vaguely. She figured it should appeal to his operator side.

"Tell me about your brothers," she asserted, maintaining a level air.

In contrast, Zane's short laugh was nearly a bark, his eye regarding her with nearly morbid intrigue.

"Always me favorite topic!" he snarked, regarding her incredulously. "What about 'em? Both of 'em are dead. The End."

Amara scoffed under her breath, refusing that cop-out and making it known, her violet stare serious. And greatly attentive.

"They are _now_. How were they as your brothers?"

Zane's response was immediate. "Arseholes."

Her sharp sigh of his name had Zane chuckling, the sound low and sardonic. He started looking like he needed a cigarette or a drink more than ever.

In fact, he reinforced that suspicion by reaching into his coat, his eye fixed on hers in a sharp dare. Even his ECHOeye seemed more menacing than usual, no doubt analyzing her as he deliberately withdrew a pack of cigarettes from an inner compartment of his jacket and oh-so-boldly set them on the dashboard.

He slowly withdrew his hand, optics boring into her all the while - and managed to slap protectively back over the cancer sticks before she got halfway through her attempt at them.

For an old man, Zane was _fast - _and prepared, knowing she would take the bait.

"Ah-ah," he chided, all-out glaring now. "Ye want 'em so bad, yer gonna hafta break me hand."

"Tempting," she countered, nearly meaning it. But Zane, as both her partner and lover, knew better. Then again, they did have insta-health on-hand...

Amara wondered if this curiously intentional boldness of Zane's was his way of circumventing the conversation she had initiated. It sure seemed that way, as heclearly knew her stance on his smoking habit. That, or he was going to use it as a bargaining chip.

Damnit - now she was certain that was _exactly_ his plan even before anything he said suggested it. Even then, the way he traipsed around the possibility made it seem like a last resort. He probably preferred her to allow his vice of her own generosity. Like that would ever happen.

"Can't ye let an old man enjoy himself?" he gruffed - and was he trying to give her puppy eyes? It was difficult to tell since he had just one.

She shot him a sly and honest smile. "I prefer other ways."

His smirk back was devious and particularly determined. He proved it by palming the pack of smokes - but not before withdrawing two and placing them side by side on clear display.

Oh, he was pushing it - and he knew it.

"Tell ye what," he hummed. "Ye want me to talk, I get to have meself a cig."

"Zane."

"Serious," he said, wearing the expression to prove it. "What's in it fer me to talk, eh? _I_ already know what's in me head. It'd be a shame, wouldn't it...to miss this opportunity," he added, using one finger to rotate the cancer stick to the right and then swap sides, coaxing it lazily to the left.

"It's not like you're going to die without them," she challenged - and rolled her eyes to further the effect, finding him positively ridiculous.

Positively smug, Zane was immune to her contempt for the habit - as if she didn't know that by now. It wasn't the first time she wished the bastard was intimidated by her - or listened to any voice of reasoning, for that matter.

"I dunno - 's it worth riskin'?" he challenged with a waggle of his brows, causing her to glare harder.

Try as she might, even the Tiger of Partali couldn't scare off the addictive parts of his brain. She also knew _he_ knew she was cornered. She could have fought harder - probably should have and persisted to the end of goddamn time - but her determination waned at the prospect of learning more about her partner. Unfortunately, doing so would come at a significant cost to his health and her pride, as far as she was concerned.

Knowing Zane as Amara did, she refused to let him wriggle out of that prime opportunity. Sometimes, men and their stubborn stupidity needed to feel _some_ sense of achievement, and she assumed the operative was no different. If she won this one, she just _knew _he would buckle down and stand his ground more definitively the next time a situation like this arose.

If anything, they were both being opportunists here. She craved the opportunity to break more of the ice between them. Open the door to more personal discussions if Zane allowed it. And if he pulled this shit every time she wanted to get to know him better? She'd seize him by the balls and squeeze. The idea seemed nicer than cutting off his supply of sex because why should _she_ also have to pay for his transgressions?

"Only one," she hissed, seeing that spark of triumph and the subsequent widening of his grin. "And just so we're clear, I know you put two out so you could talk me down to one. You and I know you're lucky enough to get that."

She took the momentary distraction of Zane feeling boastful and summoned a single fist, using it to snatch one of the two cigarettes and crush it into nothingness. The operative didn't test his luck by protesting, instead reaching to grab the survivor and poke it between his lips. The way he spoke around it caused it to wiggle up and down as though taunting her.

"Back in a jiff then, gorgeous."

Amara scowled the entire time, from when he popped open the driver side door and practically flung himself out of the seat, producing a lighter from a pocket and flicking it open, to the time he took that last drag. And she decidedly _did not_ acknowledge that she, in _any_ _way_, found the sight of him smoking the faintest bit attractive. She preferred to curse the handsome bastard as he palmed one end of the cigarette, shielding his flame from the wind, before puffing to really get it started.

Leave it to Zane to boldly taunt her by bracing one hip against the hood of the technical and draping himself oh-so-slowly, and coquettishly, across it. His smugness had the perturbed siren crossing her arms and glaring daggers at the settlement in the distance, half expecting it to begin belching destructive smoke at any second.

She could only bunch up her nose in disgust when she finally glanced at Zane's purportedly _sexy_ post across the front of the vehicle, the smartass giving her his best bedroom eye. It only had her summoning one extension and using it to seize him by the back of his jacket, lifting him by it. The surprise of it had him coughing and wiggling while she maneuvered him a good thirty feet away and dropped him - not too far from the ground but enough to make him land on his butt with an _oof!_

Despite himself, Zane hacked out a laugh and proceeded to kick back, lounging with his right boot flat on the ground and left leg crossed over. Using his arms as a leathery pillow behind his head, he leisurely finished the last half of his cigarette.

Clearly, Zane made the mistake of assuming he was at less risk of bodily harm. Surely he had to know that she would drop-spank him off the nearest cliff if he didn't uphold his end of their bargain.

That was the last time he would ever light up around her, Amara vowed. As it was, she was already determined to keep him out of her bed that night. It wouldn't matter if he showered or how hard he might work his charm - she refused to reward bad behavior. She didn't _need_ the orgasms he gave her, and she specifically didn't need him stinking her up with second-hand smoke.

Getting a whiff of it, the siren audibly scowled when the operative slung himself back behind the steering wheel and shut his metal door. Her arms remained interlocked and her glowering eyes on the horizon. She figured she might as well lick ash if she wanted to kiss him.

She didn't. _Disgusting._

At least, to his benefit, Zane sounded more conversational than before and was lounging against the door, attentively facing her. He drummed the fingers of one hand idly on his thigh, expression open and wisely _not_ smiling like a smartass at her.

"So, where were we?" he hummed, bringing his right hand up to brace his thumb on his bearded chin, crooking his index finger under his lower lip in the process. "Me brothers? Lessee…"

Presumably thinking, Zane was silent for a moment. Then he pursed his lips, seeming at a loss, and asked, "What, exactly, d'ye wanna know?"

"Whatever you feel like sharing," she encouraged. To say 'everything' might have been a bit intimidating. Still, she knew she would listen to anything he had to say - and not only because of his entertaining accent and mannerisms, but she appreciated both all the same.

Zane stared at her for a moment before giving a breezy shrug, scratching the right corner of his mustache before fiddling with it distractedly. She couldn't say if he felt like he was being put under the gun or not, but she was convinced he would have preferred staring down the barrel of a weapon to _this._

"Guess I'll start with me oldest brother, Baron," grunted the Pandoran, effectively giving in. "He was a chain smokin', deader-than-dead-eyed bastard. Real cold. Didn't talk much. Didn't deal with shite an' damn near everyone knew better than to feck with 'im. He wasn't right in the head. 'Course none o' us were - but he tried imposin' some sorta direction on me an' me other brother. Baron was a tight-fisted lad long 'fore he hitched up with Dahl an' ended up a prison warden."

Zane's habit of diving head-first into conversations was one that never ceased to fascinate Amara, who was less of an open book. The operative was more sporadic. Some times more than others, he spilled honesty and expressed himself freely. During others, he buttoned up and managed to say a lot of nothing.

Having a one-sided conversation with the older man wasn't anything new - but having him be so open about something so personal was. Whether or not he would have obliged her in the presence of others, she couldn't say for certain. She suspected his compliance was more out of respect for her curiosity than simply fulfilling his half of their agreement.

Amara had heard enough conversing among their team to know that the operative rarely spoke excessively before defaulting to joking, smugness, or deflecting the focus onto someone else. Now, he was actually communicating, as complicated as his trajectory was. If nothing else, Zane's meandering gave her insight into how his mind worked. His thoughts were far from linear. If anything, he spoke as though she was his clone and he was talking at it. To her, it seemed like a coping method.

Even then, Zane _was _wise to commit - she had to give him that. His willingness disarmed the lingering contempt she had for his smoking and had her falling into a more casual mood alongside him - and feeling less like the scorned girlfriend she technically wasn't.

"Last I heard, when Dahl fecked off, they left me eldest brother with a prison full o' convicts," he muttered. "He released the lot an' ended up lordin' over 'em. Seemed just like him...always the head o' the pack, no-nonsense kinda arsehole. Gained a lotta respect for it. Guess he ended up with a couple's bodyguards, even?"

Zane gave another shrug, pausing to bite at the callused corner of one finger before he rubbed it with his thumb. Then, appeased, he continued on.

"Sounds like Lilith and crew killed 'im. Left the lot o' bandits leaderless an' then the Crimson Lance took over. That's the name o' Atlas Corp's private military.

"Anyway," he cut off, the shift so abrupt, both that and the fact that he so completely grazed over his own brother's demise made Amara frown. "Baron basically shouldered the task o' raisin' Captain an' me when our parents died. They jus' got hacked up one day, supposedly. Baron said an enemy group had got em. Think I was five at the time. Captain was seven. Anyway, circumstances don't matter much. What did was that Baron didn't have to take us on. Wasn't odd for bandit families to kick out their kids and leave 'em to the skags or let some other clan scoop 'em up. Or eat 'em. But he did.

"Honestly? I think Baron killed 'em," Zane admitted, giving another dismissive shrug. "I figure he gave into that anger o' his and let loose…'cause that's what he did. He always went brutally cold 'fore he snapped. Someone always ended up dead - _that_ was always a given. Prob'ly it was some fecked up sense o' guilt that might'a made him take us under his wing. Last I spoke to him, I said somethin' to that effect. He spat on it...an' we never talked again."

...What...did she say to that?

Nothing, apparently, because Zane was perfectly fine with trudging on, though he at least noticed her confusion, even if he misinterpreted it.

"Oh! Captain's me, ah, older but not eldest brother. Can't say he's the middle child - guess he's the middle son, though! Oi, ye've already heard plenty 'bout 'im. Not many redeemin' qualities if any, lemme tell ya. He was a prime example of not needin' brain so much as brawn on Pandora. Ended up the leader o' the Flesh Rippers...Lovely name, 'ey? Out-psychoed an' tortured a lotta folks to get there. Was all he was good fer."

Well, if _that_ wasn't indicative of how Zane felt about Captain, what was? It wasn't like he was hiding his contempt. Instead, he spoke of it more like one would the ache of an old, scarred wound.

"You said it was Captain who damaged your eye," she reminded quietly, unable to forget. She felt she would never fathom how someone could do that to their own brother.

"That'd be him," confirmed Zane flatly, and then added with a sardonic snort, "some brother he was! Captain always feckin' hated me, maybe 'cause I took all his attention as the youngest. Remember me piano recital? 'Bout sums that up. Straight up, he was a feckin' nutjob. Built like it too. Like Brick, I told ye - probably to contain all that crazy. Either way, he was a biggun. Hard to control. Was always destroyin' an' burnin' everything. Pyromania ruined the camp our parents had established. Crazy jackarse left us scavengers for a long while…"

Zane's eyes were far away now, his mind taken back to memories that found purchase, demanding his reliving attention. He grew silent, his brows furrowing and the lines in his face deepening until he fully resembled every year of his age - and then just as quickly, he snapped out of it. That vibrant energy sparked inside of him again, overtaking all the unspoken scars of trauma, and replaced it instead with the affable chuckling of the man she knew she could easily love, if given the chance.

_That_ was a thought that troubled her less and less the more she acknowledged it - and convinced her more and more that Zane would scream the same horrified way he did when he was lit aflame, had he known.

None the wiser, the operative continued on his own accord, scratching the corner of his remaining eye absently.

"Fortunately for us younger lads, Baron was kinda into the whole family pride thing. He wanted us Flynts to live up to our name. Bein' the first kid, he kinda ended up idolizin' our father an' bought into all that nonsense. S'pose I can't knock it too hard 'cause it kept Baron from ditchin' us. 'Cause of him, we managed. Barely, sometimes, but we did. Took a while 'fore we joined a clan 'cause we couldn't be sure which ones wanted ta kill us or wanted to kill _and_ eat us. And...yeah. Dunno what to say. Baron...he was the decent bro. Angry, though. Beat the shit outta me plenty because I was a handful meself. Kinda looked to 'im for guidance 'cause, eh, I didn't have any other choice.

"He did what 'e could to stop Captain an' me from fightin' like mangy skag all the damn time," sighed Zane as though at his age, he was more aware of Baron's former struggles. "'s what we did. Captain wasn't much older than me but he had the physical advantage. An' me, bein' a scrawny lil' thing, I didn't stand much a chance 'gainst him, so I got kinda weasely. I got fed up a lot with the hand I was given, havin' that disadvantage, so I found other ways o' gettin' under his skin.

"Like me accent," Zane said with a chuckle, actually eyeing her now instead of gazing through her as he had since starting to talk. "Was me way of cuttin' through the noise an' gettin' heard, 'cause it gave me notability. I considered it a plus that Captain couldn't feckin' stand it. Was me way of givin' him the ol' one-two whenever I opened me mouth. An' it stuck, case ye haven't noticed. There's more to it than that, but that's the jist 'o it." Then he gave her a wink before continuing.

"'Course there were times when I pissed me bros off an' didn't quite scamper away in time, or Baron wasn't there ta save me keester, or he flat-out knew I earned meself a Flynt family torturin'. Sometimes, I s'pose I did. An' it wasn't all bad, since it thickened me skin - y'know, beyond all the scarrin'.

He was tapping his eye patch with a short nail now, the metallic _tink_ barely audible even in the quiet space shared between them. Gunshots rang in the distance and even then, they were so familiar by now that they were white noise in the background.

"Consider meself lucky I didn't lose more o' meself," he admitted, seeming morbidly amused by the prospect. "'Least I have one baby blue left. As for the other, well...Captain heated a piece o' rebar an' burned it out 'fore I ditched Pandora with Dahl. Did it 'cause I got their attention, an' he didn't want me earnin' a ticket off our shitehole homeworld. But, joke's on him, I _wasn't_ ruined an' I proved it by knockin' their socks off. Eventually, they patched me up good 'nough 'til I got me implant some years later."

"You were with Dahl?" she questioned. Of course he had been - he had previously confirmed as much after they found Captain's ECHOlog - but still, she found herself wanting details.

If Zane was willing to share, what harm was there in asking? As he kept proving, he wasn't done talking.

"Aye. Hitched up me handsome wagon with 'em shortly 'fore they withdrew from that shitehole of a planet. Was just sproutin' hair on me chest an' chin by then, at the age o' six." He paused with a shite eating grin, chuckling at her expression before relenting. "_Alright_, more like sixteen. 'Cause, ye know, the military's always willin' te take on more young bullet shields. They wanted me 'cause I aced their aptitude tests. Got me some thorough attention since I came from Pandora, and as ye also know, there ain't shite there.

"Found meself with the likes o' the black ops unit _real_ early," said Zane with detectable fondness. "They actually performed me intake trainin' planetside, 'cause they didn't wanna waste ship space on me hide if I was worthless. I tell ye, I impressed 'em. Pandora raises some real badarses, as ye've seen. There was nothin' they could throw at me that I hadn't been through before but _worse. _An' determined as I was to get off that feckin' planet, I'd have killed meself to get that break. Damn near did - but look't me now."

Zane struck a little pose in his seat, gesturing at himself from head to toe with a grand sweep of one hand - before slapping it on his thigh with a sharp laugh.

"Actually, I lied - I sure wasn't handsome then. Tall an' gangly was I. A real mess. Ye ain't seen _real_ acne 'til yer a teenager on a desert planet. We were drinkin' water - not bathin' with it! An' I was jus' plain awkward - all knobby limbs an' too much height an' not 'nough meat on me. MRE's were actually a real treat - an' have ye ever tried those things? Holy shite, I've had better tastin' cardboard than 'em! But I digress. I was a nasty lil' bastard. Real rough 'round all me edges. Dahl beat the crap outta me an' polished 'em up. Helped me really refine me talents an' learn others I would'a never had a piss chance to explore on Pandora. Was the best thing I ever did, enlistin' with the likes of 'em. Best damn thing," he repeated resolutely.

"Anyway!" Zane was perking up again, no longer lingering on that past decision that had undeniably resulted in his current situation. "It wasn't long 'til I stopped marchin' to their beat an' started dancin' to me own. I started skippin' 'round the galaxy as soon as I had the ability, doin' odd jobs 'til a long day of boozin' had me wakin' up on the doorstep of an assassin pub. I ended up meetin' some nifty folks an' got me foot into their lil' circle. The rest is history. Back then, I didn't have me fancy digs an' me tech - that all came later an' prob'ly caused more chaos than it was worth. 'Specially in the early stages of development, it almost got me killed but feck, was it _fun_ \- an' yeah. Not havin' me gizmos allowed me to get me feet under meself an' learn the ropes without relyin' on anything but me own wits. They're still in there _somewhere_," he snickered, poking himself on the forehead.

Amara was still curious. Of all the questions she had posed so far, the one she asked now was the easiest. "Did you ever go back to Pandora...before we met?"

"Nope," responded the operative with confidence and a slight tip of his head. "Got too busy an' honestly? I didn't wanna. No feckin' way. Far as I was concerned, I'd done me time there. Had bigger fish to fry an' thousands o' other places ta go. Didn't do much but work, drink, an' work s'more 'til every greedy bastard wanted a piece o' me." He paused to wink. "'Cause o' that, I broke a record worth o' piggy banks by overstuffin' 'em an' kept at it 'til damn near everyone decided this ol' man was a serious liability.

"Like I told Lilith back when this whole shebang began, I made me money doin' all sorta jobs fer every rich arsehole this side of the galaxy. I've done everything ye can imagine 'em wantin'. Assassinations, smugglin', corporate sabotage - those were me main bread an' butter. I specialized in tech, so I got roped into a whole lotta big wigs stealin' trade secrets, corruptin' mainframes, an' gatherin' blackmail both fer them an' meself as collateral."

Amara frowned, intrigue stoked. "Why don't you use it now if they're trying to kill you?"

"Too easy?" laughed Zane, adding a shrug that was as nonchalant as all his others. "_Nah_. Honestly, it would probably start another corporate war. Lemme tell ye, that's not somethin' ta take lightly. Trust me, it's gonna all come out if they end me," he vowed, the show of his teeth more malicious than she had ever witnessed on him. "I ain't goin' down alone."

That seemed very much like him. He had a gadget for every situation, so it made sense that he would have a failsafe prepared for the event of his death. Admittedly Amara didn't know much about the corporate war he referenced - simply because there had been few survivors willing to relive it. Zane, likely, was an exception but even then, she didn't want to risk sending him mentally back to a time he preferred to forget. Already, she might have done that.

If she had learned anything from sleeping alongside Zane, it was that he had nightmares. More than once, he had startled awake beside her, his chest heaving and drenched in a chilled sweat. The first time she had joined him in being shocked and wide-eyed, he had assured her that everything was fine, turned his back to her, and promptly shut down. Since then, she refrained from revealing her awareness whenever she could help it. If he wanted to talk, he would. Concerning as it was, it didn't happen frequently enough for her to question it.

Amara didn't judge - and how could she? She experienced nightmares of her own, but had she ever woken Zane with them, he had never suggested as much. In actuality, she could only remember having one since he started sharing her bed. Her bad dreams were nearly always the same - of Tyrewn absorbing her powers and using them to slaughter her teammates. Of the self-proclaimed God Queen using illuminated arms to destroy everything she loved - just as she could have, _would_ have, had Amara fallen into the twin's clutches.

She didn't want to think about it. Instead, she focused on Zane again.

"Did you ever think to stop before everything reached that point?" she probed, convinced she very well would have in his position.

Zane thumbed his beard again, twisting his longest whiskers to a sharp point. By now, she was convinced he had grown it to keep himself busy.

"Honestly didn't cross me mind!" he laughed. "I was in the business fer so long, an' built up meself so much with it, that I felt pretty damn near invincible. I mean, I _knew _better - an' I was prepared fer the day I saw me charmin' mug plastered all over the assassin circuit. Kinda inevitable in that walk o' life. Hell, I've been the one ta collect on me fellow mercs whose shoes I ended up in. 'S fair game an' all, but I got caught up in thinkin' I could predict when shite hit the fan. Turns out, I couldn't.

"Was a natural progression, I s'pose," Zane went on to say, now scratching the underside of his neck. "When I was gettin' started, I worked for a whole lotta nobodies. I didn't have much choice but doin' the lower tier jobs...like human traffickin' an' killin' folks who'd done nothin' wrong but jus' pissed someone off. Did a whole lotta shite you wouldn't agree with an' _I_ didn't believe in, but that's part o' the gig. Can't get far without followin' orders to the T, whatever they are.

"Anyway, bein' a merc ain't 'bout doin' the right thing _ever. _'s 'bout keepin' money rollin' in an' not gettin' offed in the process. Fer me, it was always a matter o' affordin' me next upgrade. 'Course with me pockets full, I kept goin' fer the thrill o' it. Best way o' keepin' ahead of the game is _bein' _it. The likes of Atlas an' Hyperion always had the most impressive digi-tech, so I was always itchin' to get me hands on it. I never had me sights set on anywhere but the top, an' gettin' backstabbed is practically spelled out in those contracts. The _real_ best o' the best go radio silent - but that ain't my style."

Zane shot her his signature grin: cocksure and audacious. There was never a more devil-may-care personality than his, the siren was sure of it. His carefree transition reinforced that belief, skipping to what _he _regarded as important.

"On that note, I got an arsenal like ye wouldn't _believe_ from all me payments and bonuses. Don't think I've showed ye yet! Sure I got a couple'a goodies that'd meet yer fancy."

Amara arched a haughty brow, smirking while she did. "So you've been holding out on me?"

Zane laid on the charm thick, bobbling his manly brows at her. "Wouldn't dream of it, gorgeous! More like I've been meanin' to, but me memory is selective like me hearin' - an' by that, I'm sayin' I get other things on it when yer in me quarters."

Another saucy wink followed, causing the siren to roll her violet eyes. Still, it wasn't like she was any better. She was equally responsible for encouraging those questionable habits.

It didn't take much for her mind to detour back to the price on Zane's life and him virtually having everyone out to kill him - A reality that made her bristle even now. Her expression furthered as she remembered his words to Hammerlock after they had rescued him from the Anvil.

"You said your brothers still tried to kill you," she stated with equal parts confusion and contempt. "Do you think they would have collected the bounties?"

That was just another thing Zane shrugged off both literally and figuratively, as if it never mattered. He didn't question her backtracking to the subject.

"If they were smart, they would've! But really, money doesn't mean shite on Pandora," he reminded her. "They were out ta off me long before any'a that came into play. S'pose they figured it was fittin' to send assassins after me - and that they did, many, maaaany times," he emphasized, not sounding so much proud as stating a relevant fact.

Then, equally as flippant, Zane gave his mustache a playful twist while saying, dismissively, "Was our Flynt breed o' nonsense. Keepin' it in the family, y'know? That started early. Guess it prepared me fer dodgin' assassins early on. Kept me on me toes an' was kinda like extra credit when I was becomin' one meself. Taught me some tricks 'fore me mentor figured I should know 'em."

Leave it to Zane to put a positive twist on everything, much like he literally did while fiddling with his mustache.

'But why would they do that?" she questioned, befuddled by it all. _Because they're Flynts?_ she expected to hear Zane suggest again, like their bloodline explained everything.

"Can't say, honestly," he replied, clearly not caring. He wore a smirk that gradually dissipated, mouth falling into a firm line that hinted at derision. "They never sent a postcard or instructions, the nerve o' 'em. But honestly, Captain was just a feckhead. Reckon he had a grudge 'gainst me ditchin' the clan an' makin' a reputation fer meself, even if I kept me Flynt name. Was more like _he_ didn't want to be compared to the likes o' _me_.

"Bet he considered me leavin' Pandora an act of disloyalty or some shite - or he thought it made a coward o' me," jeered the operative, his frown lines pronounced. "Bleedin' twat always called me soft. Said I'd never make it. An' when I did, he still wanted a piece o' it. He didn't want me forgettin' he was still back there bein' a sick bastard with all his loyal bandits, carryin' on our family name the _Pandoran _way. 'Course, knowin' Captain, the manky git prob'ly liked receivin' boxes o' heads on 'is doorstep jus' as much. For the record, _never_ eat somethin' called Pandoran headcheese."

She would think Zane would catch on to her disturbed expression. Needless to say, his warning had been absolutely unnecessary and her appearance proved it. Instead, for a moment, Zane said nothing. He only chuckled in a faraway tone before propping his elbow along the window frame beside him and, leaning his cheekbone on his knuckles, regarded her far more conversationally than sat well with her when he added:

"Funny thing, all things considerin' - it was Lilith an' crew who killed Baron. Maya an' hers who killed Captain. Curious to think, if I'd stayed on Pandora, maybe ye would'a been the siren 'ta have ended lil' ol' me."

That was the last thing Amara wanted to consider. Spiritual as she was, she believed in fate. Throughout her own life, she had felt tempted along by some unseen force urging her in inexplicable directions. If Eridian lore was true, then she was one of the six women in the universe who had some mysterious destiny. It was said, among other things, that sirens were both drawn toward each other and tempted by Pandora…

Still, Amara couldn't help but feel that her teammates belonged in her life as they were. Even spiritual as she was, she wasn't certain if so many strings of destiny could be pulled in such ways...but then she didn't doubt the unknown. It very well could have been that the road Zane regarded as having been his own had, in fact, been him following whatever eccentric and predestined path meant to lead him to her.

It was all romantic and ridiculous, she told herself, and yet what were the odds that both she, Zane, and the others would end up on Pandora at the same time? Why was it that Zane, after three years since his forced retirement, had dodged Barnabus' assassination attempt, only for the other man to suggest he head to that same lawless wasteland - and not only that, but have him _listen_? Why, of all the decades he could have returned to his homeworld, did he just so happen to travel there?

There were infinite possibilities throughout the six galaxies and by Zane's own admission, he had practically traveled them all. The odds seemed impossible that he would compulsively choose Pandora, of all planets, to hunker down - particularly given his personal distaste for it. His brothers had been dead for years by then, so he hadn't circumvented the wasteland to avoid them. He could have gone instead to any of the other borderlands.

She wasn't convinced that Zane would have ever considered resorting to Pandora if Barnabus hadn't suggested it. She supposed she could have asked him but she saw little point in it. As it was, considering so many possibilities felt overwhelming.

Deciding to entertain herself with them later, she focused on Zane, who was concentrated on her. Curiously he had watched her mind working, his brows raised. Probably he had been awaiting her reply and was trying to predict if she would shape it with her usual cockiness.

Finally, he smiled. "Lookin' pretty thoughtful there, lovely. Lemme guess, yer imaginin' all the ways ye would'a smeared me."

She gave him a look. "You're that sure I would have won, huh?"

"Uhhh _yeah, _an' ya aren't?" he laughed. "I'm old, not stupid! There's nothin' I could do ta stop ye from makin' me a fleshy pancake."

"I'm sure you would have managed somehow," she smiled, not putting it past a man of his talents.

He snorted. "Ye would'a punched me sexy arse through me teeth."

What an image. Her grin grew wider now, taking on a wicked edge. "I mean, I _could_ have, but they're so pretty. They might have blinded me enough for you to slip away."

Zane pouted. "Whaddabout the rest o' me? An' fer the record, these babies," he paused long enough to tap audibly on the pristine white of his front teeth, "are cheatin'. Even with the rest o' me mug, I couldn't be a handsome bastard with jacked up teeth - an' fecked up they were. Between all the fightin' an' the sand, Pandora is hell on chompers, same as it is on everything else - but man, the _sand_ was the worst o' it. Got in damn near everything, includin' food, an' wore enamel down. As ye can imagine, it could be damn scary. At least these bad boys'll last long after the rest o' me decomposes - unless I get vaporized!"

Leave it to Zane to sound giddy when considering his own demise. It consistently seemed like he couldn't wait to experience it. As always, Amara made a low, disapproving sound and exhaled through her nostrils. Clearly it was time to change the subject.

Shifting in her seat, she turned to face him more comfortably - and noticed the way his eye immediately flicked to the flexing of her abs before they relaxed. Had she blinked, she might have missed it. The way it made her feel, she was glad she didn't. It wasn't often that Zane's gaze detectably wandered, and she wouldn't mind inviting it to linger a little more. Intending to do just that, she gave her stomach a sensual undulation and was rewarded by his playful growl. Belly dancing was, after all, a proud part of her Partalian culture. Why not flaunt it?

This time, it was her turn to give her partner a sultry wink. Maybe that wasn't the best way to keep the operative on track, but it was a means of encouraging his obedience. If he behaved, she could give him a treat. With how difficult it seemed for Zane to tear his attention away, she knew she was onto something.

It was definitely time to redirect him, and she already had a capable question prepared to do just that.

"Do you ever wish things went differently between you, Baron, and Captain?"

_That_ had Zane dialing back his friskiness. If anything, his mood grew tepid.

"It's useless considerin', seein' as that wasn't how things turned out. The way I see it, I didn't need 'em. I got the brains _and _the looks. I was successful without whatever it was they would'a offered...which honestly wouldn't've been much."

That wasn't exactly what she asked, and she suspected Zane knew that. It was just like him to sidestep something like that. So much could be implied from his action.

After spending a long moment gazing past the vehicle's hood and off to the now-quiet settlement, Zane went on. This time, he sounded more thoughtful.

"Sure, I could spew some cliche 'bout how the universe is a better place with me brothers dead, I but wouldn't be kiddin' anybody. A couple'a bandit lords on Pandora don't amount to shite, honestly. There's a whole lot worse out there. Yeah, me brothers were bastards but me, I'm a bastard too. Wouldn't be who I am without 'em, though. I'm a piece of work but that's all I've known an' it keeps me survivin'."

Even as he spoke, Amara could feel Zane withdrawing. It was damn near tangible, and _that_ was the last thing she wanted. How long would it be until he opened up again? She decided that didn't even matter so much as assuring him that she wasn't negatively judging him. Maybe in the past, she would have, but now…?

Dodging feelings might come naturally to Zane by Amara couldn't help herself - she leaned across the console and kissed him. Felt his immediate surprise, followed by momentary hesitation. Clearly he was thinking what she was: that she would never make that move after he had a cigarette. The fact that she did caught them equally off guard. But, for as revolting as she found his recent smoking to be, she felt irresistibly drawn to him.

It would be the _only_ time she touched his nicotine-laced lips. She owed herself that and vehemently refused to forgive that particular vice of his. Still, the urge she had to connect with him after he had so personally spoken to her was irresistible. It made her press more closely into him, teasing her tongue across his hesitant lips to request access.

With more vacillation than she thought possible for him, Zane required some coaxing. Still, after a quiet sigh, he all but drew her in, cupping the back of her neck while his tongue caressed hers, their mouths melding in that arousing, warm embrace.

Amara was surprised at how little she tasted tobacco. Instead, it was more the scent that lingered with his signature musk. Any more than a single cigarette and she doubted she could stand it. There was an earthier, darker flavor intermingling with his...but still, the way he moved with her in that gentle, skillful dance was enough to have her tingling with desire and her nipples hardening against her sports bra.

She didn't _intend_ for it to progress as it was. She could tell from the measured rate of Zane's breathing that he was keeping himself in check. While they weren't in necessarily dangerous territory, it wasn't exactly neutral either...and it certainly wasn't Sanctuary. Still, she couldn't find it in herself to mind. Moze and FL4K were otherwise occupied and had refused their help...leaving them alone, together, with little else to do.

That was _not_ the direction her mind needed to take. For as delectable as their kiss was, it had to end. Catching onto her same wavelength, Zane joined her in mutually parting. She lingered only to nuzzle against the familiar texture of his mustache before leaning back into her seat, her expression of contentment mirroring his.

In fact, Zane leaned back against his side of the vehicle like their kiss never happened, though the glint to his eye proved it very well had.

"Trust me, if I could've chosen me family, the one I had wouldn't have been me winner," he went on, drumming his fingertips along his armrest a few times. "Way I see it, havin' decent family would'a made me soft. Jus' can't wrap me head 'round havin' two friendly bros. Goes against everything I know. In fact, thinkin' o' us doin' shite like huggin' an' havin' a secret handshake? _Jaysus!"_

Zane's disgusted laughter was almost enough to shake the technical. For as expressive as he was, Amara didn't think she had ever seen him appear so uneasy. There was his morbid sense of humor again. It struck her how he was so ridiculing of the mere idea when he was always affably physical with their team.

When he settled down, he did so with a coughing chuckle. Then, he looked to her, offering a lopsided smile.

"I know what yer goin' for, gorgeous. It's more than ye need ta know - but, ah...I didn't love to hate 'em. Dunno if I hated them at all, honestly. Somethin' I haven't ever figured out 'cause to me, it really doesn't matter. That whole mess feels like a whole 'nother lifetime to me."

Amara could relate, but did Zane actually know that? Same as she hadn't questioned him much about his past, he hadn't ever prodded her. None of their team asked questions, really. There was something liberating about that - and knowing they accepted each other for who and what they were in the present without judging their pasts.

Even then, Zane was particularly mum about it - so much, she wondered if he was even curious about her. She suspected he was but even when she commented on something alluding to her former life, he didn't question her further. Really, she couldn't even tell how much he had heard along the way. It almost made her want to quiz him and determine how much attention he actually gave her. Later, she would.

Given his history, it was understandable why Zane was as private as he was. Probably he reserved his interrogation tactics for his targets. There had to be some sort of assassin code where it was a faux pas to make personal inquiries. Whatever it was, it seemed the operative followed the golden rule - and suspected that if he knocked on someone else's door with demands, he might be expected to open his.

Even then, Zane seems to shed several layers of smartass irony and sarcasm when they are alone together, Amara thinks. With others, he is more about whiplash quips and witty banter. She wonders if it's because she is always genuine with him. Maybe, just maybe, that was contagious.

After a moment of further consideration, Amara readjusted her body so that she could arrange her feet in his lap. She didn't really know why she was so inclined - aside from the obvious. It wasn't necessarily that she wanted to take advantage of Zane's chivalry - he was _always _willing to do as she suggested. The chuckling smile he gave, and the obedient way he began removing her boots, proved it.

Really, it was the closeness she wanted. Those intimate moments of connecting often stirred in her the need for more. As an ambitious woman, she was rarely satisfied. Somehow, having Zane's strong hands on her brought her both physical and mental relief. After preemptively brushing as much of the sand from her skin as he could, he generously complied with her silent demands.

The way he worked his thumbs into her arches felt divine. She couldn't prevent a faint moan of appreciation from leaving her - or again as he rubbed between her toes and stretched one after the other, relieving the tension there. Living most of one's life on a metal ship took its toll, and having her partner skillfully pressing and kneading into her feet was among the sweetest release there was.

Perhaps there was some ego trip involved...because what person wouldn't want a man like Zane doing as he did? He had only just described how vicious Flynts were, and even then, she knew he downplayed it. Even beyond that, the operative was a hell of a man who was also so brazen, it was seductive. He was, as always, willing...if the prominence of his erection wasn't telling enough. She couldn't help but tease her unoccupied foot along it, earning a rumble from his chest.

Smirking contentedly, he patiently stroked the pads of her toes and, gradually, progressed to knuckling the ball of her foot. Everything he did was heavenly, suggesting he had practiced that skill as he had everything else. Beyond that, he had a keenness for pleasuring her. And oh, how that massage did.

Amara melted heavily into her seat as she allowed him to lavish her with attention, closing her smokey eyes for a long, savoring moment. It wasn't until he began slowly rotating her ankles that she hummed and met the satisfied expression on his lined face. She decided that authentic happiness looked particularly handsome on him.

"You're too nice," she purred, pointing her toes at him. Mm, and she wouldn't have him any other way. Still, she had to ask, "Is there anyone you do hate?"

Far safer than asking, _is there anyone you love? _She didn't want to know his answer.

Zane pursed his lips thoughtfully before smirking. "S'pose I can board the Handsome Jack hate train. Ain't usually a bandwagon guy, honestly, but he was a jackhole."

That, it seemed, united nearly everyone. Still, some had more reasons to detest Jack more than others. Knowing what she did about the operative's profession, she asked, "Did you ever work for him?"

She knew Zane's answer before he gave it. Chances were, they all did, and she didn't expect he would deny it. He was in no way ashamed by his profession and all it entailed, and he often boasted about his reputation. What entity could afford his services more than Jack?

"Aye, I did," he said easily, reversing his rotation of the ankle he massaged. At the same time, his thumb applied a tender caress. "Only as long as I could stand the cunt, that was. Needless to say, that didn't last! Wasn't like I was hurtin' fer money, an' honestly? It wouldn't've mattered if I was. Some rich arseholes are so _beyond _arsehole that they ain't worth the air they breathed."

"Knew he was trouble from the start," Zane conveyed with a jaded snort. "It was _real_ obvious he was fecked in the head. 'Course everyone knows that now but I knew him 'fore that. He gave off_ all_ the signs an' they only spelled trouble fer me. I knew the paranoid twat would convince himself I double-crossed him or knew too much. Was clear as day that I was better off droppin' from his radar 'fore he paid me with a bullet.

"Losin' me life to that sick narc wasn't worth the crazy money he paid," sneered the operative, even as he pleasantly dug his thumbs into her sole and spread them outward, coaxing tension from her. "'Sides, it pissed 'im off somethin' fierce when I started rejectin' him, 'cause he couldn't get the best o' the best workin' for 'im. Was my way o' stickin' it to 'im. Reckon he was one'a the first wankers to put a huge bounty out on me. I bet it would'a really tickled him, knowin' I'd turn into a vault hunter!"

Snickering, another moan left her lips. The way he was kneading into her arch was particularly relieving. She couldn't help but close her eyes and purr again. At the feel of him lifting her foot and pressing a soft kiss atop it, they fluttered open. Tickling as his mustache was, she couldn't help but twitch.

"First time I've given a footjob in a technical," he said with a wink.

Try as he did to keep things light, Amara could see the presence of need in the shadows of his face. By now, she knew it well...and the insistent press of his member against his pants made it that much clearer. It made her wonder if there was any part of her that didn't elicit temptation in him. She wasn't inclined to discourage him.

"Have you had sex in one?" she queried, unable to resist the tease. It was times such as these that she questioned who, between them, was more impulsive.

Zane's voice was gruff despite the chuckle resonating through it. "Honest answer?"

"Mm?"

"Can't say I have," he admitted, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, "but I sure as hell want to."

It wasn't unlike him to be so forward, but up until then, he had conducted himself with _some _resolve. Even then, it hadn't eroded so much as crumbled away, his remaining eye fixed to her with vividly smoldering desire.

It didn't take much more than him looking like that to entice her. Already, she was withdrawing her legs and maneuvering herself over to him. For as reluctant as she was for her feet to leave his touch, there was the potential for more pleasure than he had already given her.

Zane's lap still looked like the best place to be, and so Amara seized the advantage. Crawled across the center console with the prowess of a hunting tiger, her shoulders rolling beneath the pliable leather of her vest as she climbed atop him, the operative compliant as always. Even then, as their mouths hungrily met, she could appreciate how her partner _pretended _to resist her.

"Prob'ly shouldn't," he grunted between their open-mouthed kisses, their lips repeatedly parting and changing angles, driving each other closer to that point of no return.

"We shouldn't," she breathed in agreement, and even then she tightened her hold on him, grinding her hips and pulling at the fabric across his chest.

Clearly, neither of them had any intention of actually discouraging the other. If anything, acknowledging the taboo of their situation only invigorated their desires. Even if they weren't in unknown territory, being so exposed and giving in to their need for each other while on standby for their teammates was exhilarating. To think she had set out on their mission to do something moral and right, only to turn around and do something so selfish, was so wrong and yet so undeniably arousing.

What they were doing was immensely irresponsible. They both knew better than to make such indulgences, but even then, their confidence overrode rationality. In many ways, she was no different than Zane - he was simply more outspoken in his methods. Right now, Amara allowed her actions to speak for her. She pressed them together and felt him submit, still inviting the sweep of her tongue.

It wasn't lost on her that she had initiated this and that Zane, in contrast, had tried following more professional parameters. Considering how reckless he seemed otherwise, one would expect him to more boldly tiptoe that moral line. When aboard Sanctuary, their motivation was equal...and even Amara knew that intimacy was never truly suited for a battlefield. Even then, she had all the confidence that they could handle any situation...and put the brakes on their indulgence if needed.

For as diligent as he could be, Zane was still a man. Simplified, he's one who smokes cigarettes, drinks excessively, and never stays in one place too long. He was also a man fit to fuck her like they'd had sex in a technical a thousand times before, and he intended to prove it.

Knowing this, Amara shivered hotly as he drank her in without the faintest trace of hesitation. The movement of their mouths was a well-practiced dance, their rhythm and motions testaments to their synced partnership. Already, the universe was shrinking in familiar ways. Soon, there's nothing left but the two of them.

Not once breaking their kiss, Zane sat back to make what space for her he could and invited her atop him with guiding hands. Still, the fit was tight. Petite as she was, and slender as her partner was built, the technical just wasn't designed for fucking in _any _of its seats. Still, the way Zane kissed her suggested he was in no way deterred, his tongue continuously seeking hers with a sexual glide, his silver stubble rasping against her skin.

Really, they shouldn't be doing this. Who knew when Moze and FL4K would need them? Though Amara's mind insisted _if_. She and Zane had cleared out one bandit camp on their own. The soldier and nomadic AI could do the same. And it wasn't like they were being neglectful, with both of their ECHOs tuned in. All their teammates needed to do was request backup and they would swoop in to destroy whoever was left.

Fulfilling that obligation would be simple enough, provided they weren't in a real state of undress. The fact that she was already so intent on going that far had Amara questioning her priorities. Since their affair had begun, they had maintained an air of professionalism throughout their missions. She didn't a single exception as the beginning of a slippery slope. Besides, if their teammates needed their assistance, they wouldn't have rejected them. If the amount of gunfire rattling off in the distance was any indication, the number of enemies was dwindling.

If anything, Moze's earlier snarking guaranteed that neither she Moze nor FL4K would beacon them over to loot the area. No doubt they would keep everything good for themselves and regroup using their own Catch-A-Ride. Honestly, the siren was more concerned with their allies happening upon them in a compromising condition rather than having a gang of assholes sneak up on them.

Besides, Zane had already insisted that he maintained a scan of their surroundings. Though she couldn't personally see it to prove it, she knew he was just as unwilling to have their vehicle boobytrapped or shot up as she was. It was a long haul back to their ship, not that they couldn't hitch a ride with their teammates.

As it was, their technical offered _some_ cover...just not nearly as much as she would have preferred. Even then, nothing yet had stopped her from more sensually addressing her partner. Possibly the only thing that could would be Moze and FL4K happening across the condemning and distinct rocking of their technical. Once they got into it, there would be no denying what they were doing inside.

Sure of herself, Amara readily situated herself atop Zane, her muscular thighs embracing his as she pressed herself to him, eyes hooded and full lips smirking. Wasn't long until he spread his fingers along the curve of her ass like a lingering promise, leaning forward to press soft, mustached kisses along her jawline between nipping bites. Grinding her hips caused his hands to flex tighter, pulling her harder against the insistent press of his erection.

They were committed; the breathy growl Zane made, combined with his eager participation, convinced her of that. Amara didn't spare the world around them a second glance. Her firearms, not that she needed them, were tipped against the passenger seat and her partner, giving his own preparedness consideration, unholstered his pistol and mindfully placed it within reach on the other seat. Situated as such, his skilled hands could snatch up the barreled Jakobs and return fire until she could dismount.

They, of course, still had their shields. Their protection made it that much easier for them to sink deeper into their kiss, their lips brushing with sparks of sensation and tongues battling in fluid heat. The practiced movement of their mouths only served to further charge the air around them, the bioluminescence of her siren markings flaring as her desire rose and her blood pulsed hotter in her veins.

Slanting his mouth against hers as hungrily as he was, Zane didn't pull back without a damn good reason. It wasn't one Amara necessarily _agreed_ with, her lips still chasing his, but he was a man on a mission.

"Gimme gimme," he rasped, greedily pawing at her. There was no mistaking the target of his affections.

Zane's hands were adept as he eased them under the elastic band her sports bra and stretched it, lifting the garment to her collarbone. Her breasts fell free halfway, shifting firmly, much to the delight in that handsome face.

"_Love_ these," he breathed, eye glittering and excessively convincing as he cupped both breasts in his hands and gave them a series of gentle bounces, so visibly delighting in the show he performed for himself.

It figured he would profess that to her breasts. Amara didn't doubt his sincerity but even then, his utter maleness had her rolling her eyes. With an amused sigh, she arched her chest to accentuate the display, enjoying her effect on him.

Leaning to brace herself against him, that contact furthering her cleavage, she nipped across his jaw and flicked her tongue along his left ear. The juddering exhale that left him amused Amara, it was so excited. It had her leaning back to look at him, her upturned lips parting to tease. Instead, Zane all but attacked her with his own, bending her backward in his enthusiasm.

Neither of them expected the honk of the horn that pierced the air. Reflexively reacting, the siren lashed one hand out behind her and struck the dashboard, throwing them back against the seat. Bioluminescence burned through her raised fist while at the same time, Zane burst into elated laughter. The sound, combined with the shake of his body against her, convinced her to lower her startled defenses.

The operative was still rumbling as he traced her rapid pulse with feathering kisses, attempting to soothe even as he reached to access a panel beneath the dash and nimbly popped it off. Quickly working, he plucked a series of fuses free and blindly dropped them to his feet.

"Should be no more o' that," he grunted against her skin - and with that, he depressed the wheel with his free hand. _Nothing. _Satisfied, his attention returned to her chest.

Zane was, she knew, rather simple. It didn't take much to get him riled up. Amara wasn't sure she was any different as she watched him appraise her breasts. The reverent way he bowed his head to kiss and suck at them only added to the hot coil of pleasure building inside of her.

That same, boyish enthusiasm she appreciated about him became interwoven with him as a man_. _He might have been recklessly excited but his touches were attuned to her pleasure. Brushing her with his facial hair, he nuzzled sensitivity into her soft skin. He varied between smoothing his lips across her suppleness and tasting her with sucking kisses, curling his tongue around her areolae. Divided his generous ministrations between both breasts, treating each of her nipples to a series of long, drawing pulls, tender flicks, and luxurious licks that sent liquid heat stirring deep in her belly, her clit swollen by his thorough foreplay.

Even Zane was caught up in pleasure, lingering to breathe in the scent of her cleavage before teething at her sweet skin. She purred as he bit softly, first at one side and then the other before going back again. The way he moaned hungrily had her hugging him more tightly to her chest, nestling that handsome face against her heartbeat, letting him feel how excited she was for him.

There, Zane could mark her, and he did - with greedy lips, drawing spots of stunning purple to her bronze. Each erotic grazing of teeth and stinging pull of his lips sent bolts of lightening between her legs and formed a weight in her womb that craved so much more.

Seeking purchase, Amara clutched at him and cursed his jacket. For as much as she loved it, she wanted it off him. Right now, it only served to get in her way. Grasping each side, she insistently pressed it back until her partner relented, allowing her to work it past his deltoids. A moment of shifting later and he withdrew his arms from it - and by then, she was lifting the off-white of his loose shirt upward.

Determined as she was, she didn't give Zane a choice but to lift his arms despite him grunting, "Seriously? Okay _okay._" One way or another, it was coming off, intact or not. By the end, he complied enough for her to draw it over his head and cast it to the seat she _should_ have been in.

"It's stayin' on," came his immediate command as she palmed at his bodysuit. Amara's initial impulse was to challenge him but even then, she had a love-hate relationship with the garment.

Why wouldn't she? It kept his body from her greedy attention. Then again, she could recognize its sexual appeal. The way the armoring accentuated his chest, combined with how it adhered to him like a second skin and moved the same way, was a thing of beauty. She imagined men felt the same about lingerie and how it both embellished attractive features while still leaving something to be desired.

To her, the bodysuit conveyed Zane as much as the rest of his outfit did - except his casual, loose shirt. _That_ still confused her. She didn't see why he didn't ditch it in favor of exposing the architectural piece beneath. After all, it fully concealed him - but then again, maybe his intention was to hide its protection? She supposed it didn't matter given that it was well out of her way, allowing her to graze her eyes over the topography of that digital covering.

Wandering as her hands were, from his pecs to his abdomen, it is wasn't long until she progressed to his pants. With a press of its triangular button and its responding _clic_k, Zane's belt released. And still, as she had learned in the past, she had to disengage the dual buckles of his holster for it to fully separate, pliable leather shifting heavily as it fell to either side.

Temporarily dismounting, Amara lifted herself to allow him some space. She slid back to her seat long enough to drop the sash from hips, her own belt and holster hastily following. Removing her form-fitting jeans was more of a struggle in the confined cabin - until Zane responded to her calves reclaiming his lap. He assisted in guiding the denim down around her feet until he was able to throw the garment, bundled with her panties, to the floor.

Upon hearing Zane's growl, she noticed the view her position gave him, his eye avidly devouring her cleft. She almost regretting depriving him of it as she half-crawled back to him. Snapping out of his daze, her approach spurred him back into action.

She remained poised to straddle him as he lifted his hips to more easily draw down his zipper. With intensity, she watched as he reached within the restricting confines and grasped himself - then reconsidered and worked his pants down past his ass, wiggling with the motion.

Relieved from the compression, Zane was full-mast before she took him in her hand. The moment her fingers touched his velvet heat, she purred against his mouth, coaxing sensation in that smoldering, smooth skin in ways that had him leaning for her, capturing her mouth in a venereal tangle of tongues.

Though it was her squeezing and working him with firm, practiced movements, _she_ was shivering as Zane planted his lips on her neck, sucking at the delicate skin there. The noise that escaped her was somewhere between a moan and a sigh as he lavished the exposed column, enticing her to tip her head further. She couldn't bring herself to care if he marked her, focusing instead on tightening her strokes at the base of his cock and twisting up to the leaking head.

The burning coil in her stomach drawing tight, she maneuvered herself atop him in matching anticipation. Felt herself soaking and ready to take him inside her. Would have if a brush of his hand against her bunching abs hadn't stopped her, the operative shifting atop his seat and reaching for his jacket to rifle through it.

From it, Zane produced a foil square, wielding it between his index and middle fingers. It wasn't long until Amara recognized it, gusting an incredulous breath. Not knowing how long they had, she didn't want to bother with the damn thing, wondering why now, of all times, her partner would.

"Told ye, I always have 'em on hand. Figure ye ain't gonna wanna run 'round drippin', are ye?"

His consideration made sense, as much as she hated it. Between fighting and running errands, she understood the inconvenience of Zane finishing inside her. She didn't know what thrilled her more - brutally pummeling their enemies bloody with her fists or feeling her partner come unraveled inside her, throbbing and filling her. It depended on the mood, but she wasn't quite certain about overlapping the two. She didn't need _that_ particular distraction - or to draw any suspicions when they reunited with her companions.

Shaking her head, Amara went for his mouth again. She heard his pleased grunt as she sucked on his bottom lip and pulled, even as he fumbled with the condom and ripped open the package.

She wasn't done with him yet, running her tongue along the indent she had left on his inner lip. Soothed it with the soft stroke of her tongue before driving into him, flicking at his. Immediately, the operative thrust his own slick appendage against her, breathing a moan into her mouth, his mustache a crisp counterbalance to the wet softness of his oral embrace.

Almost made him drop the damn rubber was what it did - if not fling it aside so he could go to town in that pussy. With Amara practically grinding down on him, Zane had to place a palm on her abs and push her away, his chuckle as tense with anticipation as her disappointed sigh. Despite herself, she sat back and watched her older partner steady his erection in one hand, using the other to turn the condom over to ensure it was appropriately situated before he began rolling it down.

For as much as Amara liked watching the operative handle himself, she was impatient - so she reached to assist, her hands helping unravel the polyurethane down his length. Pushed it along when it frustratingly caught on itself before they worked it to his base, Zane's bare fingers pinching and pulling excess to the tip.

"There we go," he grunted, and then hastily added, "I think. It's been a while."

He then reached up and spit in his hand. She watched as he proceeded to slick up the rubber with a shrug. Then, with a few firmer, testing strokes along his length, nodded to her expectantly, cupping a hand on her hip.

She was more than eager to press flush against him again, delighting in the feel of his grizzled face brushing against her bare breasts. She couldn't say the same for his member as she guided him to her entrance and eased him inside. The immediate sensation of the condom was an odd element of an otherwise eager moment, its cool texture causing her to hesitate before working her partner fully inside of her.

The difference was stark and sobering, her features drawing into a frown. What penetrated her felt _nothing_ like Zane. Didn't even feel like a cock. Thin as it was, the barrier felt too smooth, too rubber, too impersonal.

Still, the operative's hands remained on her hips, starting to move her up and down him. There was no way in hell she missed the disappointment in his expression, try as he did to hide it. The look in his eye wasn't _that _deceptive.

For Amara, it like someone had tossed a lit match in water. She found herself irrationally frustrated, her body craving _him_ \- not something that ruined every damn sensation. It didn't matter how hard she slammed herself onto him, or the angle he thrust with, she didn't feel pleasure. Their intercourse was too impersonal, causing her to curse her dissatisfaction even as Zane salaciously tasted her neck.

"God, take that stupid thing off," she demanded, her voice reverberating with a growl. Already, she was tensing her thighs, effortlessly lifting herself off him.

Zane's grip on her hips lessened as he grunted unexpectedly - and then his fingers outright jolted when she reached to tug at the tip of the condom. Brashly, she used enough strength to pull it off with an elastic _snap_, her partner yelping at the surprise shock of it.

So maybe it didn't feel all that pleasant for him, but she was determined to make it up to him. Already, she was thrumming in renewed eagerness. She flung that terrible piece of trash beyond the vehicle and, with desperate finesse, plunged herself to his thick base. Their reactions, as they slapped together, were immediate.

In unison, they moaned, heads falling back in true sensation. _That_ was just how she wanted it - how bare penetration should be, Zane's hardness rightfully velvet and hot inside her. The difference was shocking despite how often he fucked her bare. Still, it didn't stop her from scoring her fingers through his jagged hair and using it to press their foreheads together.

"_There _she is," came his heady breath, his expression furrowed with wanton and his mouth seeking hers with inspired lust. His kiss was hot, wet, and unrelenting.

_That_ was just how she wanted it, her cunt fisting more greedily around the cock it missed. Now, Zane was reactive as he always should have been, a grateful growl behind his breath as he bucked his hips into her and repeatedly drove his member into her. He knew, always so attuned to her, how to hit all the sweet spots that sent pulses of pleasure thundering through her.

Around them, the vehicle hardly shifted, its shocks designed to withstand terrain harsher than the motions of their sex. Their pace was deep, steadily increasing in speed, and their motions bordered violent. She wanted them that way and encouraged it, clasping one strong hand around the roll cage surrounding her. Using it as leverage, she lifted her athletic body and drove herself down with enough force to have Zane's expression furrowing in both bliss and determined concentration.

With her ponytail jolting and glowing behind her, Amara came. Exhilarating ecstasy shook her, the muscles throughout her arms truly flexing, that same tension rippling through her abs before releasing with that cascade of utter relief. She could only moan and brace her forehead atop his shoulder, bliss devouring her as she rocked through her aftershocks.

The continuous drive of Zane's cock and the heavy bouncing of her breasts was almost too much. Her nails embedded crescents into his arms as he sucked his spiky head to tongue at her and capture one dusky nipple in a greedy curl, drawing her within his mustached mouth. He sucked in firm, thirsty pulls, his eye fluttering shut as he gruffly groaned at the flavor of her, enticing her to grind to his hilt and rock her pelvis forcibly against his.

He pulled off with a thrilling touch of teeth before returning to her mouth, his adept tongue pushing past the wanton parting of her lips to twist with hers. She accepted him with a lewd suck, kissing him with such intensity that it drew gruff sounds from them both, their bodies responding with a renewed flood of erotic sensation.

Zane was so hard inside her, his heartbeat keeping time within the snug embrace of her core. The tantalizing feel of him had her lifting herself again and driving down onto him with a provocative, muffled _thwack_. Soaked as she was, she could _hear_ her wetness smear. Could feel herself drip and smell her sweetness, the vehicle lush with it. Even in her enraptured haze, she wondered if the scent of their sex would linger. The forbiddenness of it all made her head swim.

With one hand, she braced herself using Zane's chest, rapidly frustrated in her search for skin. She felt only the hexagonal texture and paneling of the bodysuit he insisted on wearing. Even then, her fingers raked at him, craving the friction of hair and the heat of firm flesh.

Not even Zane could fully feel her skin, though she enjoyed the worn leather of his gloves. Enveloped in them, his hands gripped at her waist, the bare half of his thumbs brushing her illuminated markings. The feel of his other fingers spanning the small of her back in its entirety left her feeling possessed by him, furthering the primal force of her thrusts.

She _loved_ everything, from the feel of his bruising hold along the muscular definition of her back to the texture of his calluses. The way he encouraged her to aggressively ride the full length of his cock and how he set his teeth into the tops of her breasts, short stubble scraping her pink.

Amara didn't care about anything else. She had never been so grateful to be on standby for a mission. Couldn't thank Zane enough for his lapse in professionalism - or her own. She only knew the gruff sound of his panting, his carnal exhalations gusting across her damp chest. The sight of him marking her further, sucking hickeys across her intimate skin.

She was embracing him now, pressing herself flush and bracing her cheek atop his forehead. Felt a hot shudder run through him, his powerful hands falling to grab her ass, kneading the muscular rounds as he furthered her gyrating motions.

"Feels so feckin' good, 'Mara. Yer so damn wet," he crooned, hot breath feathering against her neck.

She loved the way his pleasure was interwoven through each syllable, proving what her body made him feel. The pang of lust it triggered within her had her crushing their lips together. Zane, forever eager, opened to her even as he raggedly panted in erogenous exertion. Sweat beaded on his brow as he pounded into her, using enough variation in his merciless thrusts to prevent her from feeling like she was riding a dull jackhammer.

And damn, if she didn't love it, releasing a series of throaty whimpers and throwing her head back to breathe, extending her neck as her eyes fluttered behind purple-painted lids. She cursed in earnest as Zane carefully set his teeth in her neck and exhibited that impossible restraint he always did. Just _thinking_ of him leaving his mark there sent her bucking through another climax, her hips uncontrollably fighting his fingers bruising the damp shimmer of her skin. The force of his hammering, combined with the furious onset of her orgasm, had her falling against him. She could only sob and grind through her contractions, relying on the operative for balance.

Satisfying as her finish was, she could never get enough. She was just as insatiable for pleasure as she was for this man who made her do spontaneous, reckless things - like fuck in the front of enemy territory while awaiting further contact from their teammates. Who, in ways that were effortless for him, seduce her into so many sexual exploits she never imagined she would have.

She would never tire of feeling him hard inside her. Would never stop inviting the feel of his facial hair brushing her skin. She wanted to see the pleasure in his handsome features for as long as she could. Savor the fissures in his skin, accentuating the character of him. And continue brushing her thumbs along the crow's feet that crinkled with his smile, even as he pressed it to her neck and chuckled breathlessly, lost in the same thrill that coursed through her.

The more sensation he thrust inside of her, the more she surged against him, her body sluicing with anticipation and her heart rate skyrocketing with her excitement. It had her clutching him like a lifeline, nuzzling into his mouth, her fingers curling in his hair again. Even pressed flush with him as she was, their mouths melded deeply and his member hilted inside, she still couldn't get enough of him.

That was the curse of it - knowing that entanglement would have to end. They still had a mission. Their teammates could still need them. Even then, nothing mattered but how Zane moved inside her, his chest hard against her breasts and his breath humid between them.

It seemed he engaged all his muscles behind the force of his thrusts, pistoning in and out of the sporadic clench of her walls. The pound of him against her cervix rendered her powerless, the culmination of everything on the verge of overwhelming her until she could only cling to her partner and moan shakily, hugging his head to her body.

Amara certainly didn't hear anything over the pulse in her head. Didn't detect the transmission that originated from their ECHOs, Moze's voice entering the vehicle. It was Zane who paused in his thrusting and used one hand to pull _her_ face against him, turning the direction of her shallow panting away from the device he wielded, at maximum distance, in his other hand.

Nuzzling into the signature of musk and leather worn by her lover, Amara certainly didn't know Zane had procrastinated in responding to their teammates as long as he dared.

Instead, she only registered Zane's voice when he transmitted back, "Wassat?"

_Now_ she heard Moze over the ECHO, the gunner sounding mildly annoyed. "Put in your hearing aid, gramps. I said, _how are you holding up?_"

Zane's snort was unmistakably directed at the sarcastic enunciation of Moze's words. In an attempt to stabilize his heart rate, he forcibly expelled his breath. Only a brief recovery did he respond.

"Ain't we s'pose to be askin' the two o' ye that?" questioned the operative, leaving Amara thoroughly impressed how normal and _composed_he managed to sound.

Only then did the siren realize she was still rocking on him...and that Zane kept one hand fixed on her hip. Between his grip and the wicked glint in his blue eye, he urged her to continue riding. Leave it to him, of all people, to manage that multitasking.

"Beastbot and I are almost done clearing out the last of the assholes," Moze explained, completely oblivious and briefly interrupted by static interference that quickly resolved. "...are you two holdin' up? You haven't annoyed her to a murderous rampage yet, are you?"

In the background, they could hear a man's horrified scream and Mr. Chew's roaring bark, his prey's pitch reaching a bone-chilling shriek before ceasing with a wet crunch. Presumably turning her head from the mic, Moze praised their favorite skag with a "_Good boy_!"

Zane cleared his throat before he spoke back, working a feigned note of offense into his response.

"Would I do that? Yer damn right I would!" Then he gave a cackled briefly, amazing Amara with how casual and _unfucked_ he sounded - even as she slid up and down, squeezing around him. "But nah, she's keepin' busy with somethin'."

Moze's concern was apparent. "She's not with you?"

"Nope!" replied the operative, causing the siren's brow to furrow, wondering what his intention was. "She was a minute ago but went off to take a piss or a shite - dunno which. Didn't ask!"

Amara wondered what her expression read, but she sure as hell knew what she was thinking: _That is the best you could come up with?_ Her embarrassment had her reaching up his torso to pinch where she knew his nipples should be, causing him to lay off his ECHO and spout off a short laugh.

Unfortunately for her, she couldn't get a grip on the skin-tight covering or, more importantly, the small target concealed beneath.

"_What? _Don't want 'er callin' both o' us, do ye?" asked the operative, defending his action - before he leaned in, pitching his voice low and lecherous. "Or would ye rather listen to Moze as I feck ye?"

Amara couldn't miss the way her heart leaped in her chest. It nearly reached the back of her throat before she shook her head at him with a swallow. Attuned to her body as her partner was, she didn't doubt he sensed the sudden heat that pooled more heavily in her belly.

Zane tweaked a brow knowingly, a sly smile on his lips. Meanwhile, Moze muttered, "Alright."

The gunner remained oblivious to her teammates' actual status of being intimately entangled and shamelessly indulgent. Had she known how they tongued at each other and participated in an oral tug-of-war, there was no telling what she would do.

Fortunately, the operative forfeited the battle before his delay was too detectable. In victory, Amara flexed both arms overhead - to which Zane responded with a challenging buck of his hips. It was enough to have her snatching the roll cage for balance and baring her teeth at him.

He pulled a daring face before extending his neck to sweetly kiss her. Only after that did he transmit to Moze, the siren leaning in to tease her tongue along his ear. His shiver, as she suggestively sucked at his lobe, was nearly audible.

"Ye good then? Jus' checkin' in or do ye need us?" offered Zane, asking all the important questions - ones they _should _have been ready to respond.

Instead, as Amara grinded his tip across her aching cervix and brushed her clit against the trimmed hair curling at his base, she cursed the prospect of having their intercourse further interrupted.

"Nah, we're good," dismissed the gunner, filling Amara with relief. Contrary to what Zane had so provocatively suggested, her pleasured reaction was from the deep brush of him along her crevices and the pressure of his grip as she lifted and sunk down on him.

"Alrighty then! Keep in touch!" he said with remarkably cheery contrast - and then all but unceremoniously threw his ECHO aside like a piece of trash.

The device ended up speaker-down on the floor of the passenger side, Moze's order of "Behave yourself" muffled but still amusedly understandable.

"Always accusin' _me_," grunted the older man, faking a frown before releasing the groan he had been withholding all along. Until then, the pleasure Amara had given him had accumulated in unfair silence. "Clearly she doesn't know how ye've been jumpin' me cock every chance ye get."

The siren only initiated a kiss in response, reducing her partner to a rich, spine-tingling moan. She was too enveloped in the moment to remind Zane of his one-sided oversight.

After so long, it was inevitable that he was close. She was squeezing him and gyrating her hips as best she could, knowing just how they both liked it. She craved the way his breath stuttered as she combed her fingers through his hair, tangling in it to pull his head to the side. At the same time, she used her other hand to draw down his high neckline, allowing her tongue to trace his salty skin.

Zane's groan was immediate - rich and nearly desperate. The way he tensed as she set her teeth into his corded muscles made her burn, his fingers digging harder into her hips. She had every intention of tasting him right until the end - and would have, had he not grunted and used the base of her ponytail to draw her away. She would have protested had he not used it to angle her face toward his and crush his lips against hers, filling her with swirling tongue and a need that stirred in her core.

His visage, when he pulled away, was etched with yearning urgency. Amara recognized it well and returned that stare of desire with one of her equal own, their foreheads pressed together. There was an intimacy to it that didn't befit their foolhardy sex, in a technical, on a new planet.

"Gonna come," he husked, and she shivered as she drank in his heavy breathing. "How do ye wanna do this?"

_God_, the temptation to keep riding him was so strong, she could barely think better of it. There was simply no denying her preference for keeping him inside until every last drop twitched from him. Even then, for as much as she wanted to feel that primal pulsing and have him fill her to the brim, she knew better than to allow it. Instead, she reluctantly dismounted him with a final wet _shlick, _her pussy squeezing him until they fully separated.

With lust-drunk eyes, Zane regarded her as she backed up across the center console, silently cursing their environment. She could have gone the other way - opened the door and dropped to her knees - but instead, she made herself comfortable enough to lean half across his seat.

There was no mistaking the intense desire in Zane's lined expression as she tilted her head to look at him, her tongue extending to lick that first, sensual line from his tip to base and back again. Feeling him so desperately hard made her ache in emptiness - and still she moaned as she tasted herself slick on his hot skin. Pleasant torture it must have been, his thighs tight and twitching from it, she couldn't resist repeating the process, her soft touch swirling up and around his tip.

It had been too long since she had sucked him off - for both of them. Zane never asked for it - never insinuated he wanted her on her knees unless she was spread for him. Still, there was no denying the irrepressible hunger on his face, his need etched deep and lips parted. The shuddering breath he drew, as she took him into her mouth, was all the convincing she needed.

She wanted to gaze at his handsome face, watch him respond to everything she made him feel, but she knew it was unfair to tease. Even then, she had no intention of hitting her head on the steering wheel...and she wanted to suck the whole of him. Shutting her eyes and focusing allowed her to do that best, her lips stretching as she worked to envelop him.

Despite how urgent Zane had sounded when warning her of his impending climax, she felt him grow resistant. Could sense him buckling down the urge to enjoy her oral coaxing as much as he could. A brief glance during one wet pass revealed the way he tipped back his head and drew measured breath between parted lips, sparing himself the sight of her head bobbing in his lap.

Considerate as Zane was, he couldn't resist the slight stutter of his hips, his thighs tensing to resist the instinctive motions. The lapse in his control caused Amara to moan and wrap one hand firmly around him, her pinky brushing against the coarse thatch of hair at his base.

She purred, the vibration of her voice resonating through the length of his shaft, her efforts invigorated by her own wanton sound. Mouth full, she couldn't quite smile as she wanted when a component of the door squeaked beneath Zane's desperate clutch. At the same time, his right hand reflexively fell to the back of her silken hair, fumbling to collect the dark strands like a rushed afterthought.

Her lashes fluttering, she drank in the moment. Savored the sweet undertones of Zane's velvet skin and his signature scent as she breathed him in. Worked her tongue firmly along every vein and ridge as they passed between her lips, her hand skillfully stroking in ways that rendered his exhales increasingly ragged.

They certainly didn't do this enough or else Zane's hand wouldn't have been so heavy on her head, though she far from minded. Feeling him fight the urge to further her motions made her suck more vigorously, doubling her efforts. She was swallowing softly now, reveling in the intense heat of his cock, lavishing him with attention even as she felt the first telltale tremors ride along his length. A split second later and he was speaking brokenly, his spine stiffening.

"'Bout to- _f-feck…!_"

As if she needed the warning, but she appreciated his chivalry - and loved his orgasmic hoarseness. Already, she sped up her strokes before tasting the spill of him, warm and thick, across her taste buds. She angled him so that he pulsed across her tongue instead of hitting the back of her throat, allowing her to best swallow him down

Softly moaning her submission, Amara hollowed her cheeks around the throb of his cock and drank his salty-bitterness. She ached to watch his face as ecstasy contorted it but instead, she focused on the feel of furthering it. She savored that final reflexive lift of his hips as he drove as deeply into her mouth as she allowed, her fist continuing to stroke him even after she mindfully softened her motions.

Zane's breath jittered as she eased her tongue languidly up and around his oversensitive member. She dialed back her touches until she nestled her nose against the round of her hand, keeping him in her wet heat until those final tremors left him. Only then did she languidly draw back, allowing his softening cock to leave her lips. The way she cleaned him with long, luxurious passes had him sighing in appreciation.

Amara didn't relent in her task as he passed a petting hand along her hair, rumbling contentedly to her. She only obliged when he curled an index finger beneath her chin and encouraged her upward, his tongue parting her lips so he could taste himself inside of her.

For some time, they remained that way, their mouths melding and senses aloft in the afterglow. For Amara, it persisted even after she had dressed again, stepping from the cabin to simplify the process. She used her exposure to the surrounding world to remind herself of their mission. Still, for as much as she grounded herself, she couldn't resist a smirk as she watched Zane, at the driver's side, maneuver his shirt overhead and shrug on his jacket, giving the collar a proud pop.

The partners reconnected as they both slung themselves into their seats and met the other's smile. Amara used the moment to wield the operative's pistol and, whirling it around one finger, blew at the barrel. Zane leaned over to take it back before finishing with an unexpectedly steamy kiss.

Within the hour, the vault hunters were back aboard Sanctuary. Amara had endured Moze's bitching about lame weapons and disappointing missions ever since. FL4K had left to change Mr. Chew's sandbox, their loyal skag lumbering behind them. As for Zane, he had stuck to the perimeter of the bridge while the siren found herself cornered between the gunner and commander. With the three of them distracted, he had slipped away, likely off to do what he fondly referred to as "the ol' booze-n-snooze".

Life aboard Sanctuary resumed, the freighter headed in whatever direction Ava was inclined to steer them. Only one thing was certain: sooner or later, they would inevitably stumble onto another odd job - the more entertaining, the better.

In the hours following their return, Amara had managed to shake Moze off and find solace in her room. Settling into her meditation, she found herself reflecting on her talk with Zane. One subject, in particular, had her smiling.

She couldn't wrap her mind around a gangly, teenage Zane - one who fumbled and stumbled instead of swaggered. She couldn't envision him with acne or scraggly patches of facial hair or having the awkwardness of a virgin. The image hurt her head, even if she knew the inevitability of one having existed before he had become the strange, cocksure amalgamation he was.

Even during their war with the COV, Amara would have suspected a head injury had anyone suggested Zane was a casanova. Probably at about that same time, the operative would have done something weird and completely contradictory - like spout his nonsensical slang, start wiggling his booty, dramatically whine over his flask running dry, or chase after a bandit while cackling madly.

She had discovered early on that the operative had a number of talents but he had been too strange to be _studly. _That wasn't the term she would have associated with her alcoholic and eccentrically expressive teammate. She wouldn't even have considered Zane a sweet talker so much as much of a guy with a fondness for silly flattery.

One thing had been certain: no one was more self-assured than him. No one had been more convinced of his virility than Zane himself. Hearing him hit on his digital likeness had been a regular occurrence. Many eyes had rolled but even then, his bullshitting had broken a lot of tension.

Amara didn't recall seeing Zane actually trying to turn on his charm until the casino heist. Even then, she had written him off as a goofy and lovestruck old man. For as cute as that was, she didn't see anyone tripping over themselves for him. Being his own number one fan, the operative didn't need it.

Sure, there had been a couple refugees aboard Sanctuary who had come onto Zane pretty shamelessly during their victory party. Amara had rolled her eyes at the two women who had hung off his arms and guessed they had a right to be starstruck. That wasn't to say the operative wasn't good-looking, but he did have the advantage of being the only male among war heroes. Even then, she couldn't believe anyone would fall for his brand of cheese - even if it was oddly endearing.

"Joke's on them - I doubt he can get it up. Hope they like wrinkly balls," Moze had snickered - and grinned when the siren chided her with a bump of her hip.

Despite clearly soaking up the attention, Zane had gotten caught up with buying everyone drinks and had gone further to prove that boozing up was his favorite way to party. Needless to say, when he retched into Moze's helmet, he ruined his chances of getting laid. At the time, Amara had almost felt bad for him. Instead of waking up with two broads, he had recovered among FL4K, Tannis, and a spiderant. That didn't really amount to a good time, but then Zane had done it to himself.

Some months later, she had been casually searching for Moze and found her at Moxxxi's, sharing a drink with their older companion. Considering the siren had originally ventured to the bar to locate Zane and prod him about their teammate's whereabouts, she considered her personal mission a success.

What Amara hadn't expected was to find Zane leaning toward Moze and staring deeply into her eyes, saying something she couldn't quite catch. His voice had been pitched low, and she had been particularly distracted by Moze being so flushed.

At the time, the siren had still grappled with the reality that Zane had, at some point, laid the moves on Moxxi and succeeded. She had given the vixen more credit than to be persuaded by flaunted wealth...so the operative must have done something right. Still, for as often as she had seen the two eye-fucking each other, she hadn't him make a pass at anyone else - until Moze.

Amara had almost walked up and smacked the back of Zane's silver head - before she realized he wasn't _actually _trying to sew his old oats.

"Okay, that's just weird," she caught the gunner saying, leaning away from the operative and laughing awkwardly. "If I didn't know how stupid you were, I'd probably sleep with you."

Zane had filled the bar with his barking laughter, one hand flat on his stomach as he kicked back on his seat. He had promptly knocked back two shots, one right after the other, before winking at Moze and finally grinning at their newcomer.

"_Ughhh,_" the gunner was gusting, shaking herself off before snorting at the siren and saying, "I don't even _like _men."

Her intrigue _beyond_ piqued, Amara had looked between them and asked, afraid to know, "Do you two need some privacy? Or maybe directions to a room?"

Moze had made a face. Zane had chuckled heartily and proceeded to chug a full glass of beer. From the forest of bottles he has collected, he was evidently on another drinking binge.

"Ohhh, 'm jus' gettin' our resident lesbian in the mood," he explained after wiping foam from his mustache - like it was the most natural thing in the universe. Then he thumbed at the bar, his remaining eye glittering with generosity. "Ye want somethin', lovely?"

Despite her shaking head, he had excused himself to flirt with Moxxi and returned carrying a glass of water and the most elaborate Bloody Mary the siren had ever seen. The glass was embellished with celery stalks and asparagus spears, slim carrots with greens, and three paper umbrellas boasting alternating tomatoes, cornichons, and green olives.

"It's virgin," he disclosed, well-aware of her stance on alcohol. "That's healthy, right? This ol' man can't be in a bar an' _not _get 'is gorgeous companions a drink!"

Amara had accepted, knowing she would find herself grazing on the treat throughout her visit.

"So what," Moze contested, narrowing her eyes at the operative, "you bring her that and got me _water_?"

Zane faltered, his brain loudly turning over before he played it off with a giggle. "Actually that's fer her too! Y'know, in case she didn't want the house salad."

The look Moze shot their bearded companion had him warding her off with both hands. Even as Amara casually plucked an olive off an umbrella and popped it in her mouth, she snorted in amusement. Zane's predicament was his own.

"'Ey, I bought ye a drink already," he defended and then added, with a smartassed pout, "An' have ye slept with me yet? No! Can't blame a guy for fergettin' ye down there!"

Zane laughed as Moze attempted to kick him in the shins, her boot connecting to metal with no avail as she snapped, "I said I might!"

"Bahh, that ship has sailed," he countered, waving the gunner off before snapping his fingers and pointed at the Partalian. "An' this lass is _wayyy_ outta me league," he grinned with a wink.

She hadn't known quite what to say. Her comment of _That's possible? _had been overtaken by Moze finally agreeing with him.

"Damn right about that, old man," she snickered, giving the siren a flirtatious grin.

Amara had smirked at her, appreciating the flattery as always. She had been seeking the gunner's company, after all, and the two came hand-in-hand.

Slightly swaying on his feet, Zane had reunited with the bar and knocked back another two shots in quick succession before bringing another pair back with him. With finesse, he had slid both to Moze, who appeared placated.

"Now quit yer raggin'," he gusted, plopping back onto his seat.

Moze, at least, knew how to pace herself. She accepted only half of his offering and passed the remaining drink back to him. "Thanks but no thanks, gramps. I'm a cheap date."

"Another for me!" the old man chirped before draining it in an effortless swill.

By then, Amara had already begun calculating how to best carry his tall body. Long before she had been informed of the actual circumstances, she knew the night would only end one way.

As though reading her mind, Zane braced one elbow atop the table and propped his knuckles beneath one sharp cheekbone. He cracked another sloping grin and asked, "Howsabouddit, Biceps - ye gonna stick 'round 'til I get shitfaced an' carry me to me quarters like a princess?"

"He's almost there," suggested Moze, implying the process wouldn't take long. The smirk she gave Amara was almost apologetic for her getting looped into that mess.

Among her two teammates, the siren hardly needed to say anything. She merely bit into a carrot and contentedly chewed.

"Am _not_!" came the operative's argumentative snort. The lopsided smile he shot the Partalian's way had made her stomach flip, his expression laden with lazy charm.

Despite his denial, Zane had indeed been well on his way to being plastered - even more than he appeared. With high proof alcohol and exhaustion working against him, it had only been a matter of time until both caught up with him.

Amara couldn't remember what, exactly, had prevented Zane from demonstrating his seductive prowess on her when he had a more sober opportunity - all she knew was that something had. It could have been someone else interrupting or someone had gone off on a tangent. Quite possibly, both had happened. Regardless, by the time Moze had elbowed him to turn on his charm, he had resisted.

"She might kick me arse!" he had scoffed, earning a roll of Amara's eyes. That was probably the last time she understood him that evening.

"Try me," she challenged despite herself, not wanting to seem like a poor sport.

Nevertheless, she hadn't been particularly keen on encouraging her handsome teammate. For some time, she had been honest with herself about her attraction to him. Still, she knew there was little harm in some friendly flirting, and she was strangely curious about what spell he had used to seduce Moze, proud lesbian she was.

By the time Zane had finally gone on to make an attempt, he had been slurring and giggly. A few minutes after Moze had forfeited all hope, the operative's head had thunked onto the table and rattled the glass vessels atop it.

At the sound, the women had winced. In concern, Moze had pulled Zane up by his hair to look at his haggard face before dropping him, much to the siren's disapproval. He hadn't so much as twitched in reaction.

Amara recalled conversing with the gunner while the operative drooled on the table, his boozy breath fogging his empty glass. Had they needed proof of his survival _besides_ his snoring, that would have sufficed.

"I guess he's been awake for two days," Moze had gone on to explain when they finally shouldered him under his arms and hoisted his dead weight.

His knees bent and boots scraping across the equally metal floor, they had lugged Zane to his room. Upon finding his door unlocked, Amara presumed he had accounted for that particular turn of events. If he hadn't, Moze would have let him sleep it off in her bed while borrowing one of hers. God knew the couch in the commons would have amounted to unjust punishment.

For as unceremoniously as Amara expected the gunner to dump Zane off onto his cot, they had been equally careful in laying him down. He was their old man, after all, and no doubt he would have done the same for them.

Not wanting to wake him, they had left his jacket on. The siren had arranged his leggy body while Moze had situated a trashcan and a packet of painkillers by the bed. Amara had detoured to her room to volunteer a couple bottles of water before they had proceeded to pull off his boots. After all, steel footwear didn't appear the least bit comfortable.

Needless to say, she had cared a lot about Zane long before their friendship had gotten physical - and even longer before she had gotten him to open up more about himself. Come to think of it, she had physically dragged Moze out by her wrist to prevent her from snooping through his personal effects. Funny to think, nearly a year later, she would find herself irresistibly curious.

Now, Zane spent a portion of his drunken nights in her bed. Times had certainly changed. Back then, who would have thought she would _want _him sleeping it off on her floor, interrupting her peace with his intoxicated snoring? Nobody. At least him currently occupying his own cabin allowed the opportunity to quietly collect and reflect her thoughts.

Amara found herself considering if Zane thought of his brothers more than he let on. She wouldn't put it past him if he did. If their roles had been reversed, she knows she would have. As it was, she could relate to having family difficulties - though admittedly not as extreme as his. Her own may have alienated her but at least they hadn't tried to permanently maim or kill her. More than anything, she was glad that Partali drastically differed from Pandora. Chances were, the circumstances Zane had grown up with were commonplace for the wasteland.

For the operative, the loss of his eye had been the catalyst for him leaving his planet of origin - and the final severance he had needed from his brothers. Not only that, but it had forced him to learn to adapt. Even despite his disadvantage, the youngest Flynt boy had bested the odds and earned the approval of soldiers. Once he had that, he had dared to aspire for _more._

If hindering his sibling had been Captain's intentions, then he had been sorely proven wrong. From how insane the pyromaniac had been, she expected him to have taken credit for his younger brother's perseverance. Instead, Zane's achievements had been his own. He had adjusted to his injury and beyond that, had integrated himself with technology. In effect, the loss of his eye had become an integral part of his identity.

Zane's natural need for experiences and wanderlust had propelled him beyond that, proven by the fact he hadn't simply settled with Dahl. Instead, he had kept going - and not only for decades but _extensively. _His taste for excess and extremes had created the man she knew - the one who considered vault hunting a viable retirement.

That wasn't to say Zane hadn't sustained trauma, as he very clearly had. The chances of him having actually processed his past were slim to none. While he didn't mention what his issues were, he openly admitted having many...and more often than not laughed at his own expense. To Amara, the only believable scenario was that he had allowed the damages to scar and fade over time. She personally knew how denying or dismissing problems didn't resolve them - and nothing truly erased them.

She wondered if his choice of augmentation was telling. He easily had the means of choosing a more disguised ECHOeye and still, he hadn't. That wasn't to say he didn't have one among his amassing of gadgets, but she had never seen or heard mention of one. Clearly Zane thought he was handsome with what he had - and he wasn't wrong.

Amara didn't doubt that the cybernetic he used was of his own meticulous schematics, but she also knew he could have designed something not unlike what Rhys and many others sported. She could only assume his scarring was too extensive to suit a more traditional replacement, but even then, correcting that was a matter of reconstructive surgery and synthetic skin.

Among them, only Ava had seen him without his eye patch, and those circumstances hadn't been voluntary. While he must have removed it for maintenance, she couldn't say for certain. Having seen Zane jacked into his computer and neurally interfacing with it, she assumed he updated whatever files and software it contained. Often, she couldn't help but be distracted by the colorful indicators that flashed across its luminous stripe.

Knowing Zane, his choice could have been purely aesthetic. The operative liked his technology and metal, as well as leaving an impression. Vain as he could be, maybe he felt it complimented his hair. Possibly he had grown so accustomed to it, he considered it as much a part of him as any other feature.

Whatever his reasoning, Zane persisted. If anything, his behavior made it difficult to believe that he lingered on the past in any way. He had such a devil-may-care mentality, appearing to concern himself only with what was at hand, whether it was a mission, a weapon, or a bottle. But how authentic was that, really, or was it an act he'd had fifty years to perfect?

Either way, it hadn't gone past Amara's notice how Zane had practically defended his brothers' actions. He had admitted to being unruly and hyperactive as a boy - like those two qualities were to blame. She found that strange, for a man who acknowledged that his siblings hadn't been of sound mind...but then again, they were Pandorans. In order to survive, they had to be savages. They were acclimatized to brutality the same way they adapted to their pitiless wastelands.

Having chosen the path he had, the operative certainly hadn't distanced himself from violence - he had merely refined it. In the mercenary trade, the surviving Flynt had been the best of the best. As an assassin, he had been unrivaled - until paperwork had defeated him. Now, all four dozen bounties out for him wanted him dead at any cost. Even entities with live-capture orders had lifted them, unwilling to risk his escape.

Amara didn't think it was a stretch to assume that Zane's nightmares involved his deceased brothers - and never anyone hunting him. Throughout his career, he had undoubtedly collected a number of adverse memories. Knowing him as she did, she didn't see many gaining traction - at least not in the same way. Trauma throughout adolescence was difficult to overcome, and as such tended to stay with a person, if not outright shape them.

Being middle-aged didn't make Zane an exception. She didn't question that his brothers had inflicted more damage than he was ever willing to admit. His lost eye had been the only damage he had accounted for. She still wanted to ask about his back but even then, what good would it do to dredge up more of his past?

His brothers were dead - he was right about that. By Captain's own log, they had been at odds until his end. Zane said that he and Baron had sourly cut ties before his eldest brother had been killed.

Throughout their talk, her teammate hadn't mentioned a sister, effectively making Amara second-guess what she had previously heard. She could have sworn he mentioned having one with a fondness for explosives. As far as she knew, that hadn't been one of his strange figures of speech...but then he _was_ Zane. She knew better than to put anything past him.

If anything, peeling back a brief page of his history merely led to a lengthy story beyond it. The operative had since shut the book - not with a forbidding slap but just...casually, setting it aside for other things.

They had so naturally transitioned to sex following their talk and it hadn't been done in a desperate manner. Zane hadn't used her as a means of_ forgetting_, but rather he had simply chosen instead to focus on her. By doing so, he hadn't overwritten any of his history and he hadn't intended to. Instead, he had eagerly and effortlessly focused on the present.

She knew he expected her to do the same, particularly as far as his past was concerned - and she definitely knew his painfully avoidant penchant for filing self-reflection under "Pointless Conjecture".

Still, she remained intrigued by it. She couldn't overlook the fact that Zane very well could have killed his brothers but instead, had ignored them. He had been more than capable of settling matters with his own hands, and yet he had never retaliated. Captain's own recording had mentioned Zane having returned the decapitated heads of assassins sent after him.

Amara didn't _want _to think Captain's effort to kill his youngest brother had been earnest...but who jammed heated rebar in someone's eye without knowing the risk - particularly on godforsaken Pandora? Zane's extensive scarring proved he had been tortured beyond that. His pyrophobia was telling enough. Surely he would have understood his brothers' intentions better than she could.

"_Family's rough," _he had said to Alistair_, "I know how ye feel. Me brothers tried to kill me loads of times. Look who outlived 'em all, though…"_

So nonchalant. Simply telling it like it was. No detectable resentment. No lingering animosity. No nuance of antipathy. Amara found herself wondering how many times Zane had recited his reality and if _that_ was why he was so insouciant about it.

The impossibility of everything didn't prevent Amara from being protective of young Zane. Had she witnessed that lanky, disadvantaged boy being bullied by his brothers, she would have stopped them. Had she witnessed Captain's cruelty in action, she would have ended him - and Baron, too. She didn't doubt she would have seen the potential in the youngest Flynt, regardless if he had been a scoundrel. She would have helped shaped him to be more than his family had ever been.

Then again, Zane had managed that himself. He might not have set out to save the universe but he had played a critical role in doing it. That accomplishment was merely another he tucked under his belt, along with his collection. And while his persona was anything but modest, he played it off as another hobby in retirement. Like just another form of entertainment.

Amara found herself considering how Zane, at any point, could have taken a different identity. Despite everything, he flaunted being a Flynt. Being proud of it as he was, it was difficult to believe he would let their surname end with him. Then again, maybe that was his intention: having himself see Flynts out with a _bang._

_"Can't have too many Zanes runnin' around, can we?"_ he had said all that time ago. He hadn't said 'can't have more than one'. There was no telling how far a man of his habits had spread his genetics before taking permanent precautions. How many, exactly, _was _'too many'? That was yet another question she figured went beyond them being friends with benefits, same as asking about his marriages...

She found herself liking the idea of Zane ruffling the hair of a mini-him. The boy would be one with perpetually scraped palms and knees. He would be bruised from his own rambunctious curiosity. He would be a sharp, lively little thing with his father's easy smile and all his mischief. And the thought of him taking on Zane's accent did all sorts of unfairly wonderful things to her. She wondered if a tiny version of him would proudly introduce himself as_ Zane Fynt. _Her womb practically twinged at the prospect, and her heart positively melted.

Now, Amara was convinced that her period was due soon. It was about that time she started thinking strange thoughts, almost as though her uterus was punishing her for not fulfilling its purpose. Her flipping it the finger didn't stop it from acting up

If her menstruation was indeed imminent, that meant she needed to do some more frequent initiating - both to help start her damn cycle and make up for the temporary dry spell that followed as a result. Having been sleeping together as long as they had, it was a song and dance they had done multiple times before. Zane always welcomed the challenge - and more frequent sex - with open pants.

For as common as it was for people to have ulterior motives, Zane simply didn't. Amara trusted that about him. She _knew _he kept a clear conscience. Even if he sometimes drank to escape whatever was in his head, she also knew he simply liked getting shitfaced. And for as much as making him out to be some struggling soul made her want to sleep with him, she knew he craved sex because he enjoyed it. For him, drinking and screwing were simply good times and why not do both if he could? There didn't have to be more to it than that. Zane was a man who had fun letting loose. He couldn't very well do that if he lingered in the past.

She could respect that. If anything, she wanted to look ahead alongside him. For now, she knew it was best to settle for what he had shared with her and refrain, for now, from prodding him. In time, she was determined to learn more about him - but even if she didn't, she accepted him for how he was. She was more intent on proving that through action - something a man of Zane's making always appreciated.

Some nights later, as Amara pulled it from him, she would ask about his off-white shirt. She didn't expect that by teasing him about the mismatched garment, she would bring up his past again. Zane would admit, simply, that it reminded him of Baron. He would offer nothing else.


	14. What Could Be [Sex Poetry on Sanctuary]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A smaller something - maybe to celebrate 2k views? I'm pretty happy about that, though with a story of this length, I expect few to stay through until the end. I hope those who do enjoy this pairing as much as I do. 
> 
> Is that possible? Probably not! Ahh, it's wild how much I adore them. I wish there was soooo much more of them, it's not even funny.
> 
> Eventually things will happen in this story. For now, let's let them enjoy themselves.

For Amara, seeing Zane dressed casually was more strange than anything. Compared to the many hours they spent together in their combat attire or being naked in one another's company, it was a rarity to see him as he was that night. He looked prepared to head to bed more than anything - and not at all like he had anticipated keeping her company.

Needless to say, she blinked when he flashed into view wearing black drawstring pants and a gray t-shirt. He was yawning and scratching his cotton-clad chest, offering her a drowsy smile when he finished. It wasn't lost on the siren how his baggy face matched his comfortably loose garments.

Similar to the crates religiously stacked in his room, his shirt was stamped with 'Swamp Blood Ale' and wasn't dissimilar to other branded tees she had seen. All shared a common and predictable theme: they were of one alcohol label or another. Given the large quantities of ales and spirits the operative kept on-hand, she strongly suspected the shirts came complementary with his faithfully generous purchases.

It didn't even matter how Zane was clothed or how alert he was - he was attractive, regardless. If anything, she found him being just a _guy_ immensely appealing. Drawn to him, the siren proved it with a welcoming kiss, tiptoeing up to him as he lowered himself to meet her full lips.

They remained like that briefly, her hands rising up to fondly tease through his shaggy hair. It was still damp, and that was to be expected when the front of it didn't so easily defy gravity. Even now when she stroked it back from his forehead, it readily stood on end. The operative followed her attention with tired amusement before cupping a hand over his mouth and yawning again.

Amara didn't blame Zane's exhaling distraction for him not lingering on her appearance. Compared to his attire, hers was a far more familiar sight. During her downtime, she was guaranteed to ditch her Partalian style in favor of mobility and comfort. That evening, she wore the tank top Ava had chosen for her, accompanied by a pair of purple, athletic boyshorts. Seamless and stretchy, they were too cozy to pass up - and they didn't ride up her thighs like others she had.

_That, _the operative would notice in time. For now, he was occupied with another yawn, twisting tension from his neck in the process. When finished, he quietly smacked his lips and scratched at the back of his head. Only then did he truly take her in, gazing at her fondly.

"S'been a long day," he sighed. "Barely had time fer a shower an' a beer 'fore ye messaged me."

"Really?" she blinked, questioning if she should have been surprised. By default, she figured he routinely blocked out an hour or more to wind down his nights at Moxxxi's.

"Aye," Zane gusted, and she was surprised the force of his exhale didn't flutter the front tips of his hair. "Been workin' on the subspace engine electronics all afternoon, an' that was after spendin' all mornin' unloadin' cargo. Our crew was hopin' we'd wrap up the repairs 'fore tomorrow's shipment comes, so we put in extra hours...and shite still kept poppin' up. Didn't meet our goal but we're closer than we were to finishin'. We all hit up Moxxxi's smellin' like armpit."

"Couldn't have been too bad if she didn't chase you out," Amara mused, unable to resist drawing in a deep sniff of his neck. Recognizing the lingering hint of his soap, she wished it was hers instead.

"We don't all sweat as pretty as you do," he murmured against her...and at that, sighed dreamily, his chest expanding as he searched for her scent. Warming to him again, she leaned more closely as he gently nuzzled at her hair.

Zane's description of events explained the hops she had tasted during their kiss - not that there was any mistaking it. By now, she associated the flavor with her partner as much as she did the sight of his digi-clone. In fact, the operative didn't seem as authentically himself as he did with bitter ale on his tongue.

With how beat he looked, Amara almost wished he had brought a pint with him to further unwind. The way he appeared enticed by her circular mattress confirmed his tiredness, the same as everything else. She nearly sighed when he drew away from her, already missing his heat.

Ordinarily, one of them would have pushed the other onto the bed already, clothes trailing behind them. Now...

Amara watched her partner as he flopped back-first onto the pad, the pillows popping up around him. The instant he melted into it, Zane gave a moan of relief. It made her that much happier that she had invited him. Besides, she felt that much warmer seeing him like that, lazy and disheveled, with his shirt ridden up. Her enamored gaze trailed along the exposed ridges of his stomach, lingering over the suggestive spread of hair there.

During her morning jog, she had noticed Zane awake and functioning earlier than expected. She had encountered him and Ellie walking side-by-side toward the cargo bay. The three of them had shared some casual salutes and brief _good mornings_ before the two had headed down the staircase, their footfalls pronounced against metal. Aside from their vault hunting foursome meeting for lunch, she hadn't seen _or _heard him otherwise. Now, thankfully, that had changed.

"Feelin' kinda old today," admitted the operative, moving as though flexing out a crick in his back. He gave a wince when something audibly shifted. It sounded deep and bony. Even then, he made a grunt of relief. The way he subsequently crossed his arms behind his head provided her a glimpse of his bushy underarms through his short sleeves.

With her first inclination being to respond with concern, Amara decided against it and kept things light. When they were together, she didn't want either of them thinking about their problems. Instead, she lowered herself to settle alongside him and half-laid on his chest, tucking one leg between his. Then, she teased, "Was that before or after Ellie found you dancing to Ava's music?"

Favorably as ever, the operative curled his arm around her and hugged her closely. His hand, reliable as always, settled on her butt and gave a firm squeeze. She didn't miss the purr of approval that reverberated in his chest or the admiring caress he gave her form-fitting attire.

Lecherous old man he was, Zane never ceased to make her feel like a few million credits.

Tilting his bearded chin to follow her, he broke into a shameless grin. If he was at all embarrassed by his performance, he hid it impressively well. Then again, men like him were entirely unapologetic. He quirked one feathered brow as though having expected word to travel - and indeed it had. Word aboard Sanctuary spread fast, after all, particularly when it came to vault hunter nonsense.

It all began when Ellie happened across Zane shaking his hips while he had been head-first in an access tunnel. That had been as much of a progress update as all the others she had given after waddling to the bridge. Unlike the oil smeared on her pudgy face, the mechanic couldn't wipe off her grin.

"I reckon our sweet pea Ava turned him on to some newfangled music," Ellie had laughed, shaking her red hair aside in the process. "You wouldn't _be-lieve_ the songs he was singin"! Ain't no way that ol' man would start listenin' to that on his own! In fact, we 'bout kicked him outta the bay for all that freeform jazz he was playin' last week!"

According to the rotund mechanic, Zane had been lost in his own colorful world, cooing while boogying to pop music and plugging away at his projects. It seemed he was always going on about the extensive electrical work that needed to be reconfigured and rearranged given Sanctuary III's rushed completion. While he hadn't been assigned the task, the operative had independently decided to bring the components up to _his _specs, and as a result, was still in the process of methodically reworking everything.

Amara couldn't grasp much of his jargon but understood the task was extensive. Already, she had seen enough of the digital schematics and wiring diagrams that her partner had amassed. Back at Dynasty Diner, she had watched him simultaneously stuff a reuben sandwich into his face while maneuvering and manipulating a hologram of the ship. While watching Zane multitask was entertaining, the rate with which he inhaled his meal was alarming. He acted more like plotting a grid and assigning a thousand symbols was far more imperative than breathing between bites.

During the rare event that Sanctuary left orbit to touch down on a planet, Zane had opted out of their runarounds to instead work his technical magic. With virtually no other opportunity to disengage life support systems, no one could blame him - particularly given how their survival hinged on their reliable and accurate functions. For all of the vessel's peculiarities, it was reassuring to know that the electrical components, at least, weren't likely to malfunction.

Clocking the number of hours he did arranging masses of wiring, routing it through confined spaces, methodically labeling bundles, and imposing some sense of order on the chaos he corrected, no one could blame Zane for tuning out to music. In passing, Amara had seen him tapping his toes and muttering to himself between bouts of humming. As adorable as she found it to be, she maintained a safe distance from all things electronic and intricate.

From the way it sounded, the display Zane had put on had been _very_ visible throughout the bay. According to the mechanic, there was no missing it. Ellie had snortingly supplied her depiction of the old man strutting his stuff and thoroughly distracting the crew, entirely immune to his audience. Putting on a flamboyant, peppy display was nothing new to the operative, who pitched into falsetto and sang the tawdry lyrics inspiring his dance.

It didn't surprise Amara whatsoever that Ava - who had religiously worn her headphones since Athena - must have imposed some of her catchy music on the operative. She had personally overheard her teasing him for being outdated. If there was any jab the teenager could make at his age, she took it.

There was no one from the slums of Partali who _wasn't_ into a healthy dose of pop and hip hop. Amara could easily identify the songs Ellie attempted the lyrics to, even despite her mangling many of the lines. The face the redhead had made when reciting them had been both pained and hilarious.

Ellie had nearly been in tears when describing the operative singing 'Rude Boy'. "He was wigglin' that booty he doesn't have like someone was throwin' dollars at him! We were fixin' ta airlock him out the second he started twerkin' an' were placin' bets on all that hip action throwin' his back out!"

It wasn't like Amara could blame Ellie's assumption about his sexuality when giggling, "That ol' boy is gay as a rainbow, ain't he!" It was Zane's own fault for singing so suggestively about wanting dick. In fact, he never did anything to _dispel_ anyone's assumptions. Again, she wished she would have been there to see it. _Hearing_ it would have been an experience all its own. He couldn't sing worth a shit and didn't bother trying. Needless to say, he never left karaoke night with a voice.

Currently, Zane didn't seem much up to putting on a performance. Instead, he appeared more than contented to relieve his bones of gravity and tilt his head back as she affectionately scratched the underside of his chin.

"Can't believe the things kids're listenin' to these days," he huffed, expression laden with amusement. "I ain't one fit to judge anything _provocative_ but oi! An' I know_, I know_, let Ava be 'erself, blah blah blah."

Zane learned quickly. Amara smiled, tracing one twisting finger through his beard. Giving it a gentle pull, she invited his lips against hers. He responded without hesitation, the arm around her waist drawing her closer.

They remained that way for a pleasantly long time, lips languid and touches tender. There was an undercurrent of need there, shared between them as always, but they mutually held it at bay. That didn't make their separating easy, pleasant as it was, but they managed. The way they settled together was equally comforting.

Lingering on their sweetly interrupted conversation, Zane hummed, "Ellie's jus' jealous of me groove."

Having witnessed him in action aplenty, Amara could attest that he definitely had rhythm and grace to his step that suggested he had some training - or faked it until he made it. She couldn't put either possibility past him. His moves were as showy and animated as the rest of him. Chances were, BALEX would pull up the footage upon request.

"I heard it was quite the show," she smiled, reaching up to brush an errant length of hair behind her ear.

Her partner was quicker, using one nimble finger to tuck it away. The casual way he did made wings flutter in her stomach. It was one thing for the operative to be affectionate and another for him to act upon it so naturally.

It made her want to kiss him again. Instead, Zane snorted before boasting, in-character as ever, "Do ye expect anythin' less? 'Course I'm the talk o' the ship - as I should be! Watchin' me dance me booty off is perfect fer morale!..._annnd_ bad fer me back," he added with a pronounced pout.

Even then, the way his visible eye dropped between their bodies and, more specifically, to the juncture of her thighs, made it pretty clear where his mind was headed. She had to snort at that. She did that a lot at him, and for good reason. Zane's mustachioed grin, when he flicked his attention back to her visage, was lopsided.

Knowing he wasn't intoxicated, the siren found it intriguing how he still managed to act like a happy drunk.

"My shower's as hot as yours," she reminded while tucking her face against the heartbeat in his neck. She didn't really need to remind him but found herself wishing he had invited himself to it. As much as he was allowed, Zane never did.

"Mm, _hotter," _he husked. By her standards, the way he turned into her was much too belated. She welcomed him with a smooth caress of her calligraphy-scribed arms, arching herself as he fully encircled her waist.

They could have made out until morning and she wouldn't have noticed, too swept up in those tantalizing sensations. As he eased into her, more patient than demanding, she felt as though her body dissolved into his. Submitting to him, she invited the way he maneuvered atop her, his weight pressing her into the bed with practiced poise. She wanted him even closer, her fingers entangling with his hair, pulling him in. The appreciative sound he made was music to her ears, accompanied by one of her sensual own.

Somehow, their kiss wasn't overtly sexual. Even as receptive as she was, their touches didn't advance beyond that. That wasn't to say they wouldn't, as they nearly always did, but for now, their rhythm was graceful and dulcifying. Despite how hot her stomach grew and how closely her thighs hugged his hips, she had no reason to complain. If anything, she delighted in the way he instinctively pressed himself against her, unable to resist her magnetism.

Through the flimsy fabric of their sleepwear, it was impossible to miss Zane's erection. The looseness of his pants made it that much more obvious. Clothed in her own and so erotically aligned, she could feel his girth strain insistently against her sex.

Even then, Zane exhibited some restraint. For as rhythmically as he brushed himself against her, he kept his touch mindful. He wasn't groping her ass or stroking her breasts despite her nipples being prominently on display. In fact, he feigned a frown while he drew back, even as he lingered on the sight of her braless.

"Sorry,' he said, offering her an apologetic smile. She didn't know why - _she_ certainly wasn't regretting his reaction to her. "Can't help 'im gettin' ideas. Ye'd think he'd get over it."

"And why's that?" she tested, perhaps wanting to see the operative sweat despite knowing he wouldn't.

"'Cause he's old."

"Only as old as he feels," she corrected, poking him between the pecs. That earned a chuckle from him.

"Wish I was a cock with legs then!"

Amara rolled her eyes, challenging him twice. "You mean you're not?"

As if Zane could deny it. In private, he was perpetually erect for her. Even after sex, he had what he called a "chronic case of the cuddle boners." She found it flattering, and why wouldn't she? He _still _found her irresistible and couldn't hide it. If nothing else, it showed his testosterone levels were alive and well.

Zane's chest was shaking in amusement again, enticing him to kiss her. She hummed as the smirk in his lips pressed to her own and gently faded as their melding of mouths grew deeper. The gentle suction she eased along his tongue made them both moan, his length skillfully curling at hers.

She couldn't help but ease her hands beneath the cotton of his shirt, favoring his bare warmth. His chest hair was simultaneously coarse and soft against her stroking palms, the teasing friction making her wonderfully dizzy. The hardness of his muscles, solidly shifting and flexing beneath his scarred skin, stirred molten need in her belly. The way his hand found her hip, possessively palming the curve of it, made her feel so desirably feminine.

By the end of their kiss, they were equally flushed and short of breath. Zane's voice, when he managed, was gruff. "Not helpin' matters any."

Against him, she smiled. She withdrew her fingers to pluck gently at the front of his shirt before lazily tracing the text there, appearing more cozy than seductive. The way his pale eye regarded her was searching - for what, she didn't know. Permission, perhaps, even as she gripped the fabric and used it to draw him nearer.

Amara nuzzled at his beard before lightly nipping at his lower lip and playfully pulling at it. Feeling him so willingly open for her, she pressed her curves flush against him and began tasting him again, savoring the feel of his scar-marred arms enfolding her. Side-by-side as they were now, their kisses somehow became sweeter.

It was nice like this, sharing their warmth and intermingling their faint sighs. Feeling his mouth soft and gentle against hers, and the shifting of cotton fabric. The inviting way his hands touched her skin, his thumbs caressing her midriff. The swell of his chest pressing against her breasts and the feel of his heart strongly beating with hers.

Everything else beyond them blurred into a tranquil haze. The vessel and all its mechanical humming ceased to exist. Even the stars outside her window were lost to the sparkling sensations suffusing her. _This_ was the intoxication she craved, submitting herself to it with heartfelt willingness.

At some point, Zane's lips eased to her neck, the stiffness of his sideburns making her pleasantly shiver. His beard brushed at her collarbone in ways that made her hold her breath, her skin shimmering with each caress of his mustache.

Sighing dreamily, Amara extended her neck to further invite his indulgent attention. She craved being with him like this, always, offering herself as he savored her sensitive skin. The sensation of him mouthing along her pulse point was divine, accompanied by the familiar tickle of his white-silver whiskers. The hum he gave, as he continued to taste her, was perfectly contented.

Submitting herself to his whims, she hugged him more closely, his body a comforting and welcoming weight atop hers. Her thighs tightened their embrace around his slender hips, pulling them more firmly against her. Contrary to how feisty Zane could be, they sometimes shared times like these, necking and prolonging their teasing until chasing more carnal satisfaction.

And that was fine by her. They had all night together and her partner seemed accommodating as ever. Usually by now, one of them would have removed his shirt and likely hers, and yet they remained patient. If anything, the whisper of grey cotton invited her. Threadbare fibers gave way to the spread of hair across his lower back, tempting her with his potent virility. She couldn't resist running her nails through it before gliding them further upward.

With a shiver, Zane gently set his teeth to her collarbone, chuckling like lazy thunder. In return, she purred and danced her fingers along the muscles in his shoulders, delighting in the breadth of them. A series of nipping kisses peppered her skin, the operative shifting his straining member more rhythmically against her. Even dark as his pants were, she could still see the damp excitement at his tip.

Pressing her smug smile into his neck, she felt him shudder again and joined him with her own. His breath was so hot against her. Already, her bronze skin was sensitive where his stubble had abraded her, causing a welcome burn. It never seemed to matter when he last shaved, even if he touched-up midday - by the time the scheduled lights dimmed, he sported a silver shadow. It served to remind her how much diligence he invested in maintaining his distinguished facial hair. She found his dedication particularly endearing.

"Have you ever had a full beard?" she asked curiously, feeling Zane falter as he registered her words and the accompanying gesture of her hand.

With it, she teased through the length of one mutton chop, brushing the hair there back and forth before easing her attention along his jaw. Then, in a series of slow, gentle pulls, she admired the length at his chin, twirling a single finger through the point of it.

"Don't 'spose I have…'least not intentionally," he murmured against her, lips brushing her in ways that caused gooseflesh. Then, thoughtfully, he admitted with a shrug, "I wasn't always this _refined_ marvel of handsomeness. Hard to believe, I know," he chuckled, "but there _was _a time where I was a soul patch kinda guy. Then things went south from there."

With a smile, Amara rolled her eyes, not that he could see it. Still, he sensed it, his chest rumbling with amusement and hers following suit. Pressed so intimately together, there was no mistaking their movements. For now, they wanted it no other way.

Alright, maybe Zane did, as did she, but they were as close as could be without sexual intimacy. And honestly, it was only a matter of time before they indulged in their arousal and sought carnal pleasure together. For now, this suited them just fine...which was why, when Zane shifted to embellish the other side of her neck with gentle suction and soft hints of tongue, he circumvented her lips. If they kissed now, they would inevitably fall deep into each other, and nothing short of orgasm would satisfy them.

Sighing mellifluously, the siren luxuriated in the attention. She certainly did nothing to deter the wandering of her partner's hands or the provocative way he nuzzled behind her ear. Try as he might, Zane couldn't seem to resist cupping her left breast and gently squeezing. The faint stutter on his breath had her smiling and lightly raking her nails across his scalp. In return, his open mouth descended on her throat again with a gravelly rumble.

Easing her foot down along his leg, she toed the fabric up to exposed his calf and teased her sole across the hair there. Enjoying the contact, she asked, "When was that?"

Amara felt his smirk before she heard it in his words. "Ohhh, 'bout when I was yer age."

"_That_ long ago?"

Prepared for his retaliatory bite, she still couldn't hold back her yelping laugh. Playful as she felt, she couldn't help but shiver at the soothing stroke of his tongue

"_Forever_ ago," he agreed facetiously.

She couldn't help but giggle at the growly, exasperated way he spoke. At that, Zane pressed his grin into her skin. His rich, frisky chuckle tickled deep inside of her.

"Did you still have a mustache?" she mused, brows furrowing it as she tried to imagine him without it.

"Still had the 'stache," he confirmed, and something about it made her stomach rosy. "Smaller, though, but still jus' as handsome."

Drawn to it now, Amara brought both index fingers to trace those long ends and give them a downward pull. It suited him, really...There was so much character in those whiskers. He hummed as she toyed with the ends fondly, clearly enjoying the attention. He held himself back for a lingering moment before he kissed her, her digits still playfully twiddling those longer hairs.

Friends with benefits didn't do this, did they? They didn't lay together and talk like a couple, she didn't think. They didn't learn about each other - at least, not like this, so tenderly and intimately. _Maybe_ they necked like horny teenagers but were they so patient and sensual together? She couldn't say, and yet she couldn't help but feel that the attention Zane gave her was one he reserved for a lover...

Already, Amara knew that was how their sex would be. They had done that slow dance many, many times before... Once inside, he would rock deeply, against the tantalizing roll of her hips, and they would work together until a number of climaxes tired her. Then, he would tumble with her, his face buried between the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He would groan deeply with his release, his temple damp against her ear.

Whether she fell asleep with her head on his chest or one of them spooned the other, she couldn't say, but she knew, one way or another, she would drift off pressed against him. She was too fond of that closeness not to.

For now, Zane's kiss remained patient. There was _always_ a hint of more whenever they brushed mouths. How could there not be with the way she opened to him and drank him in? The tender caressing of their tongues was so pleasurable, and yet she could sense his efforts to pace himself.

He openly admitted having a predisposition for simply hopping in the sack, and he had definitely proven that on more than one occasion. Knowing that, Amara appreciated his commitment to taking things slowly whenever she wanted...and sometimes of his own volition. She valued him respecting her as a person. Needless to say, if he used her simply for her body, she wouldn't have shared herself with him. That he went above and beyond what he had to, well...that was why they tangled up in each other so often.

"What about you?" asked the operative, pulling Amara from her thoughts and nearly ruining the moment. "Have ye always had yers?"

He grunted when she smacked his chest and then laughed. It was hard for her to fake scorn when he sounded so delighted. She was, however, tempted to drag him into a headlock and hold until he admitted defeat...except knowing Zane and how close that would put him to both her breasts _and _biceps, he would take it as a reward. It was best not to reinforce bad behavior, not that she minded his smartassing any.

She minded more that he half-rolled off her and instead, settled to her side. Whatever drove him to misinterpret her actions as a protest, she swore she would never understand. He _must _have been tired if he felt he couldn't get a read on her. Even then, he was being outright foolish if he doubted her desire. Patient as she had been to pounce her prey, she swore she stared at him with hunger.

"We don't gotta do the deed if ye aren't up fer it," Zane assured her, offering a small smile. She noticed it was somewhat apologetic, oddly enough. "I'm never gonna turn down a make-out session."

As much as Amara was prone to agree, she looked at him in disbelief. "Why do you think I don't want to?"

"Eh," he said with a shrug, "Figure ye get tired o' me humpin' ya all the time."

Her laugh was much softer than the push she gave him. All Zane knew was that he was suddenly flat on his back and she was atop him, dominant and determined. He barely had a chance to grunt in surprise before she pressed flush to him, her lips parting around his pulse point, the unexpected contact causing his moan to pitch low.

There wasn't a time she mounted him that his hands didn't fix on her ass, and now was no exception. Amara purred as she rolled her hips back into his clutching palms, brushing along his length with the motion. She used such vigor that his head rolled back with a gasp, enticing her with the elongation of his neck. Then again, the operative was always putty in her hands.

Amara craved it. She liked knowing she could sway her hips a certain way and earn his immediate attention. Loved knowing she could command him to get in any position and he would leap to obey. Enjoyed hearing the excitement in his breath every time she bared herself for him and invited him between her legs, where she wanted him. She got off knowing he would gladly suck or rut her all night and all day. And she couldn't forget the power she wielded, knowing at the snap of her fingers, he would tirelessly pleasure her until she couldn't breathe or walk straight.

At the same time, he was still very much Zane. He was a silly bastard with too much cock for his own good, and he knew _too damn well_ how to use it. He personified an intentional trainwreck that captivated onlookers, including her. He was a strange conundrum of subterfuge and bluntness, with a taste for every alcohol imaginable and a predisposition for relishing in his vices. He was brusque, perplexing, and yet somehow reliably dependable.

It still surprised Amara how much she wanted to keep him to herself. How she wanted to let him in, like keeping him at arm's length had never been possible. She blamed his ridiculous charisma. Zane complicated everything about her life and because of that, she _knew _she should have stopped him in his swaggering tracks. She should have kicked him out of her bed and _kept _him out after the first time they had slept together. Or she should have after their first fight...but she never did.

Instead, she chose to keep him close. No matter how much he annoyed her or drove her crazy, or made her laugh, or rode her so hard she could barely walk afterward, leaving her womb sore and her heart soaring...she always invited him back. In fact, she would gladly let him share her bed every night...and she tried not to think about what that meant.

She kissed him instead, with enough tongue make him groan and draw her deeper, his unabashed willingness bringing a ruddy flush to her skin. She didn't know why she was so hesitant to ask for more when he was so eager to please her. Somehow, she didn't think doing this more often would disappoint her partner any. She had a difficult time believing he couldn't sustain interest if they indulged more frequently. The way Zane behaved, it seemed that _any_ break between their flings left him famished.

How difficult was it, really, to invite him to stay the night _every _night? Or, better yet, suggest they stop playing games and denying what they were? Only one of them had reservations about that, and she still couldn't believe Zane was convinced they were strictly friends with benefits. Surely all they did, as _regularly_ as they did it, suggested more...What difference would there be to make something official of it?

With how much Amara valued whatever they were, she still couldn't risk it. Instead, she continued gyrating her hips in a way that had his breath catching. Even still, she trailed her mouth along his neck and continued playing there with the softest of touches.

Sighing into his ivory skin, she parted her lips for the percussion of his jugular. There, she tasted the clean salt of him, rolling her tongue along the swallowing bob of his adam's apple. Languidly she swirled around the mole he had there, licking until he bowed into her ministrations. Only then did she stroke up along the corner of his jaw and nip at the tufted hair there. To the sound of his frenetic respirations, she nuzzled through his sideburn and teased a sensual exhale along his ear, feeling him shiver. The hot, fluid suck she gave his lobe had his hips reflexively lifting beneath her.

"I'm _ready_," he breathed, and the utterly horny way he said it had her laughing, the sound sending a tangible frisson throughout hm.

So, as it turned out, was she.

…

Of all the many sexual positions, on her back was how he liked Amara best. She always took his cock so beautifully, and there, with her spread below him, he could see _everything_.

He could brush his leaking member against the fissures and prominences of her abdomen and then slide to the hilt_ knowing _how deeply he filled her. Could watch her snatch slide soft and tight as a fist around his plunging girth, the sensitive pink of her slit bright against the darkness of her outer lips. He could trace the siren swirls that, throughout the trials of that first year, had flowed to cover her in ways that were mysteriously specific to her. And he could best hear the sloppy sounds of himself so wetly fucking into her.

As far as he was convinced, taking her like that was the best way to reconnect after a long day of lingering, furtive gazes and brief little touches and secretive smiles amidst missions. And it was perfectly seamless for them to fall into that rhythm when they finally had that precious time to themselves.

Missionary was _easy_. His body knew the motions best and naturally pulled out all the stops when weighing her into the bed. Women were wired for closeness and Amara was no exception. Alluring as she was, she was more than willing to pull him atop her and hug him with her thighs. Capable of sexual acrobatics and well-versed in carnal gymnastics, even he could thoroughly appreciate indulging in more forward gratification. He damn well knew mind-shattering sex in _any _position was about enthusiasm and technique and he had both in excess.

The refined gent he was, Zane could appreciate something _classic._ More than that, missionary was a prime position for lifting Amara in his arms and bringing her up onto his lap if she craved a hard and upwards pounding. Lord knows they had made that transition more times than he could count. His back had fresh scars to prove it.

Of course, he liked taking her in any position and did well to prove it, and there were so many other ways to get her off. His efforts were limitless. In particular, he _craved_ using his mouth on her. Had he a choice, there would always be foreplay - with her thighs shaking beautifully atop his shoulders and her tangy-sweet syrup on his tongue.

As much as he craved feeling her come, he coveted watching her sinful body arch and hearing the sounds that spilled from her bitten lips - broken whispers of his name punctuated by breathless curses. And afterward, feeling the greedy way she always presses her body to his and begs with her skin, needing more of him. The way she locks eyes with him, the scintillating eridium of her gaze hazy and yet somehow, so clear.

Watching her expression as he enters her makes his heart gallop in his chest and entices him to kiss her deeper. To hold her more tightly as he draws her to him and works his way inside her, needing to consume her and taste her pulse point. So he can brush his mustache against her skin and savor the way her soul beats music against his lips.

Already, he had memorized the wanton lilt of her expression. That telltale flush of climax as it blooms across her chest. And how her expression sometimes grows possessive and feral with how deeply she needs him. He could appreciate everything about her from his vantage, from the firm jostle of her breasts to the tantalizing trim of hair so near where he thrusted. And oh, how he _loves a_ good triangle.

There was no better position for aligning their bodies, blending their contrasting textures. It was seamless to respond to her arms as they reached to embrace him, same as her thighs at his waist.

And the kissing, well...for a man who loved it, there was no better position. He could settle into the embrace of her strong arms and allow their mouths to meld, enjoying the way her hard nipples grazed his chest. Could feed her the sounds of his pleasure as she cut crescents into his back and caress their tongues in a sensual rhythm. Could drink in the way her breath came out in sharp, short pants as she bowed in climax and clenched wonderfully snug and silken around him. Her whimpering moans are what he uses to drown out the screaming in his head.

No other position brought them closer, allowing their sighs of pleasure to intermingle. And the way Amara caressed his legs with her feet, as she shifted to draw him impossibly closer and her nails scored up the short cropping at the nape of his neck, was as divine as how deeply he penetrated her.

Sometimes, she would hiss when his thrusts hit too deep - or her nails would catch in his back, leaving impassioned markings - signatures of her that he felt when the sweat burned them into his memory. Pieces of her left in fragments of pain.

With her, like that, he could set the pace or oblige the pull of her hands on his ass. He could brace his own on either side of her spread hair and slam her into the bed until he swore the entire vessel shook - or roll and grind into all the blessed nerves and crevices inside that made her breath catch and moan with throaty rapture.

Bringing such a fierce goddess such pleasure and witnessing her unravel was a stunning spectacle. Knowing she chose _him_ to take her there was a reward all its own. Even then, for as vulnerable as Amara appeared when overtaken by bliss, she remained a formidable force. The way her markings pulsed and emanated electricity was proof of that. Thankfully, and recklessly, he was brave enough to press flush to it - even if it made his cybernetics go haywire.

Missionary had an unfair reputation but he'd be damned if he didn't make the most of it. And Amara, the wise woman she was, seemed to share an equal passion for it. They were both visual people and got off on watching each other come undone. And their hands, when his weren't anchoring her hips into the hard piston of his cock or guiding her into the swivel of more deliberate thrusts, were free to wander.

Religiously, the operative considered himself an arse man but that didn't mean a nice rack didn't get him going. Amara's body was a hell of a playground and her tits were no exception. Firm and full and gorgeous on _her_, he decided they were _just right, _and her dusky nipples were perfect for his mouth. When he wasn't cupping her breasts and feasting on them, he was more than happy to watch them bounce as he fucked her. The harder he pounded her, the more they circled and slapped together and that was so hot, it was _criminal._

There was no better way to see his cock stretch her while avidly watching her pleasure herself, his eye always eager to chase the way she circled her clit when he didn't. Other times, it gave him the proper vantage point to use his thumb and stroke her into a sweaty, whimpering frenzy. To him, there was nothing better than pumping himself in and out of her orgasming cunt and savoring the pink throb of her pearl. Voyeur he was, there was nothing more erotic than seeing her succumb to her pleasure.

If he wasn't upright and watching Amara come on his cock, he wanted to lay atop her and fill his hands with her ass, squeezing that alluring curve as he pinned her. It felt so damn satisfying to clutch at that perfect round of feminine softness and erotic, underlying muscle. Better when her arms surrounded his neck and her breasts pressed against his chest, all while he thrust in ways that made them pant with prurient, white-hot sensation. The greedy way she took him, giving it back as best she could when beneath him, was a feeling he remembers whenever he isn't there, on her bed and between her legs, chasing that purest pleasure.

It didn't matter how many times he had painted her walls white, the ending was always exquisite. He never tired of hearing the way she gasped his name and how it never sounded better. The coalescing of that carnal pressure and the mind-melting, heart-racing, exhilarating flood of release. Nothing mattered but that broken tension and the sight of Amara overtaken by ecstasy beneath him, her expression one of utter rapture.

Money? Feck that. Renown? Forget it. Vaults? Never existed, as far as he was concerned, until well after he came down. Pleasure like that gave him everything he needed and only made him want it again...and that was why he stayed in her bed. Because he damn well couldn't refuse himself what he wanted - until she began denying him.

Sometimes, ridiculously enough, she really had to. His addictive personality didn't quite know when to quit. Some days, he all but panted after her and didn't feel he could help it much, even knowing they had to stay on the down-low. Admittedly it was pretty silly, if he stepped back and considered himself. He _really_ had no reason to be so hard-up, particularly since he was getting it more frequently than he had before. His insatiability made him chuckle at himself, which he admittedly did a lot - and take a lot of cold showers despite how they wreaked havoc on his old joints.

Zane suspected he was going soft with how willing he was, in the afterglow, to be drawn down into a lazy tangle of limbs. Equally eager to join Amara in that gentle dance of tongues, he couldn't blame it all on her - or even himself. Her warm lips were too sweet to resist and she was so thickly wet around him that she was meant for sinking into. And it hardly mattered that their kisses often continued after she sighed at his careful withdrawal, the two of them prolonging the last ebbs of ecstasy with more intimate, lingering caresses and heavy-lipped embraces.

All the positions in the universe and that was what lured them most. He supposed that made Amara an exception above the countless rest. As if him sharing her bed so often wasn't evidence enough that she was anomalous, the sure intimacy of their coupling was telling, regardless or not if they acknowledged it. The way he saw it, why resist their arrangement being so mutually satisfying? Why question what came so naturally?

His mornings, regardless of where he began them, were nearly always the same. It always took him far too long for him to realize the space beside him was empty. He always reached over, in some inadvertent combination of instinct and habit, and rumpled the cool sheets in his fist. He tended to mumble something unintelligible and wait for his last blissful memories to meander back to him.

Sometimes he had been alone throughout the night. Often, Amara had simply slipped out to exercise. If he was _really_ lucky, she would be there for him to spoon, the siren smelling of sleep and sex. She would twitch at the tickle of his facial hair, lazily stretch back against the affectionate press of his warm body, and part her legs for a bout of morning lovemaking.

Even _he _didn't quite understand what he meant that particular time he half woke to her moving out of the bed and mumbled, "'s that all I am...somethin' to keep y'warm at night?"

Lethargic as he had been, Zane hadn't quite noticed the look she gave him for it...or really recognized the words formed by his lazy tongue. Promptly after, he had rolled onto his stomach and dozed off again. Had Amara said anything to him, or done more than kiss his forehead, he hadn't registered it. As it was, he really couldn't be held accountable for any nonsense that left him before he emerged from _his _quarters.

Flynts, by nature,weren't morning people and Zane was no exception - and for good reason.

It wasn't like he was ever in a rush to be forcibly reminded of his age. He wasn't too fond of how much willpower it requires him to roll upright, often naked from a night of adult festivities, and scratch his balls. Or how long it takes his vision to clear, which was a much slower process than he preferred.

_Gettin' ol', Zane boyo,_ his conscience liked to remind him - to which he _wanted_ to retort, _Only as ol' as I feel, _but then he tilted his head from side to side, giving it the good twisting necessary to relieve the sharp cricks in his neck until they suffused into duller aches.

It wasn't like he could really complain when Amara woke at the arsecrack of dawn to break a sweat. All things told, he could probably put on some pudge and still be a handsome bastard - and while he wasn't _planning _on it, he was sort of waiting for it to happen. At fifty-three, he couldn't relate to his partner's motivation, but he _did_ appreciate being able to kick back in a bed smelling richly of sex and wake up with his first pint of the day.

The arrangement worked for them. He got to work out his aches and pains before his not-girlfriend came back to shower _and_ he could drink without her getting on him about it. Needless to say, Amara didn't agree with that particular habit. The first time he had reflexively grabbed his flask alongside her had earned him a well-meaning earful. With practice, he had gotten better at hiding the evidence. A good, thorough mouth washing fixed booze breath and made for better kisses when his partner returned from her vigorous exercising.

Naturally, he always joined her in the shower after a quick shave and touch-up. He couldn't very well miss the ideal opportunity to get his fill of her before they spent the rest of their long day strictly behaving themselves like responsible teammates. And how could he resist the glistening spectacle of her pumped, muscular body?

He damn well couldn't, even if he didn't have to _touch_ Amara to get off hard to her. One particular memory came to mind of a morning where he had stayed in bed longer than ordinary. Smug as the cat who got the canary, he had enjoyed watching her beat the everlovin' shite out of her punching bag. Admiring the muscles rippling throughout her arms and shoulders, and faint glitter of sweat she worked up, had given him no choice but to satisfy the urges she stirred in him.

He certainly hadn't _minded_ doing it, even if the sight of him wrapping his hand around himself had caused Amara to temporarily falter. Nodding his encouragement, he had settled back to some enjoyable stroking while the siren put on her show. With extra finesse and a dangerous smirk, she had resumed pummeling the heavyweight bag, its chains rattling and heft swaying.

Tugging his cock to the sight of her putting those fierce fists in action, he had practically squirmed with need. It had been one _hell_ of a display, and there had been no better fuel for her confidence than watching him masturbate to her. Everything, from the inertia flicking her ponytail, to the enthralling glow of her markings, to how effortlessly her sharp strikes tossed the bag, had turned him on beyond belief. Even the sight of the veins bulging atop her biceps had struck him like a punch of pleasure to the gut.

Cock pulsing in his grasp, he kneaded his heavy balls with the greedy other. So hungry for her, he had rutted his hand like an animal in heat, precome flicking across his knuckles with the force of his shameless stroking. _God_, how he wanted to fuck his fist while she curled an arm around his throat and choked the breath from him with her flexing biceps. Just the fantasy had his head falling back and his lips parting, ragged pants and gravelly gasps falling freely as he furiously pumped his length.

Overtaken by obscene need, he had _whined_ for her as he came, his hips stuttering and a shudder wracking his body from head to toe. Sucking in her name through his teeth, he had arched off the bed and gone rigid as semen boiled up from his tight balls and rushed through him, lacing thick and copious across his clenched chest.

Milking his dick dry, he rode out his orgasm until he fell flat and sated against the mat. Amara had been fixated by the sight of him with semen slathered across his hairy chest. Seeing her stare so avidly at him had caused his spent cock to stir against his stomach, still swollen and oversensitive.

Needless to say, the operative hadn't _chosen_ to lose his composure. Had he the capacity of being sheepish, he might have been then, but instead, he submitted to smug acceptance. As if Amara needed any further convincing that he would eat out of her hand and worship the ground she walked on - and that he eagerly would do both on his hands and knees.

After such a thorough draining, he'd had to act his age and sleep it off. At least the old hungover excuse always worked when his whereabouts had later come into question. Needless to say, that was one mental keepsake he kept for himself...and he added another, soon after, by fucking her against the punching bag. _That_ had been a first for him, and definitely them, the arrangement forcing Amara to tightly hug it in her arms while he carried her weight and mercilessly pounded her from behind. He had shot his load across her muscular back, unable to resist leaving his mark stark white and thick across something so powerfully _enticing_.

Needless to say, he damn well couldn't resist his partner and didn't have the mind to try. Lucky bastard he was, Amara never expected him to. Sometimes, as she headed to the shower, she took him by the shaft or beard and led him straight there. She said she liked a bit of stubble, and who was he to deny her?

If it wasn't for his own male stink, he wouldn't see much of a point in washing her scent from him. The way he figured it, it was only a matter of time until he was burying his face between her thighs and bathing his cock in her juices. Beyond that, he clocked many hours rolling in her bed like a domesticated feline soaking up her scent. It was a shame she changed the sheets so routinely. Soon enough, he would be pressing her into them again.

Close as they would be, he would hear every hitch of her breath, every nuance of her whimpers, every purr she made as she took him completely. And oh, how she responded so perfectly to the words he husked in her ear. Encouraging as he was, the Partalian was never much of a talker but damn if he didn't like her reserved. That made it that much hotter when she couldn't help but moan and tremble and clench as he pitched his voice low and fed aural filth to her.

Amara always listened, always responded, to how he spoke to her, describing how she made him feel. It depended on the mood what he said to her. Sometimes, sweet nothings were best and made her soaking wet. Other times, his rasping was lewd and filthy. It didn't matter - he was well-versed in _everything_ and had the most delicious inspiration. Her sinful body and the pleasure of experiencing her could never steer him wrong, nor could the appreciation he had for each and every part of her, or the promise of how fecking hard she made him come.

_That_ got her every single time, and oh, if it didn't test his resilience. Those rich whispers alone made her climax and squeeze him like a fist, the noises escaping her of heavenly bliss. It was easy, then, to fulfill his promise and allow himself to be swept away by the ecstasy overtaking her so beautifully, the contractions of her silken core often making it impossible to last. And there simply wasn't a better time to give her what their bodies so deeply wanted, the feel of him pulsing against the mouth of her womb enough to send her spiraling again.

For as much as he _loves_ dirty talk, he holds back. Amara really didn't strike him as the type to appreciate how downright raunchy he could be. He could definitely spill sordid sexual expressions far beyond what she would likely tolerate. Instead, he kept that to himself. He was far from opposed to using any tool at his disposal to get off while jerking it to porn. And yeah, he kind of liked the sound of his own voice, so it worked out just fine.

Don't get him wrong - he enjoyed having Amara in any and every way. He particularly loved having her on top and taking charge of her pleasure. What man wouldn't want a woman like her using his cock to get off? It wasn't like he laid back and let her do all the work - he _gladly_ gave it to her if that was what she wanted. He had no reservations in pulling all the stops and being her generous participant - or having her claw for purchase while he gave her the ride of her life. Sometimes she forced him to submit to her whims, which he was entirely willing to do.

He loved a woman - and any lover, really - who could put herself on confident display and take his cock like she owns it. And Amara _always_ did. She looked so perfect there with her cunt stretching and dripping as she rode him. The way her lips clung to him through her slick was enough to do him in. And oh _god_, did he love the bounce of her breasts as they responded to her motions and the light show of her ethereal glow._ All_ of her was a sight to behold, but none was better than seeing her jaw go slack in orgasm, the most erotic sounds parting her plump lips.

Conceited as he was, he preferred getting the siren off and reducing her to a puddle of satisfied flesh and bone. Taking her there, to that state of utter satisfaction, thoroughly did him in. There was nothing sweeter than feeling her cream drip down his balls and soak the sheets below them - and it was even better when his own pooled with them, but he wasn't all that particular.

Honestly, Zane didn't really give a feck how sex happened. He only cared that his dick ended up some place hot and wet and that he got off. He really wasn't a selective sort of man and _that_ was responsible for his extensive history of senseless flings. He certainly didn't _complain_ when the chemistry was there and it made him jizz himself stupid, but overall, his goal was to shoot a load off and get a hit of that addictive pleasure.

But with Amara, _Christ_, it was so fecking good, he still couldn't believe it - and that was despite them screwing on the regular. The fact that was even possible was mystifying because in his experience, there was _always_ a burnout. It was because of that intensity that their fling was ongoing because how, as the hedonist he was, could he _not_ get with her? In his pursuit of bliss and physical gratification, he would be a fool _not_ to make the most of it.

It was far simpler, and easier, to convince himself that their chemistry was merely physical. Still, he didn't think Amara being a siren had much to do with it. Sure, there were certain elements of it that made her a unique lover, and for a man who had been around the galactic block as many times as he had, that was _extra_ fun. All things told, they didn't indulge in her abilities as much as they could have.

Still, short of admitting there was more there than he wanted to acknowledge, he decided that _had_ to be what elevated their sex life. He did enjoy the strange static that resonated from her when she got worked up. Her ethereal hands were an obvious, exhilarating benefit, even if they weren't summoned to play very often. Why was that, anyway?

Not aware of the answer, Zane still figured that was likely for the best, lest he somehow grows accustomed to them and loses the thrill they added. Special tricks were best saved as occasional enhancements - and did their sex need that? Nah - it was best if he _avoided_ having a heart attack.

Amara still wasn't the most adventurous lover he'd ever had and she never would be. _Never. _And he was alright with that, even if fucking her on all fours made him want to drizzle spit on her untapped hole and sink his thumb in. Otherwise, he figured he had pretty much gotten his fill of off-the-wall, crazy sex. No doubt he could take them there if Amara allowed it, but he wasn't gonna make demands. She kept him satisfied, so what more could he ask for? It wasn't like he was questioning how she managed as she did. There was no way in hell he would.

Nope. _Never._

Zane Flynt was many things but what he _wasn't_ was the type to look a gift horse in the mouth _ever. _He ran with what he had and never counted his blessings. He made the best of them, the same as he did with everything.

There was no sexual rule stating that a partner had to be his brand of crazy to get those fireworks blasting. For all his confusion, there was no denying how those that went off between them were_ blinding - _and they had been since the beginning. If anything, learning each other and _practicing_ had made their trysts that much more satisfying. Were things any better, his old bastard heart might finally give out and then how in the hell could he feck her?

One thing was certain: he sure as feck wasn't a poet.


	15. Symptoms of Culture [Commandos and Competition at Moxxxi's]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, so I decided to chop this next section up - partially because I didn't want countcuntula to wait longer for her story fix and because it would have been massive otherwise. Adulting has kept me busy lately, so I didn't want that to drag this update out longer than it already has been. I was particularly excited for this chapter. :D
> 
> In this fic, no one apparently changes clothes or appearances because I'm consistent like that. That's my excuse.
> 
> I'm really, -really- hoping the Broken Hearts Day event will give me some tasty insight about Zane...because come on, how could it not? Don't disappoint me, Gearbox! Oh and Zane needs a kilt outfit, kthx.
> 
> *I edited Gaige down a little, so if you notice changes, that's why.

Of all the places Amara expected to spend her night, Moxxxi's wasn't really it. Though the bar's dark interior and neon embellishments tended to remind the Partalian of her homeworld, she had no real business there. She really didn't drink or gamble, so sitting among drunks loitering about wasn't exactly her idea of a good time. Considering the current number of refugees in the establishment, she appeared to be the minority.

Instead, it was Axton who had wanted to grab a beer. After having unexpectedly arrived via fast-travel, he had found the siren at her quarters and invited her to join him in making a "pitstop". Where better to do that than the on-board establishment?

"Figure I'd see what everyone's up to!" the commando said with a square-jawed grin while behind him, his redheaded companion had branched off to wander elsewhere. "Been a while since Gaige and I have been aboard so, tell me, what's happenin'?"

Amara had been glad to see him. Why wouldn't she be? He was a fellow vault hunter and a sight for sore eyes when all she had been doing that day was reading siren texts and beating indents into her punching bag. She needed to get a new one soon, she had reminded herself while stepping out in the commons alongside the bulky man. More than anything, she had been glad to have recently showered.

Once seated in a booth away from slurring patrons, Amara began telling the commando what he wanted to know - at least what she could think of. About how their team of vault hunters was still trying to clear out the remaining dregs of stubborn COV brainwashed enough to believe their God Queen would rise from the dead even a year after she had been defeated. About how Tannis still hadn't made much headway about Lilith's whereabouts and how they were mostly just killing time doing odd jobs or focusing on Ava's training.

She didn't think there was much to say, all things considered. Sure, Sanctuary III was always a constant bustle of activity. Axton was amazed enough that Ellie had gotten the entire vessel running and kept it going. He was impressed by the robust mechanic, that much was certain.

Amara wondered if there could be more there but didn't prod. Instead, she told the commando more of what he wanted to know - how she and Ava were trying to unlock the potential of their siren abilities and how the teen was still trying to determine what was special about hers. After leaching Maya and her abilities, Troy had stated that she hadn't known the full extent of her powers. Had he been correct, then the journals and ancient texts she had passed along to her protege were incomplete.

Choosing her words mindfully, Amara sighed about _that_ to Axton but remained anything but discouraged. She simply saw their adventure as one of vital self-discovery. At the same time, she showered Ava with the praise that she deserved and promised per personal credence that the young woman would make one hell of a vault hunter. She simply needed time to mature and flourish, which made Axton glad to hear.

Amara never gave her vote of confidence lightly, particularly knowing all that was at stake. She certainly didn't make allowances because Ava was their commander or someone she loved so deeply. With so much to say about the teenager, it surprised Amara that she could run out of things to say. By then, she noticed Axton regarding her with particular interest.

"How are you and your band of vault hunters holding up?" he asked, suddenly appearing surprised to see her without them.

"Badass as always," Amara answered with a dangerous smile, forever proud of her crew. "Need I remind you that the universe likely wouldn't exist if it wasn't for us?"

"Yeahhh yeahhh," responded Axton with a laugh before taking a swig of his beer. "Pretty sure I've heard that one a hundred times over now. Still, it's good to know this ship and its people are in capable hands, particularly after hearing how rough it was."

"For _them,_" she emphasized, raising her glass to her companion, who met it with a celebratory_ tink_.

After that, they fell into a thoughtful silence. The other vault hunter looked like he wanted to say more but hadn't yet. That alone had her looking to Axton curiously, noting the way he almost abashedly began scratching the back of his head.

Noting her attentiveness, he gave a small, nearly abashed laugh and slowly traced the rim of his glass.

"Hey, ah...I was wondering if you could do a Gaige a favor," he began, appearing increasingly confident by the moment. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to but she's kinda down on her luck. See, she likes older guys and has a real thing for 'em. Think you could introduce her to Zane?"

Despite his revealing build-up, Amara hadn't expected to be so caught off guard by his suggestion. It seemed the soldier was getting straight to the point there and why wouldn't he? He had his partner's best interests in mind.

Oh, if Axton only knew the reason behind her slow-forming smirk...Then again, he wouldn't care, would he? Maybe he would mind for Gaige, who he was trying to match up, but otherwise, he had no reason to be disappointed in her personal matters.

She couldn't blame the commando for his ignorance. After all, no one knew about their arrangement. Her ongoing fling with Zane wasn't technically anything to write home about, and Axton, for as good a friend as he was, was usually off the grid while on his distant adventures.

Curious as to where his suggestion would ultimately lead, and not anywhere as absent as she played herself off as, the siren regarded him smugly.

"Why?"

What she should have asked was how the mechromancer and operative hadn't yet met, though there were a number of possible reasons. If Zane wasn't entertaining their foursome, he was most likely to be kicked back and engaging with the Pandoran team. In fact, he was prone to mingling with anyone aboard provided he wasn't inebriated and sleeping it off somewhere.

She couldn't really recall the last time Axton and Gaige had stopped by Sanctuary. Had the mechromancer even been there? The more Amara thought back, she couldn't seem to recognize the redhead at the gathering. She could, however, remember Zane giggling as he played with Mordecai's dreadlocks and hugging up on one of Brick's massive arms.

"'Cause old folks gotta get some too, I guess," answered the soldier. Then, clearly misinterpreting her expression, Axton laughed.

"I know - weird, right? I can't pretend I know what makes Gaige tick, but he's totally her type," he conveyed with a well-meaning smile, thoroughly convinced he was doing his companion a world of good. "He's into robots and stuff, right? And he's a pretty good lookin' guy. I think they'd hit it off. He's single, right?"

_Something like that, _snorted the siren inwardly.

Just shy of taking another sip of water, she murmured with the glass poised on her lower lip, "I'm not sure."

Axton appeared in no way deterred. If anything, his determination appeared to grow with his toothy grin, like her _not_ discouraging him gave him every reason to go all-in.

"Well Moze doesn't think he's seeing anyone and told me to see if you knew anything. So yeah, I mean, what could it hurt? Figure it could distract Gaige from feeling like she lost the love of her life."

Cocking a curious brow, Amara nodded for Axton to go on. The commando obliged, chuckling before he took a generous gulp of his ale.

"Not sure how or when it happened but she started crushing _hard_ on Hammerlock after I met her. I mean, I thought she had a thing for _me _after she called me an 'unparalleled stud'. Now that I know how hard she falls for old guys, I'm afraid to know what she calls _them_."

Snickering, Amara could only imagine. Having spoken to the rebellious redhead a few times, she could understand Axton's fear. Even then, she searched his face for disappointment. The soldier wasn't significantly older than his partner but even then, the two of them were close.

"Are you sure she doesn't have a thing for you?" she asked, her eridium eyes twinkling in intrigue. "I'm no expert but it sounds like she could be."

Making a face, Axton gave a visible shudder. "She isn't," he reaffirmed sternly. "Me and Gaige getting together is just weird. _Ugh_. She was too young when we met and then I kinda got too protective of her and...yeah, not gonna happen. She's just a flirter. Totally harmless. I kinda feel like her uncle or somethin'."

"Ha," responded the siren, taking a drink of her water again. "Then you'll want to keep her away from Zane."

Narrowing his eyes slightly, Axton asked, "Why's that?"

"Zane's more of a heartbreaker," she admitted, tracing the rim with one errant finger as though trying to appear half as invested in the subject as she was. "He's not really the type to do anything serious. He's kind of one of those...self-admitted mansluts."

"Which means Gaige has a chance!" came Axton's thrilled response, proving to Amara that her angle truly wasn't the wisest.

Scoffing, she looked at him and hoped the corner of her smile didn't twitch. "I mean, sure," she agreed jocosely, "if she's into that sort of thing."

It wasn't like she personally was, particularly, but they weren't talking about her, were they?

As if somehow summoned by the mention of _manslut_, Zane unmistakable voice filtered through the ruckus. Instantly aware, Amara leaned beyond the booth to gaze to the bar and confirm that the operative had indeed arrived to give Moxxxi's some more of his patronage. And why wouldn't he, given he was one of the establishment's most predictable regulars?

_Speak of the handsome devil, _she thought to herself, appreciating her temporary view of him...if not so much what his presence entailed.

Distracted as she had been by Axton, Amara couldn't say when, exactly, the operative had arrived. She only knew he was perched on what appeared to be his favorite barstool, just to the left of the tip jar - the position she had seen him most in when passing by the open front of the bar.

Well-coiffed as always, Zane was clad in his usual attire. The slanted spikes of his silver hair, combined with the teal of his outfit and its glowing yellow accents, stood out among the commotion of patrons rifling about whatever business they had that involved drinking.

For the early afternoon, Moxxxi's seemed particularly busy...but then Amara wasn't all that accustomed to being there. Given how her drink was non-alcoholic, she represented a severe minority among the go-to location for drinkers.

Zane, in contrast, was in his favorite environment. For now, she was fine with accepting that. Knowing how much he had to drink to get plastered, he really hadn't had enough time to begin since she had last seen his stool unoccupied. Showing no outward intention of accomplishing that task, the operative appeared content to treat himself to a beer and mind himself, only speaking up when Moxxi stirred up polite conversation with him. From what Amara could tell, he appeared to be his usual amiable self.

Noting the extra glint in her eye, Axton turned in his seat and leaned out to follow the line of her sight. As far as she was concerned, there was nothing strange about her noting the appearance of her partner, and nothing about the way Axton sat back and smiled seemed to suspect there was.

Instead, he scratched at his stubbled cheek before reaching for his beer. "Well, I'll be damned. I was wondering whose ass imprint that was."

It was most definitely Zane's, but Axton wasn't around enough to know how true his comment was. Based on what he knew of the operative, it didn't take much conjecture for him to reach that conclusion.

"It's definitely his," the siren confirmed, not seeing any harm in it.

Given his own self-admitted binges with alcohol, Axton couldn't judge and didn't appear to. He had since learned to control his impulses. Because of that, Amara figured that the commando would be a good influence on Zane, if he ever cared to change. Already, she could hear their resident alcoholic laugh off any suggestion she might have made to that, she had dared to think that Mordecai could talk some sense into him, but his attempts continued to fail.

Oh well. Again, it really wasn't any of her business how Zane conducted himself and didn't seem to apply with how he was patiently tipping back his pint and poking around on his ECHO. She didn't think it was necessary to reach out and announce herself, particularly while she was enjoying her rare one-on-one time with Axton.

Returning her attention back to the soldier across from her, Amara observed him brush at something errant he discovered on his brown jacket. She noted how he didn't look all that different from when she first met him. He still had that same close-cropped hair interrupted by the half-fallen spikes at his forehead. Still had the same perpetual six o'clock shadow that promised he could sport a full beard if he ever cared to. Most surprising was the metal insignia embedded over his left eyebrow - a permanent testament to his former rank as sergeant.

Man, what draw did she have to handsome men who were cheery, funny, and on the run from impressive bounties? She hadn't hand-picked her friends so much as crossed paths with them, but she couldn't help but acknowledge the similarities between her two closest male companions. Sure, there were other people who didn't fit that pattern, and Zane was far less sane and predictable than the commando, but there was something to be said for how _normal _Axton was.

Amara found herself wondering if the commando had started to gray, not that she planned to inspect him more closely, nor could she see that much detail in that sultry atmosphere. Moxxxi's was like the prolific temptress herself, it's interior playfully lit and provocative. The music playing was deep with bass as always, promising a good time for all who came inside.

If _that_ wasn't suggestive, Amara didn't know what was. Still, it was also the perfect place for many to take a load off and Axton was one who could relate. As for herself, the siren would have preferred to have an engaging conversation at the gym or at a sprint. More than willing to accompany her, the fit commando was equally capable of joining her.

_And where are you going with this?_ she asked herself, scoffing inwardly. Nowhere. Nowhere at all. More than anything, she was prone to convincing herself that she didn't belong in an environment where booze flowed freely and patrons performed some pretty conspicuous pickups. The dull drone of visitors went on and on, punctuated occasionally by someone laughing jauntily and glasses clinking. Beyond that, the slot machines chimed and tittered while happily consuming money.

Taking a conservative sip of her admittedly boring drink, the siren leaned to look at Zane again. She noticed him turned and talking to one of the refugees aboard while nearby, Moxxi stayed busy at the taps.

Effortlessly juggling and engaging her numerous customers, she quickly responded to Zane handing her his empty mug. She blew him a kiss while refilling it and then returned it, full and frothy, with a chesty shimmy. Smiling gratefully, he lifted his ale to his mustachioed lips before tilting his ear to his neighbor in an attempt to hear over the commotion. Then he was nodding again before seemingly staring at nothing in particular, the man alongside him getting up to leave.

"Where's Moze anyway?" Axton asked suddenly, his mind having been led there by the attention she paid her teammate.

Frowning, Amara sighed. "She picked up some germ from somewhere and is currently quarantined in her room. She still has a day or two left before Tannis trusts her pathogens to not decimate the ship," she conveyed, vividly recalling the gunner's displeased ranting.

"Ahhh, gotcha. Probably for the best, even if Tannis might be a lil' paranoid given the good drugs she must've prescribed her. What about your robot friend?"

"FL4K," reminded the siren, giving a small shrug. "They're playing with their pets, I bet. They're not all that social, though they could also be hanging out with Ellie. She likes the extra set of arms."

"I bet she does. Must come in _handy,_" joked the commando, earning himself a roll of her eyes.

"Yep, totally haven't heard all the hand puns," she hummed, using one finger to absently stir the ice remaining in her glass.

"Huh," grunted Axton as he patted both hands on his thighs and leaned back in his seat. "I wonder where Gaige is. Guess I should probably check in and see what she's up to."

Except, before the soldier could dial her in on his ECHO device, his partner made her appearance. Amara didn't know the mechromancer enough to identify her by her voice, but the grin Axton broke into was unmistakable.

There was no confusing the target of Gaige's attention when she gasped, "Who might _you_ be, you silver fox?"

"Nevermind then!" Axton dismissed with an email toincredulous shake of his head, appearing almost embarrassed by his friend's verbal antics. "I was gonna tell her Zane was here but it sounds like she already found him!"

And that she had, the mechromancer eagerly honing in on the operative. From their booth, Amara could see the redhead plop herself on the bar stool besides that more familiar occupant, half blocking him from the siren's view. Even despite Zane being hunched over the bar, she could make out enough of him past those vibrant, perky pigtails.

The Partalian watched his crested hair turn as he regarded his new and rambunctious neighbor. Jovial as always, he leaned back a bit to take in her black and white striped leggings and the pleated skirt that matched her flaming hair. His remaining eye considered her robotic arm, her scuffed leather vest, and the goggles atop her head beneath the excitement of her auburn hair. Amara wanted to laugh at how suspicious he appeared.

Not having known the mechromancer seven years ago, Amara had no way of recognizing that the slim teenager Axton had first met had since flourished into a slender, but still curvy, woman. Similarly, she had no way of knowing that had Gaige had long hair and been older, she would have somewhat resembled one of Zane's many wives.

Satisfied he knew what he was looking at, if not _who_, his charismatic attention settled on her face, his own having boasted a smile since recognizing himself as the target of her bold greeting.

"Ah, man," Axton was already saying, a hesitant look on his otherwise amused expression. "My apologies in advance if she eats your old man alive. She's kinda...well, she's somethin'. I'm afraid you're gonna see," he forewarned, already rubbing the space between his eyes as though staving off a brewing headache.

For a moment, the commando dared to have hope. "I mean, _maybe _she won't be as bad as I think she'll be, based on how I've personally seen her behave. Maybe it's best if I invite them over and spare him a little."

Distracted by Gaige's flirtatious eyelash fluttering and lip pursing, Axton's intentions didn't immediately dawn on her. It wasn't until he stood up that Amara moved to intervene. Grabbing him by one thick wrist, she forcibly encouraged him to duck back in the booth before being noticed. Rather abruptly, she decided she wasn't particularly keen on the aftermath of exposing their friendly visit. Besides, Zane had survived far worse than having a man-hungry hussy after him.

Was it mean of her to regard Gaige as such, even if she was very much behaving like one? Amara didn't think so, and it wasn't like she actually minded the mechromancer any.

"No," she said, further refusing Axton's offer. She casually sipped from her water before shaking her head to bolster her stance. "He's going to give me shit for being here with you. It's best if we lay low."

Knowing Zane, how could he _not_ capitalize on the situation? He was a smartass, plain and simple, and Amara really didn't feel like deflecting what suggestive commentary the outspoken Pandoran-Irishman would make. She honestly didn't think she had much tolerance, currently, for his incessant ribbing.

Then again, he couldn't still think that they were into each other, could he? Despite how stupidly wrong that was, she wouldn't put it past him. Regardless of his means, Zane had formerly convinced himself that Axton held a flame for her. Amara firmly felt she knew better - that their friendship was mutually platonic. Still, that wouldn't stop the operative from thinking what he would and, even worse, from teasing. At that, Zane was relentless. Over the course of their partnership, he had proven it time and time again.

Instead of risking that, she intended to remain undetected and covertly observe the operative from afar. That meant leaning back into the dark booth whenever she sensed he might glance in her direction, though it was clear that Gaige _was very_ much hungry for all of his attention and served as a loud and proud distraction.

"What's a handsome devil like yourself doing alone in a joint like this?" the mechromancer was saying while leaning toward him with a toothy grin.

The fact that Zane shifted slightly away as a result had Amara smirking to herself, even as he nodded to his drink and lifted it in front of that freckled face.

"Havin' a nip," he answered and then demonstrated for a long moment before setting his mug down, the glass significantly emptier than before. "And yerself?"

Crossing her legs, Gaige leaned a coy elbow atop the bar. "_I'm_ waiting for this handsome old guy to invite me to join him."

Amused by her persistent brashness, Zane laughed. Then, friendly as always, he responded, "Ain't _you_ a charmer? S'pose ye already did that! So, what'll ye be havin', Miss…?"

"Gaige" she finished. Then, verbally grinning from ear to ear, she addressed an ever-attentive Moxxi. "Gimme what he's having!"

Axton made a pained face. "You wanna go try to save him?"

Meanwhile, Amara found herself surprised that there _were _still people left in the universe that Zane hadn't yet met or slept with.

That was an interesting question. Did she? She was morbidly curious to see how everything would play out. It wasn't often that she saw Zane in his usual element - at least, not with an attracted aggressor after him. She found herself wondering how he would handle it.

There was no mistrust there whatsoever. The mechromancer didn't strike Amara as being his type - not that she really understood what _that _was or if he truly had one. 'Interested' seemed to qualify - perhaps even more than 'morally applicable'. Then again, the way he sat up straight and formally extended a hand to the young woman suggested otherwise. It was no surprise how eagerly she accepted it.

"Zane. Zane Flynt," he greeted, his introduction as proud as always.

As if Gaige wasn't already transfixed on him enough, she was positively starstruck now. Her cheeks were delightedly pink as she cutely tucked her hands beneath her chin and leaned on the bar.

Amara wanted to be off-put by the situation but honestly, she found it to be comical. Unless she detected Zane returning Gauge's interest, she knew she had no reason to be concerned. There was nothing wrong with some friendly flirting, particularly when it was so one-sided. Given how much of a charmer he was by nature, she doubted Zane would intentionally lead her on.

She actually found herself wondering if he could ever be made uncomfortable by someone's advances. Given his self-confidence and easygoing disposition, she couldn't imagine anyone being too forward for the veteran operative. After all, he loudly represented himself as a handsome bastard and invited all the attention he could get.

Kind as always, Zane wasn't deterred by Gaige's obvious interest. Instead, he was using the situation as a means of establishing a friendship with a fellow vault hunter and conducted himself as such.

"'Ey, I've heard 'bout you," Zane admitted gruffly, drawing from his drink again. "Yer the robot lady…"

And so began what seemed to be a relatively normal, if personality-injected conversation.

From what Amara could tell, over the rise and fall of conversations occurring throughout the ebb and flow of patrons, Zane was asking Gaige about how she had developed Deathtrap and she was more than happy to reminisce. The angle of the operative's socializing further assured Amara that he was intrigued by the mechromancer as a person rather than a woman. For as sexually frivolous as he claimed to be, he was even more willing to be authentically friendly.

For the siren, it was a pleasant sight to see. Zane could use someone as technically inclined as he was, and _that_ was what had him smiling more broadly than Gaige's passes. He appeared really engaged in their ongoing conversation, making the occasional hand gestures and patting his shoulder module when it was his turn to boast about his own gadgets.

Zoomer's name penetrated the buzzing of background noise loud and clear, while other familiar terms like _sentinel, drone_, and _clone_ cut through equally as vividly. There was no mistaking the fact that Zane wasn't entertaining the way Gaige was enamored by him aside from the occasional wry grin.

There was a lot of, "I am a handsome bastard, ain't I?" and similarly worded statements being passed around. "Ye ain't too bad yerself," was his way of sharing the spotlight, sweet as he was. That was nothing unusual for his customary conduct.

It wasn't like Amara could blame Gaige for being attracted to Zane. Without a doubt, she blindingly demonstrated her particular taste for mature gentlemen. As much as Hammerlock, the operative fit the bill - albeit in a less sophisticated manner. Amara had never considered herself drawn to grizzled men and had still found herself appreciating Zane's many handsome attributes long before anything had come from it.

Considering Gaige's preferences, there weren't many older men around...and Zane was well-dressed, well-groomed, and charismatic. In other words, he was total crack for the mechromancer. Sure, it didn't help her situation that their resident Flynt was prone to giving his sincere attention to whoever his conversation mate was_ and_ he was always buying everyone drinks. His generosity could be easily misconstrued by someone as interest if they didn't know better.

Glancing at the pair again, Amara noted the casual way Zane had hooked one of his metal boots around the barstool. He was completely at ease and listening intently to the redhead's story of growing up on Eden-5. At the same time, he handed Moxxxi his empty mug in exchange for two shot glasses and a bottle of something stronger.

That wasn't _exactly_ what she wanted to see - or the way the bartender pursed her voluptuous lips at him and gave her well-displayed chest a jiggle while he stuffed a tip in her jar, but Amara knew it was par for the course. It did a man like Zane good to get some quality attention - and he definitely wasn't the type to discourage it.

Did that bother her? Not really. She was accustomed to that part of him. Sure, she didn't appreciate other women flaunting themselves for him, but that was their doing - not his. Her opinion would be drastically different if he had tucked a bill into her impressive cleavage.

"Hey," Axton piped up suddenly, giving his fingers a small snap to regain her attention. He smirked at her, laughing a little. "Gaige is a good gal. You don't gotta worry if she hits it off with your old man. You never know, it might help him be a lil' less grumpy."

"Grumpy?" she repeated, raising one dark brow at the commando. Were they talking about the same man?

"Yeah, isn't he? It's not like I know the guy," admitted Axton with a drum of his fingers along the side of his mug. "He seems that way to me. Hardly says anything when I've tried to talk to him."

"Strange," replied the siren, giving a dismissive shrug. "Zane's one of the friendliest people you'll probably ever meet. You must have caught him during an off day."

"Yeah," snorted the commando, now tracing the rim of his glass. "Sounds like me, but what are the odds it's happened three times? That's just my luck!"

Huh. That had Amara looking over at the silver-haired man again, regarding him with renewed curiosity.

"I swear you two would hit it off," she admitted, frowning slightly. "Zane started out his career in Spec Ops with Dahl...and he's just a talkative guy."

That wasn't all the two vault hunters had in common, but it was certainly something that resonated with the former sergeant, whose brown brows peaked with intrigue.

"Did he?" asked Axton like he had his doubts, looking over at Zane like he didn't see it. Still, he took her word. "Eh, maybe that's it. He probably doesn't wanna remember that shit."

That had to be it...maybe. She wasn't the one who could say. Who knew what went on in Zane's head? He had his quirks, same as everyone, even if his mirthful disposition tended to override most of them.

"Maybe I didn't come on strong enough," sighed Axton, who nodded behind him to the success his friend was having. The two stool occupants were still chatting merrily away.

Amara snorted into her glass, appreciating the refreshing taste of her water again. "That must be it. He loves getting hit on."

Axton chuckled to himself, nodding again as though he could relate. Following that, they fell into a peaceful lapse in conversation, the comfort of it making the siren appreciate her companion that much more.

Things between them were simple - that was all there was to it. Axton was nice, laid back, and the kind of guy she could simply hang out with. He was also willing to have a deeper conversation if either of them felt inclined - a fact proven on a few occasions. For as active on the field as the former sergeant was, he was good at keeping in touch with the Crimson Raiders. Just because he went off on his own adventures alongside Gaige didn't make his contributions to their cause any less important.

Obviously the universe was a large place, and their group needed fighters like Axton and his beloved turret kicking ass and taking names for them. In some ways, that made Amara appreciate his company that much more when he touched base with Sanctuary. She found his bravado infectious.

Given the rare treat of the commando's visit, Amara did her best to ignore the _far_ more familiar face currently entertaining Gaige at the bar. She didn't want to take away from her time with Axton by allowing herself to seem even half as distracted as she was. Instead, the siren wanted to prove she could engage him in further conversation. After all, she wanted to know what her friend had been up to and was hardly opposed to sharing her own activities spanning the time since they had last caught up.

According to Axton, he and Gaige had been scouring a number of distant star systems in the hopes of uncovering more clues to the whereabouts of undiscovered vaults. As expected, the majority of locations hadn't turned up anything but even then couldn't be considered useless ventures. Determining which planets weren't worth their attention required extensive time and effort. The whole process was a bit of a crapshoot to begin with.

Still, they had encountered a sirentologist who seemed equally as intrigued by Eridian tech as Tannis was. As though from dumb luck, the vault hunters had stumbled across a group of locals who told tales about a woman driven crazy by a cavern of glittering eridium. That, naturally, had demanded them to investigate and encounter a woman named Hagatha.

"I should really bring you to meet her," Axton said, looking at the cerulean filigree consuming and accentuating so much of her bronze skin. "She'd go nuts actually meeting a siren! And really, look at ya! You're a special one."

"You're too sweet," Amara simpered while resting her chin on one hand. Needless to say, she was really invested in Axton's adventures. For the time being, she hardly remembered anyone else being in the bar.

When asked why Axton didn't bring Hagatha to Sanctuary with them, he explained that it was practically an impossibility. Much like Tannis, the new sirentologist preferred social isolation.

Desperate as they had been to make progress, the vault hunters had threatened to blow up the door of her compound just to make contact. After proving they had the means, Hagatha had relented and allowed them access. There, she had hidden away all the Eridian artifacts and lore she was convinced conveyed the fate of the universe. That said, she definitely wasn't receptive to the concept of leaving her settlement.

"Maybe we could entice her with someone like yourself. You really should come with us," he suggested again, clearly stoked by the idea. "Ohh or Tannis! Not sure if they'd get along or find each other absolutely grotesque, but wouldn't that be something?"

It certainly would be, but then naturally Amara was intrigued by everything Axton had been describing. "Do you think she has anything leading to another vault?"

"She has to," confirmed the commando definitively. "She has records of markings she's kept throughout her scouring that galaxy before she went all hermit. Unfortunately, we actually have to _find_ each marking to translate them, given that the Eridian doohickey you guys found doesn't work without 'em."

And why would they? Clearly there was more technology instilled in those Eridian hieroglyphs than any of them understood, given how they only reacted to the precise tool Axton referred to.

"Then it's only a matter of time before we locate them and uncover what they say," Amara assured with a confident smile. With the timid look Axton gave her, it began to falter.

"Yeaaah, about that," he began, suddenly enamored with his twiddling thumbs and their many hangnails. "There's a _teeny tiny_ problem I didn't mention. She kinda...lost half of her notes in a fire."

Amara gusted out a sigh, followed by a dry snort. "Figures."

"It does, doesn't it? She said the settlers nearby thought she was a witch and tried to burn her, and her stuff, down before someone finally talked some sense into them...annnnd when they discovered they couldn't even chip the eridium. After they decided they couldn't mine it, they left it to her."

"Ugh," was all she could say on the matter. People who failed to understand what was foreign to them most often resorted to asshole behaviors. As if a lonesome woman living in a cave was somehow threatening. It wasn't like Hagatha was a siren.

As though out of nowhere, the operative's voice cut through her frustration. The Partalian was suddenly brought back to full awareness regarding her surroundings, her mind detaching from the unfortunate turn of Axton's story.

"Girl," Zane was saying across the room, thoroughly delighted to meet someone as into tech as he was, "do I got a 3D printer I gotta show ye! State-of-the-art, lemme tell ye. Jus' threw my money at it 'fore it even enters production! Usually I wait to get out all the bugs but good lord, the specs are _so _damn sexy, I can't even tell ye. Can't wait to get me hands on it!"

"Don't you mean that about me?" Gaige joked before laughing, leaning toward him again with keen interest. Suggestively, her voice dropped low. "Does this mean you'll invite me over when you get it?"

"Sure will," chuckled the operative, unable to resist an opportunity to tease and giving her an eyebrow waggle with it. "I _love_ showin' off me equipment! An' I'll be even _older _by then - an' even handsomer!"

"_Not_ possible," grinned the redhead, thoroughly enjoying every bit of what she was being fed. Amara swore she was going to lick her lips but didn't. Instead, she looked more like she wanted to lick _his._

_Ugh _again. Okay, maybe that was her limit.

"Maybe I should go tell her he's gay," Amara considered aloud, drawing Axton's curious attention. He made a sound of amusement.

"Yeaaah, I don't think that'll work," he snickered. "She has a big femme boner for Hammerlock and wasn't put off when she that heard he and Wainwright were a couple. Don't think there's any way to discourage her except getting hitched."

Glancing at the redhead fawning over Zane once more, Amara snorted and turned her attention back to Axton. "Alistair and Wainwright are definitely getting married. She doesn't seem _too _heartbroken about it."

"Something tells me she's not gonna be after tonight!" grinned Axton, _clearly _misinterpreting Zane's jovial disposition for actual interest. At what he was so wrongfully implying, Amara made a face. The commando promptly scowled when imagining it for himself.

Shaking her head, Amara cast the duo another lingering glance before turning to stare at her glass instead. Suddenly adopting a profound interest in the way the condensation droplets clinging to it smeared under her clenching fingers, she didn't notice the particular look the commando was giving her.

Had the siren glanced up at him of her own volition, she might have noted the way his analyzing brow smoothed as he reached a very convincing conclusion explaining her unusually tense mannerisms. After giving his companion a stretch of time to compose herself, Axton couldn't help but address what seemed so evident in that all-too-opportune moment. Why pass it up?

Clearing his throat, Axton seized the initiative. "Have you and him, ever…?"

The way Amara's head abruptly jerked up and her violet eyes fixed on him exposed everything he needed to know.

"Me and Zane?" she clarified, and she wasn't sure why.

There it was: a window of opportunity for some honesty and a way to test the water with someone she trusted not to judge her. Sure, the commando's reaction wouldn't be the same as her team's because there wasn't the same familiarity or taboo among them.

Besides Zane, Axton was the closest male friend she had. Their dynamic was innocent like her earlier relationship with the operative _had _been. As much as Ava was her siren sister, Axton was a brazen brother - and she liked him that way. Could there have been more between them? _Maybe. _But the bond they shared suited them just fine.

"Yeah, we have," admitted Amara quietly, unable to resist the upward curve to her lips. "Still are, actually."

Honestly surprised, Axton's expression widened before he let out a stilted chuckle and shook his head, appearing a tad embarrassed.

"Ohhhh wow," he choked, laughing more earnestly now before catching himself. "And I just asked you to hook Gaige up with him. Shit."

Amara couldn't help but chuckle herself, reaching over to pat her friend on his hand. "Totally alright. He and I don't publicize it, so-"

"Keeping it between us then," Axton confirmed before she could really solidly suggest it. "Got it. Totally zipping my lips," he said and then pantomimed it, even as he grinned broadly. He didn't see a point in telling her that she was being pretty damn obvious about it.

_That_ felt good. Being accepted, that was. Axton hadn't rushed the subject to be over and done with because it troubled him any. Instead, for the sake of her privacy, he moved on. The way he both respected her and seemed sincerely glad for her stirred a fondness for him in her chest.

After another comfortable stretch of silence and them both finishing off more of their drinks, the commando asked, "Do you wanna bring him over here? There's plenty of space."

"Ha, no," she discouraged, earning a lopsided smirk from her companion. "It's kinda fun watching him from afar."

Nearly pouting, Axton snickered. "It kinda sucks knowing my friend's gonna get turned down, but what can ya do? Guess it's nice to know the old man's still got it."

Amara couldn't help herself. Besides, it felt pleasant to finally open up about it. "He's not so much old as well-seasoned."

That got another amused sound out of Axton as he looked from her to peer instead at his glass. He was almost out, a fact he waved at Moxxi to correct. Winking at him, the vixen's gorgeous hair bounced as she smoothly moved behind the bar to refill another mug.

"Just glad one of us is getting laid," he commented with a comical frown, nearly looking pained. "This vault hunter thing isn't really good for that."

"I hope that's not why you signed up for it," Amara replied, earning a look of mock contempt from Axton before he stuck out his tongue.

At the same time, Zane's bawdy laughter dominated the space, the operative having thrown back his head at whatever had been said. After an exultant clinking of glasses, the other vault hunters threw back amber shots in unison.

Temporarily blocking her view, Moxxi arrived to slide Axton the frothy ale and purred, "Here you go, sugar." After asking if they needed anything else, they graciously dismissed her. Both sets of eyes watched the sexy sway of her hips as she went on her way.

It wasn't until Axton was halfway through that mug before he spoke up again, scratching his stubbled chin.

"I mean, I get it," he reflected, relating to the siren in ways she hadn't expected. "Maya and I, we had a couple of times together. That was part of why I went off with Gaige…'cause things got kind of weird after that. I mean, it was all me. I still wasn't ready for anything after my divorce from Sarah, and then Krieg came along and...yeah."

That had Amara frowning. The topic of her murdered sister siren always did, coupled with Axton's admitted struggles.

"Seems really easy to have that happen, you know?" Axton was busy saying. "You get so close to each other with all the fighting and getting each other's backs. All that trust can be one hell of an aphrodisiac."

That it was. Amara knew her affair with Zane wasn't purely a result of chemistry and that their partnership did play a role in bonding them so closely. Their friendship had built off their teamwork, which had ultimately led to them becoming something more. Even then, she knew everything between them was far more complex than that...and still, somehow, so easily navigated.

"I'm happy for you and him," Axton congratulated, grinning at her with his sparkling teeth. He really meant it. "It's great to have that kinda outlet. It's a real good distraction from all the bullshit vault hunting dredges up."

"It definitely does the trick," she sighed appreciatively, trying not to linger too long on so many fond memories.

Suspecting what she was doing, Axton huffed in envy. Then, he chuckled despite himself and nodded at her...and then again in Zane's direction.

"Actually, that explains a lot," Axton claimed much like he had discovered the answer to everything. "That man right there," he said while thumbing at the grizzled operative, "he's jealous."

That accusation got a laugh out of her, light and sonorous. "Jealous of what? You said you don't even know him."

"Don't have to!" refuted Axton as he crossed his large arms. "I'm a man and he's no different. Seriously, that makes _so_ much sense as to why he ignores me."

Making a face, Amara scoffed. "He does not."

"He knows we're best buds, right?"

Of course he did. At some point, Zane must have surveyed their interactions at _some_ gathering since their foursome had joined the Crimson Raiders. How else would he have gotten the notion in his head that Axton was interested in her? Back on Xeros, he had gone so far as to suggest she find the commando and have a good time with him.

Oh._ Oh._

_No,_ she thought immediately,_ that's totally ridiculous._

Self-assured as ever, Axton didn't need an answer. He got everything he needed from her expression. "Yeah, he thinks you and I are hooking up. Or did. Or something. _That's_ why he hates my guts. Like he hasn't come outright and _said_ it but he definitely does."

"He does not," she argued again, this time with a hard roll of her eyes. She just couldn't believe that. She added, feeling as though the truth worked well in her defense: "For the record, I don't think I've ever known anyone as laid back as him."

Zane, jealous? He was too foolhardy for that. He was only the epitome of confidence. And while she didn't doubt he would have hopped in bed with her even if she had been involved with someone else, she wasn't convinced he would view the commando as competition.

Back on Xeros, while she had led his tipsy ass back to Sanctuary, she did remember Zane suggesting she get _friendly _with Axton. He hadn't said more than that, nevermind push her or repeat any similar insinuations, but his intentions had come across as genuinely positive. Looking back, she didn't think it mattered that they, on that same night, had begun their affair. Initiating that had been her impulsive decision - not the operative's.

Axton appeared noticeably more thoughtful than Amara wanted to see him amidst this conversation. That had her regarding him with reluctance, even as she sipped water from her glass.

"You know, that's how it started out between Sarah and me," he admitted, smiling pensively. "We never _meant_ for anything to happen when we started hooking up - _definitely_ not marriage."

Sighing, Axton lifted his dog tags and the impressive solitaire among them for a brief moment before letting them drop heavily to his chest. His tone changed then as though amused by himself. "I mean, I guess my story isn't the best since, y'know, divorce and all. Don't think you two will be tyin' the knot, so...I don't even know where I'm going with this!"

Laughing, Axton shook his head at her affable smile and returned his own. "I mean hey, if it's good, why change things? Damn, I wish I could listen to my own advice sometimes."

With that, her macho companion leaned out of his seat, practically turning around to regard the operative intently listening to Gaige. He was so obvious about it that Amara was tempted to grab him again and prevent him from being noticed. Instead, the soldier leaned back and chuckled heartily.

"That man," he was saying again, nodding like he had it _all_ figured out, "if he thought I was coming onto you? I _guarantee_ you, he's the kinda guy who would throw me against a wall and give me a stern talking-to if he wasn't so into maintaining his composure."

"_Totally_ know the type," Axton swore as though from experience. "I mean, that's if I was lucky. Actually he'd probably shank me in some dark alleyway, and I'd never see it coming."

"Whatever," the siren replied with a roll of her eyes, wondering when they would get stuck in her head. So many presumptions were being made here - by a man who admitted he barely knew the operative to begin with. "We're not even serious."

"Don't have to be," said Axton knowingly and then pointed out: "I'm the man here. I know how we work. You want me to prove it?"

Narrowing her lids, Amara didn't even _want _to entertain what Axton dared to suggest. "Not particularly."

With mischief, Axton was grinning wider than ever. "Let me kiss you and let him see it. I bet he'll prove me right."

Wasn't _that_ a ballsy suggestion? It had her simultaneously laughing and frowning admonishingly at her companion.

"_No_."

She wasn't into those games, honestly, and judged people who were. Did that mean she wasn't morbidly curious? Because she was. Still, she was so convinced of what Zane's reaction would be that she didn't even think to bother.

No doubt the Irishman would crack a joke or tell them to get a room - "Or don't!" she could practically hear him - and be on his way...likely with Gaige still in tow. Yeah, that was yet another reason to avoid that entire situation - not that she actually believed he would resort to that.

Based on how Gaige was gazing at Zane with the posture of someone utterly lovestruck, it was clear she would be all-too-willing to participate in that scenario. Even then, Amara was familiar enough with her partner to know he was more interested in having a good time with his liquor bottle.

If things _did_ get physical between them, then she would have to intervene. That was, if the operative didn't put a stop to it. If he initiated, well, she would have no choice but to kill him right then and there. If Gaige made a move, how _would_ she handle that?

It wasn't like she could really stomp over and tell the mechromancer to back away from her man. Zane wasn't really that and besides, her reaction would reveal more about them than she cared to advertise. Amara supposed she could write it off as her making up some claim to save him and get Gaige off his case...but then when did he ever need saving?

He didn't. The siren snorted at herself and leaned back in her seat, focusing on Axton again. For now, the vault hunters at the bar weren't really saying anything of particular interest. Last she heard, over the sound of spinning slot machines and the idle chatter of other customers, Zane had been asking Gaige about how she had ended up on Pandora.

"Pandora's your homeworld?!" exclaimed the redhead, leaning back in yet another excuse to thoroughly ogle at him from silver head to metal-booted toe. "Holy shit, I didn't know someone so gorgeous could come from there! Man, now I really have seen everything!"

"Ye wish ye could," laughed Zane bawdily, and then promptly deflected her hand from reaching for the bottle. Instead, like a gentleman, he refilled her drink.

"Tell me you've worn a kilt before," demanded the mechromancer, all but frothing at the mouth - much like the beer Moxxi was pouring.

Zane lifted a rugged brow at her and gave her his most dashing, sparkling grin. He certainly wasn't doing much to discourage her.

"_Ahh,_" he was raucously saying while pinching an imaginary kilt and giving a seated courtesy, "with this brogue, ye bet I have! They give a real pleasant draft down below! I love 'em, honestly - 'specially the utility type. Gotta love a dress with pockets!"

Even Moxxi was looking toward the ceiling for a moment before her breasts jiggled from a smoky giggle, appearing plenty intrigued herself. Zane shot her a wink before drumming his palms atop the bar happily, appearing to debate what selection he would make next.

"You _are_ going to the Hammerlock-Jakobs wedding, aren't you?" queried Gaige, her eyes positively glittering with mischief.

Who among them wasn't? It seemed like every vault hunter they knew was invited, but Amara and Zane hadn't really discussed it. With the event still a few months out, the elaborate ceremony had been a while in the making.

"Suppose I am," replied Zane while happily pouring himself a two-finger shot and gracefully downing it. Gleefully relishing the burn, he announced, "Always love attendin' a lavish wedding - provided it's not me own!"

Gaige grinned so wide, her face looked like it was going to break. "You wanna be my date?"

The operative looked to her with a single brow arched in skepticism before spinning his bottle of scotch atop the counter. To Amara, it sounded like he was mentally reconsidering the invitation. "Uhh, do I need one?"

He shot her a crooked grin before glancing at Moxxi, who shrugged with a particularly attractive press of her ample cleavage.

"I dunno," said Gaige cheekily. "Do you? I can't fathom a man like yourself not having one. Guess I got to you first!"

"Oi," he replied simply. From where Amara peered around the edge of the booth, so far undetected, she watched him shrug. "Usually that's the kinda shindig I fly solo, honestly."

"And why's that?" asked Gaige, far from discouraged. "So you can steal the bride?"

"In this case, likely not!" he laughed, drumming both hands on the bar while Moxxi refilled his mug.

Insinuating he had? No one who knew Zane would put it past him. Amara knew she didn't. She wondered if at least one similar occasion had resulted in _one _of the operative's elopements.

"It's nothin' personal, sweetheart," he said apologetically, leaning to hug Gaige around her shoulders like they had been long-time friends. "I'm a solo act. 'Sides, I got a couple teammates who I probably _should_ be askin', if anyone."

"Moze and Amara?" volunteered the mechromancer, filling in the blanks. She went to pat Zane reassuringly on his cheek before he drew back to dodge, nearly falling off his stool in the process. That garnered a snort from the redhead, who added: "I think they're going together."

Amara felt her jaw drop just a tad at the woman's audacity._ What in the hell did she just say?_

"I take it that's not true," Axton snickered, having been eavesdropping with her.

"Nope."

Honestly, that wasn't something she and the gunner had really discussed. It might have come up on passing around the time they received their invites, but that had been months ago. Furthermore, there was no way Gaige would know that for certain unless Moze had said something to her. Amara didn't doubt the odds of that, as she didn't think the vault hunter was lying through her teeth to convince Zane.

Even then, why did everyone have to pair off? Amara assumed their group would attend the wedding as they did everything: as a team. It was virtually assumed, even though neither of them had clued in their beloved operative. They figured he would be game for anything, as always, and would never be opposed to handsomely escorting two women.

Beside him, Gaige was biting her knuckles in anticipation. "Tell me you're wearing a kilt to the wedding."

That earned another lurid laugh from her much older companion. "It ain't polite to steal all the attention from the grooms now, is it?" And then, with a bit of pride, Zane admitted, "_Nahhh. _Truth be told, I got an assignment. Gonna be a groomsman."

That was news to Amara, who looked over at the operative with renewed interest. It was enough to have Axton perking up and turning to glance over at the duo.

Despite himself, the commando appeared irritated by his teammate's antics. However much he loved the redhead, he didn't appreciate her sabotaging Amara any. Inclined to correct the rebel, he slid out of his side of the booth and stood up. It took the siren all but a second to grab him.

"_What?" _he protested, stumbling for balance before she forced him to the bench alongside her. All in all, the shuffling took a matter of seconds.

Distracted by themselves, the two at the bar hadn't noticed. Zane appeared to be humming to himself, if the draw of his lips was any indication, and he was tapping his right boot against the rung of his stool in an easy rhythm.

Beside him, Gaige was blathering on, doing her best to convey the injustice she felt that Alistair Hammerlock wasn't destined to be _her _husband.

"I mean _seriously_, we were meant to be together - until I met you!" she was saying, earning a grinning glance from the operative, who gladly accepted the flattery. "I can't wait to see what _our_ wedding is going to be like! Oh and you're so totally wearing a kilt for it. No negotiations!"

"I mean, it wouldn't be the first time I'd be wearin' the dress in the relationship," Zane admitted in good humor, gleaning over the obvious differences between the compared garments.

Beside her now, Axton chuckled. He seemed more pleased to be in a position where he could more clearly witness the antics of his teammate and her proclaimed future husband.

"It's almost like she's a sweet young thing looking for a sugar daddy," he commented, shaking his head at the mechromancer, "except I know she's really into him."

"The entire bar knows that by now," commented Amara dryly, unable to hide her amusement.

_That _was how rumors got started.

Sighing inwardly, Amara assumed it was better that Gaige be tied up in them than her, unfair as that would be to either Zane or the mechromancer...but then their two strong personalities would be immune to them. Gaige didn't seem perturbed at all by the glances they were earning themselves, oblivious to all the patrons except the man she was so undeniably enamored with.

Amara, recognizing that she should have been giving her own companion far more attention than she was, mentally slapped herself. It wasn't fair to take her focus away from Axton. That was anything but respectful. She truly valued his friendship and the positivity he shared with her. And he was nice to look at, even if she could still detect hints of sadness whenever his eyes lingered on the tattoos across her skin and reminded him of someone else.

Zane was wrong in thinking she was the siren Axton held a flame for. The commando_ still_ blamed himself for not being there to save the teammate he had been so fond of. Shortly after Tyrene had been killed, the two of them had initially bonded over Maya and their talks revolving around her. In his shock, Axton had tried to glean every piece of heartwrenching information about it from her that she'd had. After all, Amara _had _been one of the final people to fight alongside the Athenean.

Axton had all but tortured himself by taking on unwarranted blame and had struggled to simply _understand _as most of them had. Through that, they had bonded. Her empathetic heart had ached for the mourning man and she had tried to comfort him. Not only had the soldier loved Maya as a friend but he had equally felt the heartbreak of a man suffering from unrequited attraction.

Amara knew how easily one could fall prey to those dark memories, and that was the absolute last thing she wanted right then and there. Instead, she wanted to enjoy the rare opportunity to offer Axton her fullest friendship and distance his mind from his problems.

Across the room, Gaige was laughing loudly and leaning her shaking shoulders against Zane. Between the gestures of his gloved hands and the sounds he was spouting off, he had to be telling one of his COV stories. He was varying between depicting explosions with spreading fingers and pantomiming himself wielding a gun. There was one point where even Moxxxi rolled her eyes at him as she listened in and polished a glass.

There was one point where Gaige leaned so heavily into him, he had to catch himself before he toppled off his stool - and hurriedly gulped from the mug he held to prevent it from sloshing. Amara recognized that as a common Zane Flynt balancing act: drunkenly preventing himself from tipping while sucking down whatever booze was within reach.

The sight had Amara sighing heavily. What had begun as a casual bar visit for the operative had quickly escalated to a drinking binge. Between him having a companion egging him on and a demand for his wild stories, his reckless inebriation was guaranteed.

Beyond Gaige, the Irish-Pandoran had a small audience at the bar listening to him comically convey his antics. The siren could tell from the widely varying inflection of his voice that he was thoroughly enjoying himself, though the laughter resulting from his depictions drowned out whatever he was saying.

The scene had Amara glowering in concern and wondering if she should intervene now or if she even should. Though Zane qualified more as an adult than anyone else aboard did, he was also an alcoholic. She saw nothing remotely positive about his addiction being encouraged.

Pulling her from her thoughts, Axton laid a gentle hand atop hers. "Hey, why are you worryin' so much? He's having a great time," he assured, gesturing with his chin to the display between the tittering operative and mechromancer.

"He is...but he tends to go overboard," she exhaled.

Smiling softly, the soldier gave her a little pat before trying to comfort her further. "We all gotta go overboard sometimes, ya know? He's not hurting anyone or himself. As smitten as she is with him, Gaige ain't gonna let that happen."

Axton was sweet. Of course he was - that was nothing new to her. Still, the Partalian couldn't resist another frown. She didn't quite entrust anyone with the responsibility of keeping Zane in check when he couldn't.

Another shot went down. So did the operative's volume after he let out a terse cough, his story settling. Axton gave her an encouraging look. Okay, maybe she _was_ worrying too much. Maybe Zane wasn't as far gone as she had thought - yet. Then again, it was difficult to tell when his comical, boisterous behaviors often resonated as shitfaced whether or not he was sober.

Poised behind the bar, Moxxi gazed at her smoothly. She then raised one perfect brow at Gaige doing something with her hands in Zane's face. The siren's suspicion of her playing with his mustache was confirmed when the operative drew back sharply and forcefully sneezed into the crook of his left arm, earning a delighted laugh from the young woman when he uttered, "'Scuse me."

The mechromancer leaped at the opportunity. "Excuse _you_ for being so dashing."

"Even with snot on me face, ye'd be right! I'm always charm!"

Gaige was grinning and stretching up against him like an adoring cat. At the same time, Zane burst into gruff giggles while saying something she couldn't make out and took another swig of scotch. Then, with a raised pinky, he tipped his bottle into the mechromancer's glass and topped her off to the brim.

"See me dashin' _refinement?_" he was saying gregariously, his nose tilted up in emphasis.

"Oh _I _see it," she assured him, snickering with booze-blushed cheeks.

Amara found herself wanting to gag a little. How was it that everyone nearer the bar wasn't suffocating on all that smugness? She couldn't understand. Beside her, Axton appeared equally invested in his partner's behavior, if still a little embarrassed by it. All things considered, they could be so much worse.

Visiting casually as they sat side-by-side wasn't as comfortable as their former arrangement across from each other had been, but they managed. Neither of them wanted to risk detection again just yet, and it was easy for her to brace her cheek on one hand while conversing. The fact that it spared her a view of the bar an additional benefit.

She was glad for it - until she missed whatever happened that had Zane guffawing and then whining to Gaige, "_Stoooop_! Yer gonna make this ol' man blush!"

That drew Amara's immediate attention, her head snapping around in time to see the older vault hunter lightly smacking the younger one's hands away.

"What did she do?" demanded the siren before she could help herself, standing from her seat.

Axton reached for her belt to draw her back down before patting her reassuringly on the arm. "She's getting handsy but he's got it covered. He's behaving - he's just trying to let her down nicely."

Amara didn't like the ambiguity of his description but sighed nevertheless, further considering interrupting Gaige's progressing boldness. At least in doing so, she could spare Zane from being the bad guy...except it probably wouldn't do them any good unless _he _convinced the mechromancer that he wasn't actually available.

As it turned out, there wasn't an opportunity. Oblivious to the green eyes that had finally taken notice of her and the familiar fan of Axton's hair overtop the booth, neither the siren nor commando knew their whereabouts had been uncovered.

That was, until they settled down again and were softly laughing amongst themselves, Amara braced on her hand again and Axton leaning into her as he swayed while reenacting how Gaige had fallen over the last time she had gotten wasted.

"Axton!" came the mechromancer's voice, the sound of her footsteps happily approaching. "There you are, hiding over there with your _girlfriend_, you sly dog!

At the accusation, color rose in the commando's cheeks before he grunted, "She's not my, ah…"

Of _course _Zane's brogue followed - the last the siren wanted to hear. With how Gaige had been literally hanging off him, there was no way in hell she wouldn't drag him after her - which she did, quite literally, by one of his wrists.

"Amara didn't tell me ye two were datin'!" joined the operative, his tone jovial as always.

"We aren-" they began in unison, but were effectively cut off as Gaige made herself at home across from them. Immediately after, Zane slid into the booth alongside the redhead, whose grin blossomed at his voluntary closeness.

_Damnit_, Amara thought. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid.

She cursed the situation yet again while noting the operative's flushed features and that baggy squint he got when he was drunk. She must have underestimated how many shots he'd had and possibly how much alcohol he had consumed _prior_ to arriving there. After all, Zane kept _crates_ of booze in his quarters. It was very possible he had ended up at Moxxxi's because he had finished what he'd had on-hand. That or whatever he had sucked down on his stool had been stronger than she knew.

Even then, the old operative was well on his way to being thoroughly plastered and _that_ had her glaring at him. Despite knowing he was in no way obligated to, Amara wondered why he hadn't contacted her prior to showing up at Moxxxi's - or had he?

She didn't yet sneak a peek at her ECHO to determine if he had, but she didn't put it past Zane to have stopped by her quarters before ending up at the bar. While she wasn't accountable for him in any way, she felt convinced that he had and felt guilty for it.

_That _was her own doing. She was perfectly allowed to spend her time with Axton, which was exactly what she had been doing. Common courtesy and focus on her tablemate had kept her attention from her ECHO.

Much later, after the smoke cleared, she would see Zane's message of [Up to anything?] and find herself entertaining thoughts of how that night could have ended differently.

"Ahh, young love!" the operative grandly exclaimed, and already the siren was trying to ascertain what he was _actually _thinking - if anything at all.

Amara found it difficult to read him when he was grinning so widely and throwing one arm around Gaige to squish against her adorably...like he couldn't contain his excitement for the partygoers they had crashed. The contact, naturally, had the mechromancer eagerly returning the gesture, positively pink in her cute face.

Amara caught the look Axton shot her, poignant and forward as it was. She had to resist scowling at him.

_Game's _on, his baby blues said.

_No,_ said her violet, _it absolutely is not._

"Say, Gaige, ye think we're interruptin' their neckin'?" cooed Zane, tilting to look at his newest partner in crime before consulting the siren and commando with a glint in his eye. "Y'know, I always figured the two o' ye were gettin' friendly!"

"Ignore him," said Amara to everyone involved, even hoping to appeal to Zane himself.

Instead, the Pandoran laughed. "Nonsense!"

"How can you?" Gaige asked incredulously, facing the impossibility first-hand while Zane released her and instead, to Axton's dismay, reached over to finish off the last of his drink. "Just look at him! He's so handsome!"

"They can't cause yes, yes I am," grinned Zane dashingly.

The redhead, immune to the discomfort of the original booth-goers, looked at the older man with hearts for eyes. "You know what I think? That we should take a note from these two lovebirds and date, Zane."

Axton was pitching his voice so low, Amara barely detected him under the nonsense spewing across from them. The commando was saying, "Maybe if we move away slowly, they won't even notice."

"Too full of themselves," the siren agreed quietly, while Zane regarded Gaige with feisty amusement.

"You are one _saucy_ lass!"

_Ugh_. Her flirting was even worse close-up, Amara was dismayed to realize. Zane was intent on soaking up all the attention he could. Possibly it would tip his liver over the edge.

"That I am," he was saying, never missing a beat while stroking his goatee. Then he exclaimed, good-naturedly, "I like this girl! She makes me sound _awesome_!"

As if Zane's ego needed stoking. He regarded himself highly enough. From the way he grinned garishly at Gaige, she seemed to have earned herself a pedestal among his favorite people. At least their strange bonding was beneficial for morale...

Forced to endure their company, Amara remained convinced that the attraction between the two of them was one-sided. Zane was merely flattering her. Still, the siren couldn't help but wonder if Gaige was the kind of woman he would ordinarily pick up at a bar. Zane seemed anything _but_ selective and the mechromancer was admittedly cute - and oh-so-willing, which was probably the only thing he cared about.

Unfortunately for Gaige, she had come along many months too late. Even then, Amara preferred to think that Zane knew better than to strengthen team relations through sex and sex alone. It hadn't been like the two of them had hopped into the sack without nearly two years of close companionship between them...though she didn't put it past the old lecher to remotely consider Gaige's age on the matter. She had to be in her mid-twenties or so. It was difficult to tell given her attire, porcelain face, and expressive eyes. Zane could have very well qualified to be her grandfather.

_And maybe yours. He's definitely old enough to be your father. Let's just let that little hypocrisy go_.

Regardless, it was definitely past time to redirect the conversation away from implied romance of any kind and finally acquaint the two men...despite the operative's tipsy condition.

"_Anyway_, Zane," she began, formulating a perfectly white lie on the spot. "I was telling Axton about your thing for technology. I think there's something he did you'd like to hear about."

"'Something', she says," Zane reiterated, winging up a white brow of sarcasm before narrowing his eye at the commando. "Not _something_s? C'mon, lad, ye gotta do better than that! The feck is that, havin' only one thing worth sharin'?"

For a moment, Axton appeared at a loss of things to say. Amara frowned at how the operative steamrolled over him, the literal bastard. Perhaps sensing this, Zane gave an affable laugh before leaning forward on both elbows and balancing his chin atop his palms, fingers drumming along his cheeks as he gave Axton his _fullest _attention.

"_Lay it on me, boyo -_ an' I mean not that crap I already know about! Holodome schmolodome," the older man scoffed, rolling his eyes before fixing Axton with a wolfish grin. "Been there, done that! In fact, good luck findin' somethin' I haven't done!"

Not so easily deterred, the soldier did his best to think off the top of his head and remain friendly toward someone verging on belligerent drunkness. "I mean, yeah, I can try. Amara says you're really something.'

"Ohh did she now? An' what was it me lovely partner said about me?" asked Zane, shooting the siren a wink.

Fishing for compliments? Very like him.

"That you like hearing about yourself, for one," snorted Axton with persisting positivity. "I'm pretty sure that's true!"

"Not a whole lot yer girlfriend's wrong about," nodded Zane matter-of-factly.

Amara sighed again - this time, in warning. "Drop it, Zane."

The operative was wise enough to relent, though he did so with a deafening cackle. Already, she was over it and felt her expression made that clear. Axton was a nice guy who also happened to be attractive. The two of them had forged a friendship early on, with the commando drawn to her and her obvious sirenhood. And she had bonded with him because he had a particularly likable personality and a friendly disposition...which sounded a lot like another man she knew.

One would think Zane and Axton would get along due to that, but if the operative's current treatment of the commando was any indication, there were _issues..._with which Amara was highly irritated. Sure, the Irishman was being _superficially_ \- and sarcastically - friendly, but it was evident that he was holding a silly grudge against her perfectly platonic friend.

That didn't even seem like Zane. The reality remained difficult for her to swallow despite what she was personally witnessing.

Amara wasn't sure how she felt about...what felt like some territorial dispute. She really didn't know how to regard her partner when he exhibited such strangeness. It simply didn't compute that Zane could possibly be jealous. Her first thought was_, of what_? If that was indeed the case, then he was being utterly ridiculous...but wasn't that what he was good at?

Something held her back from addressing it with him right then and there. She just knew he would deny it and laugh it off - and make even more of a scene of it. Without a doubt, he would try deflecting it back on her and accuse her of wanting him to be. She didn't think her patience could currently survive his games.

_She_ hadn't been the one with a person actively and shamelessly fawning over her. Gaige must have spent an hour trying to strongarm Zane into an actual date. Meanwhile, she and Axton had been catching up and behaving themselves...while laughing over the operative's predicament. It wasn't like _she_ was accusing Zane of leading Gaige on. That would have been as unfair as him targeting Axton.

Unfortunately, just because she had no intention of stooping so low didn't mean her partner wouldn't. Already, Amara was disappointed in the flak Zane was giving the commando. Clearly she couldn't trust his inebriated conduct or judgment as much as she could his ability to resist Gaige's advances.

"Right on, then," continued Zane, begrudgingly obliging her as he regarded Axton. "Since _someone's_ tired 'bout hearin' how great _I_ am, it's yer turn. So, come an' give it to me - lemme hear 'bout all them vaults ye've been openin," he encouraged with a scandalous twinkle in his gaze. "Y'know, since ye went off on yer lil' adventure with Gaigey-pie here."

"I said there were none," injected the redhead, who giggled at the pet name. To Amara's surprise, she seemed rather oblivious to how Zane was snarking at her partner.

Was Gaige blinded by desire? Maybe. It was more like she was intoxicated from both the alcohol she had shared with Zane and the attention he had given her. Still leaning against the operative's shoulder, she appeared equal parts hazy and lovestruck.

"Yeah," sighed Axton, offering a simple shrug. "About that - it's not the easiest task, but we've really been busting ass trying to unlock clues-"

"Sounds like ye need a pro to help out," laughed Zane, hooking a thumb at himself before Axton caught up with him.

"Guess I could ask Amara," considered the soldier, getting in an edge. "I mean, I basically already did."

Zane sat back, narrowing his icy eye at the other man while rhythmically knocking the knuckles of both fists atop the table. "Did ye now?"

Wanting to diffuse what she knew could lead to a bad situation, Amara chimed in sternly, "Axton and Gaige have it covered. Tell him about it."

So, together, the two of them did, and the operative listened intently enough. It was encouraging, finally, to see her partner apply himself to something that didn't involve taking verbal jabs at Axton. With how Zane thumbed his lower lip by the end of it and nodded slowly as though in thought, Amara hoped the peace would last.

Amara's hopes of the operative shifting gears and throttling down to more seriousness were dashed when a derisive smirk quirked his mustache. It was only accentuated by snide amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes.

"That's _real_ cute, sonny. Might lead to somethin' an' might not. Ye never know! 's curious hearin' what ye were up to while the rest of us were winnin' a war an' all. Tell me, gorgeous," he transitioned, shifting his attention to Amara momentarily, "how many vaults did we open again? Four, was it?"

Before she could add her two cents, the older man pressed on.

"Honestly, Axton _feller, _this ol' cuss ain't seein' how ye can be me good friend's _boy toy_ if ye weren't supportin' 'er when we were, _I_ _dunno, _chasin' down two crazy sirens hell-bent on destroyin' the universe!" he jeered. "Wanna tell me why ye didn't think it was worth yer time comin' over an' fightin' the COV?"

Despite her certainty that they were adequately functioning, Amara couldn't believe her own ears. What had begun as a reasonable, if jaunty, conversation was quickly becoming an aggressive one.

Was Zane _heckling_ Axton? And why was she even second-guessing the obvious? His visage was as mordacious as his tongue.

Axton, bless his heart, wasn't rising to the bait. Instead, he looked at Amara knowingly and raised his brows as if to ask, _This is the guy you're sleeping with?_

If she considered Zane's words to Axton for exactly what they were, it was obvious he was being a dickhead. Verbally, his accent and comically fluctuating volume removed the edge and made him seem friendlier, which sent the siren for a small tailspin. It made it difficult to know, exactly, what his intentions were. Was he bothering with that friendly facade to save face and be deceptive or was he really unaware of himself?

She supposed it depended on how in love Zane was with his voice at the moment.

"I was busy," defended Axton flatly, picking up what Zane was insinuating. "And so was Gaige."

Except the operative's judgment had nothing to do with the redhead, who looked too drowsy to say much of anything.

"_Ahh_ well, maybe ye won't be 'busy' next time the rest o' us're savin' the universe!"

"Zane," Amara piped in as a means of warning, earning the frosted blue of the operative's immediate attention.

"Oi! I'm perfectly allowed to not be impressed by 'im," directed Zane at her before setting his narrowed sights on Axton again. "Say, soldier boy - ye got any other accomplishments than gettin' yer arse kicked outta the army? Wassat, ye don't? 'Course not!"

"I helped kill Handsome Jack," Axton almost grit. _Almost. _He still managed a proud smile, tense as it was.

"Aye, 'cept I got it on good authority that it was Maya, bless her soul, who put the bullet in 'im. So," continued Zane, expectantly tilting his spiky head, "what'd ye do again?"

"That's _right_," continued the operative, shaking one bare index finger at the commando, "Ye were prob'ly jerkin' off at one'a'those holodomes which, lemme tell ye, don't even _begin _ta impress me."

Despite himself, Axton's expression clearly questioned why he should give a damn what the older man's opinion was, but he didn't address it further. Instead, he tightened his lip and gave a dismissive shrug, glancing at Gaige, who was too boozy and cozy to be any help.

Ignoring the fact that he currently served as the mechromancer's pillow, Zane went on.

"See this here neural port? Spent _plenty _o' me life interfacin' with digital constructs. Done things like yer cute lil' holodome when pissin' away me time," he said, and the rather unnecessary inflection made it apparent that was all Axton's potential story amounted to. And as such, all he had ever accomplished. "I prefer meself a _real_ fight. Y'know, like a _real_ arsekicker should."

Respecting Amara's wishes as he did, Axton couldn't level with the man and try to lower his defenses. He didn't have clearance to glare at the operative and snap, as he wanted to,_ Look, I know about you and her so you can lay off the act and cut the crap. I'm really not interested in her._

Would Zane have even listened? Amara doubted it. He seemed too stuck on himself at the moment - so much that she was tempted to stomp his foot under the table. She would have if doing so wouldn't dent metal into his foot. Then again, with the way he was behaving, she was confident he would have grit and bore it, too fixated on winning his pissing contest.

That next time he opened his mouth, she almost went through with it.

"Ye _are _a Crimson Raider, aren't ye, _boyo_? Or did ye ferget that while ye were off rollickin' 'round the galaxy? 'Course given yer track record, I s'pose it can be _expected_ that someone dishonorably discharged would have the _prime makin's _fer someone who can't get his shite together."

"Zane," hissed Amara finally, baring her teeth in thorough dismayed at her partner. "What in the hell is wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"

"'Oi, I'm jus' tellin' Axtard how it is!" he countered, deflecting hands up in front of him. "It seems ta me that pretty boy has been outta the loop a wee while - y'know, while the four o' us were actually pullin' our weight."

Axton's brows furrowed more then than ever, and still, he was intent on holding the higher ground - not for himself but instead, for the woman seated beside him.

"Yeah, keep acting like you know what you're talking about."

"_Boyo_," replied the operative in a mocking purr, leaning forward as though to invade that neutral space of that separating table. "I know a whole lotta things. Ye'd be surprised, I bet, but lookin' at ye, that ain't sayin' much…"

Zane laughed again, delighted by the situation. The dirty tone of it tightened Amara's hand around her glass, suddenly reminded that Axton's own had been stolen.

Moxxi was on it. She, in all her curvaceous glory, appeared to lean across the table and temporarily interrupt their line of sight with her abundant breasts. Neither man paid the generous display any mind but instead remained zeroed in on the other.

True to her art, she slid a beer to each of them like a peace offering. At minimum, the drinks were intended to keep their mouths busy. Even then, she crooned, "Is there a problem here, boys?"

"Nope!" came their simultaneous replies. Funny how that occurrence made the men seem even more like misbehaving children. They united in their mutual interest to team up and lie to their mother.

Casting her eyes to the siren, Moxxi made a low hum of misgivings before shooting them both a look - and pointedly lingering on Zane. "_Behave_, boys, or wrestle it out in bed. We don't allow any roughhousing here," she reminded.

Neither man said anything, instead opting to tip back their drinks in unison. With that, Moxxi brushed her hands over their hair before turning to strut her curves back to the bar.

Axton picked up right where he left off, fixing Zane in a poignant glare. Evidently he had one real bone to pick with the operative. For a man who had been through hell because of one specific bastard, who could blame him?

"Yeah, I kinda dropped the ball on that whole COV mess," he had admitted with an honest degree of regret before countering mordantly, "but at least I never worked for Jack."

Zane's resulting grin was wicked and his chest was puffed. "Gotta love me wallet so overflowin' with money instead'a moths! Are ye _sure_ ye afford that drink or is yer girlfriend footin' yer tab? Oh, an' how's that stationary turret workin' out fer ye?"

"Sorry, I'm no crusty old leprechaun. I don't do this for the money," scoffed the soldier, "and she's _beautiful_, thanks."

Without hesitation, the operative winked at Amara. "I know she is."

She made sure he saw her eyes roll, advertising that she _clearly _wasn't into their pissing contest. Meanwhile, the tipsy mechromancer seemed to be enjoying the verbal sparring. Zonked as she was, the redhead had smiled throughout it.

"Sorry to remind ya, Austin," Zane said with obviously faked condolence and lapse in memory, "but yer turret is a standard model. Don't s'pose ye know anything 'bout designin' an' fabricatin' yer own, do ye?"

Axton bared his teeth before grinning widely as he quickly discovered his comeback. "'Standard issue', eh? Takes one to know one, I guess."

Gesturing to himself with a downward sweep of his hand, Zane laughed. "Boyo, if _this_ is standard, what does that make ye? Ain't nice to put yerself down like that," he chided with a sarcastic frown and shake of his head. "Poor, _poor_ Axy."

At that, the commando twitched. Eyes lighting up, the operative barked out a smoker's laugh. It didn't help him appeal to Amara any.

"Don't call me that," the sandy blonde grit, a nerve clearly having been struck. The siren found herself curious about the story behind that.

Zane pouted dramatically, an accomplished glint in his remaining eye. "Aww, did I hurt ye widdle feelin's?"

"You're gonna hurt something if you keep trying so hard."

For a split second, the operative's attention flitted between the soldier and the siren before he made a throaty sound of sordid amusement. Then he countered, acerbically, "'Least I don't need an ex-wife tellin' me how ta save me own arse."

_That _caused a hint of pain to skim over Axton's expression before he slapped a proverbial hand on that lid to prevent it from boiling over. Finally kicking her partner beneath the table, Amara was reminded that his knees were also protected by metal - a fact that disappointed her and earned a snort from her target as a result. Appreciating her protective gesture, Axton smiled at the gesture of support.

Immune, Zane went on and took advantage of the opportunity. He tilted his chin at the ring embellishing that display of dog tags. "Small rock there, boyo. Same size as yer family jewels, aye?"

"Unlike you, I don't need _enhancements_," retorted a recovered Axton and then added, cocking a brow in disappointment. "How far do those go, old man?"

Zane ran his tongue across his front teeth, a daring threat to his eye that had Amara scowling before he finished.

"How far do _you_ wanna go, lad?"

"You two should knock it off," injected Gaige, finally roused enough to give her vote of disapproval.

For being such a rebel, the mechromancer had really melted into the background despite the ongoing tension between their male counterparts. Chances were, she expected the siren - who was more familiar with both men - to referee.

She couldn't possibly think she was misinterpreting their verbal sparring, could she? She was young but wasn't stupid. Then again, she was inclined to stay on Zane's good side. Soon enough, she literally was.

"S'all in good fun!" he laughed while extending an assuring arm behind her shoulders and hugging her so closely, their mismatched cheeks pressed together. Then he gave them an affable sway, effectively disarming her defenses. "We're jus' two lads bustin' each other's ball, ain't we, Alex?"

"Sure are," grunted the other male dryly, his mouth a taut line across his square jaw.

To think she had assured Axton that Zane was one of the friendliest and most laid back people he would ever encounter, only to have the old bastard prove her wrong. Then again, he was simultaneously displaying how chummy he truly was by nuzzling his mutton chop into the mechromancer. He was equally demonstrative with everyone he was fond of - which amounted to every vault hunter _but _Axton.

Placated as Gaige clearly was, the young woman falling into a relaxed slump against the arm Zane lowered, Amara couldn't relate. In contrast, she didn't fall for her partner's bullshit and heard how his threat dripped with authenticity. She still couldn't believe his audacity and was on the verge of snapping at him again before the commando placed one reassuring hand on her forearm.

At that, Zane's eye flashed and his jaw clenched so tightly, the muscles in his cheeks spasmed. The fact that he didn't tense beyond that assured Amara he wouldn't - because had there been a trigger, that would have been it.

Axton drew back, clearing his throat before trying to lighten the mood. "I wouldn't want you breakin' a hip, gramps."

"No risk o' that," assured Zane with a condescending chuckle, the pronounced fissures around his eyes tightly bellicose. "I won't even break a sweat kickin' yer arse. _Promise._"

If things came to blows, Amara couldn't say with confidence who would win as easily as Zane could. She suspected both men had extensive experiences with bar brawls, though she could safely assume that the Pandoran-Irishman, based on his drinking habits, must have bloodied far more noses.

Not having seen Axton in combat, she couldn't be as confident in his abilities, but she _had _seen the operative fell significantly larger men with a single swift punch. She personally knew how strong he was. Disappointed as she was in him, she couldn't fight the tickle in her belly, her hands vividly remembering the flex of his shoulders. Now was _not_ the time for that.

Axton may have been bulkier but Zane's torso was larger than one would expect under the cut of his jacket, and his height distracted from his proportions. Even then, Amara knew that size hardly mattered as much as skill. It was that moment when the memory of Moze's mentioning_ "old man strength"_ came to her. Like _that_ assuaged her concerns.

Though she didn't expect that Zane would want to share his victory, she didn't put it past him to fight dirty - like the Pandoran he was. If it sensed its assistance might be needed, his digi-clone might join the fray. That scenario was even more likely with how inclined Zane was to brag about his handsomeness. Clearly he would _love_ to rub it in Axton's busted face - not that she would ever give him the opportunity.

One thing was certain: the commando wouldn't throw the first punch. He didn't have the aggressive edge that the offended operative did. From the flare of his nostrils, it was evident Zane was eagerly waiting for a reason to make things physical. If Axton had indeed been competing for her, then there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that the two men would lunge at each other like rabid skags and proceed to demolish the bar until she intervened.

And she would, without hesitation, even if it meant putting Zane in his place. It wasn't Axton's fault the older man had a horned saurian lodged up his ass. With the way the Irishman was practically breathing fire, the lizard must have been imbedded deep and nose-first. She was surprised the tips of Zane's mustache hadn't begun to curl from the booze potent on his breath.

Given Zane's fierce focus on the soldier, his avoidance of her was clear. His concentration couldn't have been sharper even if he had been plunging an ice pick through Axton's pupil. From the way his fists flexed atop the table, Amara could swear she heard his knuckles creak. The leather of his gloves had begun to- until she opened her mouth to speak.

Figuratively, Zane beat her to the punch. Perceptive as the old cuss was, he couldn't miss her palpable agitation. Probably he had already mentally plotted his strike and had triangulated his escape route, but no matter how ridiculously fast he was, she could catch him.

Possibly that was one reason among many that the operative leaned back in his seat and arrogantly crossed his arms, shooting the other man a fanged half-grin.

"Tell ye what, lad - I'm figurin' it's bad _camaraderie_ to feed ye me fist," he said before giving the table the old Zane-Slap-of-Approval before targeting the soldier with a pointed finger. "How 'bout ye put yer gun where yer big mouth is an' we take this to the slaughterhouses, 'ey?"

Casting his neighboring siren a glance, Axton shrugged and nodded, up for anything. "Never heard of it but it sounds _lovely. _I'll take you up on that, Paddy. What's so special about it?"

Laughing bawdily, like he was judging the commando for his ignorance, Zane extended one hand and flared out his fingers while pretending to give his nails a thorough inspection. Appearing pleased, he challenged green eyes with a grin.

"Ohhh, I'm jus' the record speed holder fer clearin' em," he sighed with exaggerated nonchalance before curling his digits and turning his hand over to study his cuticles closer up. True to himself, the gesture was theatric. "Ain't a chance in hell yer gonna manage, boyo, but I'd _love_ puttin' ye to shame. Even badarse as yer girlfriend 'ere is, she can't compare."

That much was true. Despite her siren-granted advantage and physical training, Amara didn't have his speed. Even when Zane didn't utilize his sentinel or clone, he still left her in his dust - but unlike he did with commando, he didn't honestly gloat.

Axton didn't stand a chance. No one did. Between how insanely fast Zane blasted through the enemies, he was the top contender by a landslide. She had to give credit where it was due - she was powerful but what she _wasn't _was meticulous or efficient. The operative was ridiculously hyperspeed and honed, fluidly spinning on his heels to swing his weapon in every direction and pursue his next string of victims with vicious glee.

It was a sight to see, and a dizzying one at that. Everyone could give Zane shit for his age but it accounted for his experience and laid their attempts to overthrow his record to waste.

Snorting in disbelief, Axton's teeth gleamed with bravado. "We'll see about that, grandpa. Ya sure she doesn't _let _your fragile ego win? And tell me, how _does_ all that speed pay off in the bedroom? I bet you've got the record of clearing ladies out."

There was a supercilious tilt to that silver head again, the operative raising his right hand to sharpen the point of his beard.

"Fancy that, I'm _also _the record holder fer gettin' 'em off faster than ye can get their attention."

Technically, Amara couldn't roll her eyes skyward in space, but she tried anyway.

"More like speed record holder for disappointing them," Axton passed back as though playing a game of ping pong.

"Ahh, seems ye haven't talked to yer mum lately," tisked Zane, tracing a mocking tear track down from his eye patch.

Good-naturedly, Axton laughed. The siren dared to think the tension between them was waning, diffused by two personalities that could feed off each other if given the chance. Even Zane didn't seem as full of scorn as he had been earlier, though the cut of his mouth remained devious

"Hard to when she's long dead, old man. Say hi to her for me when you expire any day now."

"She'll be happy to see me!" the Pandoran winked. "She'll say, 'It's 'bout time I had a man in me life!'"

Shaking his head in amusement, Axton sighed. "Funny, I don't recall needing facial hair to look like one."

With emphasized relish, Zane lingered on the length at his chin before palming his mustache and fluttering his eyelashes adorably.

"Aww, so ye think I'm pretty beneath, do ye?"

Thoroughly amused by the turn on his words, Axton huffed out a laugh. "Pretty dickheaded. I guess if your pants ain't packin' one, your personality should."

"Boyo," chuckled Zane, "me eyebrows're thicker than yer langer."

Amara exhaled loudly between them, finally stepping in. "Do we really need to take potshots at the genitals you're both convinced the other one doesn't have?"

Simultaneously, both men snickered - and just like that, the tension snapped back, their gazes locking as though they were only _now_ reminded of their prize. At least, that was what one man perceived and the other responded to, their testosterone convinced that some indelible line had been crossed.

Tundra blue bored into emerald green for a threatening beat before the bearded man went straight for the gullet. It seemed bold even for him to address the overlapping of fates they had. True to his opportunistic nature, the operative was willing to use any and all ammunition at his disposal.

"I got one _hell _of question fer ya, " Zane persisted, even as the soldier scowled directly at him. His expression further as the older man began grinning from ear to ear, appearing positively predatory. "How'd it feel killin'me brother?"

Axton's eyes flitted immediately to hers, and she met them squarely. His conveyed, _I thought you said he didn't care!_

Hers were firm. _He doesn't._

Zane hadn't gotten on Maya's case about it, but then again, had he even known then that she had been among the team who had ended Captain Flynt?

Amara visualized throwing her glass of water so hard at Zane that she could practically see it, and was about to make it a reality - until the operative's knowing hand caught her beverage and yanked it clear from her reach. As though from habit, he knocked it back, not even appearing disappointed with its contents before he slammed it down atop the table with a bawdy laugh. Only then did Gaige jolt from her impromptu nap, looking around them blearily.

"Well kids, s'good seein' ye, but this ol' man's gotta jet!" he announced abruptly, loudly slapping the table before using that hand to help himself out of the seat. Had Axton not separated them, the siren knew he would have squeezed her shoulder. Instead, all suave and collected, he nodded to her. "'Mara, lovely, I'll be seein' ya."

She was too busy silently cursing the Pandoran bastard to care, her adrenaline abruptly cut off by the fact he was unexpectedly taking his leave. All that build-up and he just decided to be on his way as though nothing had happened? For a siren preparing for a fight, it was disorienting. Axton, appearing equally expectant, also blinked.

Gaige, too, looked a little lost. The mechromancer, who had been dislodged throughout the process and was yawning wide, reached after the operative with a sad face.

"Hey, handsome - let me borrow that sexy jacket of yours since I'm so totally your girlfriend now," she giggled despite her disappointment. "I promise I'll sleep in it!"

More than ever, Axton appeared disturbed by the image. Maybe that was what both men had most in common, at that moment, though Zane reverted back to his typical self and laughed it off.

"Not a chance in hell, sweetheart," countered the operative with a possessive hug of his cherished coat. He then blew Gaige a kiss and gave her a farewell wink, leaving the redhead to swoon herself stupid in the booth - but not without a firm ruffle of Axton's hair the split second before he headed toward the exit.

Amara didn't need to visually track Zane to know he stepped up to the bar before officially taking his leave. His gritty brogue addressed Moxxi, not that the barkeep could be persuaded by his charm.

"Another for the road, gorgeous?"

Sexily, Moxxi tutted at him. "Sorry, handsome, I'm cutting you off. Can't have you busting heads open," she cooed, forever perceptive.

Zane chuckled while playfully percussing his hands on the bar before verbally - and physically - nodding to her. "Fair 'nough."

Only when the operative officially swaggered off did Axton scowl and do what he could to correct the uninvited mussing. It was Amara who reached over to help him, the two of them finding he had little hair to actually suffer the affliction.

Meanwhile, Gaige hopped up on her feet and nearly stumbled over herself. Her own clumsiness did nothing to discourage her determination.

"Hey, Axton! I'll catch ya later!" she promised, even as she ventured off to presumably continue her pursuit of the operative. The last they heard was her hollering back at them, "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!"

By then, Amara could hardly give a damn about all Gaige intended to imply. Instead, she was too busy being agitated by all that had happened and tried deciding what words would best convey her appreciation for Axton's patience.

"Well," huffed the commando with a crooked smile, finally releasing a relaxed breath. "I think that went pretty well."

Leave it to him to be so positive, even if it made her feel even shittier.

"I'm sorry about him, Axton," she apologized and meant it, her expression everything it shouldn't _have_ to have been. Despite how disgruntled she was with the operative, she still felt inclined to vouch for him. "That's really not how Zane is. I don't think I need to point out that he wasn't exactly sober."

The commando offered her a smile that was so sweetly understanding, it made her want to punch Zane in his balls that much more.

"I know," he promised and the twinkling clarity of his gaze suggested he meant it. "I saw him with Gaige. I like him just from how he treated her. And honestly, I know you wouldn't put up with an asshole."

That much was true. Already, Amara regretted not disarming the situation sooner. All things considered, the verbal jabs Zane had made amounted to nothing. For Axton, it thoroughly convinced him that everything he suspected about the operative was true, and he definitely felt like reminding her.

He knew enough about the infamous Zane Flynt both from how fondly other Crimson Raiders spoke of him _and_ from the way he had interacted with Gaige. The older man's mood hadn't seemed in any way sour until they had been discovered.

"I told ya," said Axton after a brief popping of his neck, "he's convinced I'm horning in on his territory. I'm no couple's therapist," he admitted, chuckling softly, "but I think you two have some stuff to talk about."

Frowning more heavily than before, Amara allowed herself to sigh again. She wanted to believe that Zane's intoxication was most to blame for his crude behavior. She felt convinced that he wouldn't have been so grouchy if he hadn't been drinking so heavily. Even if he had a sober grudge against the commando, he would have rather maintained his jovial composure and laughed it off. She knew this because she had never seen Zane behave like such an aggressor - not even against the assassins who tried to kill him.

Zane always came across as a laugh-first-think-later kind of guy. He was the type who didn't let opponents get him down and instead entertained everyone with displays of proud grandeur and inflated humor. He preferred to be the highlight of his allies' day and distract them from all their troubles as much as he could. He was _all _about camaraderie and jest - except with Axton.

Amara didn't know why she convinced herself that the reasons behind Zane's attitude were more cryptic than they actually were. Regardless, she disliked being sorry on his behalf. She vowed to violently drag him by an ear and force him to apologize the next time their paths crossed with Axton's.

For now, she didn't want to risk exacerbating the situation and making it worse for any combination of them. She figured Zane had done enough, for now, by excusing himself and preventing the situation from progressing further.

With a sigh, Amara regarded the commando's words. For her sake, she wanted to deny how right he was but barely could.

"We aren't even like that," she frowned, reminding herself more of that than anything. "And even if we were, he was ridiculous either way."

"Can't deny that!" laughed Axton, gesturing to Moxxi for another beer.

Later, when they said their goodbyes beyond the bar, she made sure to give him an extra tight and lingering squeeze before they broke apart. Scowling playfully, Axton rubbed his shoulders and gave a low whistle at her arms. Smirking, she gave his turned back a firm slap and watched him feign a stumble before he shot her a cocky grin and waved. After that, he wandered off to locate Gaige and visit with other Crimson Raiders along the way.

The siren ended up alone in her room, bracing her back against the wall of her bunk and loosely hugging her knees to her chest. She found herself mentally cursing her partner while attempting not to agonize over him - or stalk to his room so she could feed her boot to his ass.

Amara knew for a fact that sober Zane didn't blame anyone for staying out of the COV conflict. If anything, he had voiced his preference for keeping interferences and potential casualties to a minimum. "Keep the crazy shite to the professionals," she had heard him say throughout the ordeal. Despite adopting "Deathwish" as yet another of his middle names, the operative had discouraged others from putting themselves at risk.

For Zane, his stance had been strategic rather than preserving some personal pursuit of glory. Evidently he had enough of that already. The war with the COV hadn't been his first. Throughout his career, he had fought on all sides of the massive corporate wars responsible for the current state of the galaxy. Compared to the lasting impact and severity of that extensive conflict, the war with the COV had been child's play.

"Literally, we're fightin' twin kids!" Zane had snorted. Maybe given his perspective, he hadn't been joking.

Possibly, he didn't consider Axton qualified for that degree of combat. They might have both been previously involved with Dahl but the operative's position among their black ops unit likely didn't consider Axton's rank as noteworthy. Also likely was the chance that Zane, having been shaped by the severe landscape he had been born into, viewed Axton as being from a weaker generation._ That_ seemed silly, given both men's equally flippant personalities, but Amara knew there were more severe elements to at least one man.

Whatever his reasoning, Amara knew better than to think a lucid Zane would downplay Axton's involvement with the Crimson Raiders. While the operative wasn't particularly strict with his loyalty, he still had the group's best interests in mind. Given that Axton had been a member for longer, and had voluntarily devoted himself to an extensive mission with a fair degree of personal risk, Zane would ordinarily respect him.

If it had been his intention to make Axton seem less appealing, he had failed. Instead, Amara knew she should have found the commando even more attractive given his patience. The chemistry just...wasn't there, for reasons she couldn't quite understand. Logically, he was probably a better choice for her.

She didn't think it was because Zane had fucked it out of her, given how she and Axton had been close before that. Physically, she had always been drawn to him. He was handsome and muscular. He had a great and warm smile. And his personality, even if immature and goofy, made the soldier an inviting man. He was also one who seemed to linger heavily in the past and still hurt from his divorce. Now, his guilt over Maya would forever haunt him. Those were two complications that might have prevented any potential they might have otherwise had.

To that extent, Axton wasn't any different from the rest of them. They all had their issues and were stunted somehow. She figured what she had witnessed of Zane's behavior stemmed from some underlying struggles he had - aside from alcoholism. To her, it made sense that a man harboring some insecurities would exaggerate his confidence and exhibit equally brash tendencies.

Amara couldn't say with any certainty if her suspicions were true. Maybe Zane's aggression stemmed from the bed he had made for himself. He had chosen a lifestyle of frivolous flings, where everyone tossed someone away as carelessly as they discarded trash. He was personally guilty of it, and perhaps by being that way, he had conditioned himself to expect it in return. Possibly he had convinced himself that his behaviors were so common that they were inevitable all around - which was utterly ridiculous to a woman like herself.

Or maybe he was intimidated by his mindset that there was always a first time for everything...and it only bothered him to think she, his friend and partner, would be the one to replace him. She could see how intimidating that possibility could be.

Maybe he didn't _always_ feel those insecurities. Regardless if he did or not, she needed him to get over them. She didn't want Zane seeing himself as something temporary for her...even if that was thoroughly insinuated by their arrangement.

God knew how to address that with him. Amara definitely didn't or else she would have done that by now. She only knew that she needed to figure it out before Zane did what he always did and ran. Once he sobered up and recognized he had laid his cards on the table, she expected him to do just that.

Pissed off with Zane as she rightfully was, she didn't want that evening to result in the end of them. He had been completely out of line and had managed to make an ass of himself, but even then, she couldn't help but feel that that entire mess had been the result of some serious miscommunication.

Was she making excuses for him? She could have been, but it wouldn't make matters any better if they ended up at odds with each other. She was convinced it took more than him bullying Axton, who had so easily shrugged it off, to ruin the bonds they shared. Besides, wouldn't it only further Zane's resolve about her and Axton if she ended their affair over it? Despite thinking, for a moment, that it would have served the operative right, Amara didn't want to punish them both.

She just couldn't negate everything Axton was so sure of. Certainly Zane could feel territorial over her without emotions involved. That wouldn't require anything more than a person feeling that their outlet for sexual satisfaction was being stolen out from beneath them...but even then, Gaige's willingness made that irrelevant, didn't it? The operative knew he was a catch more than anyone else did and seemed to have no trouble getting laid, according to his history. Even Moxxi wanted him.

Currently, Amara was prone to disagree with his desirability. She didn't necessarily care to talk to him but knew the importance of making her disapproval known. She vehemently refused to choose between him and any of her friends, and she wanted to make it known. If she had to beat him over the head with it, she damn well would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I see foreshadowing but is that technically a cliffhanger? Chapter 16 is the immediate continuation of this. Wheeee~
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback!


	16. Parapraxis [Mistaken Milestones at Home]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mmph, in a slump. Hopefully just having an off-week.

Despite being drunk, Zane left Moxxxi's knowing one thing: he should not have been half as pissed off as he was. Better yet, he shouldn't have been _at all._

But, like an idjit, he had tripped over his inebriated self and planted face-first into a puddle of piss-poor attitude. _That_ hadn't been by design but instead, had been the result of many lapses in judgment. He should have stopped throwing back shots when he had first felt buzzed. Instead, he had finished off a number of beers, a bottle of whiskey, _and _had a healthy top-off of the poitin moonshine he had in his flask. The latter was _named_ after a term for a hangover, ferfeckssake. Talk about a glaring mistake.

Probably he would pay for it in the morning but for now, his only goal had been getting the feck out of there and sleeping it off in the privacy of his quarters. As soon as the hydraulic door had latched, he had engaged the lock and given it a hefty kick, his boot clanging deafeningly against it.

Following that, the operative didn't bother with much. He only disengaged the wrist gauntlets of his holoblades so he could tug off his gloves and discard the items atop his workbench. He hastily slung his jacket across that same surface. He barely spared the time to knock off his boots before flopping atop his bunk. Had he stood any longer, he ran the risk of planting his fist in something the way he truly wanted to. As he damn well knew, busted knuckles were harder to recover from.

Was it childish? Sure, and he was putting himself in time out for it. No one knew his bad habits better than he did. The Flynt he was, he had a fecking temper like the rest of his kin - he just chose not to _act_ on it. He had fifty-three years of practice but even then, sometimes biting his inner cheek failed to snap him out of it.

That hadn't always been the case. He had launched many an arsehole out of a bar and he had definitely heaved fellas larger than Axton through a window or two. Hell, if it wouldn't doom the ship, he would leave a commando-shaped hole on the bridge. Someone's ass could fill the gap then and maybe they would lose Claptrap in the process. Two birds, one stone!

_Ahh_, he didn't actually have anything against the takeout box robot. It was more prone to trying to woo his drone than steal a woman from him. Unlike sirens, he had sentinels to spare. Meanwhile, Axton was probably laughing his way to Poundtown with _his _partner.

With a cringe, Zane knew he better not think of that or he ran the risk of busting down Amara's door wielding his most impressive rocket launcher. Then again, it wouldn't be a satisfying way for him to paint the room with Axton's liquified viscera, _plus_ a hole in the hull would decompress the ship. He preferred to let his fists do his talking anyhow.

Come to think of it, the last bar fight he had participated in had been with those bastards back on Xeros. The trio had been leering and drooling over an image of Amara, and it had struck his nerves even back then.

Christ, talk about coming full-circle...

It wouldn't be his first time destroying someone over a lover - it was a dog-eat-dog universe, after all. He had fucked quite a few women after leaving other suitors in a gory mash. Randoms, boyfriends, husbands - it didn't matter who the victims were. If the lass was desirable enough, he would do about anything to get his fill of her. Sure, his standards had increased with age because he knew there was always a finer piece of tail to chase. Besides, after a dose of the ol' Zane Flynt sweet-talk, he could make damn near anyone pursue _him_ and save him the trouble.

How inconspicuously could he drag Axton's corpse to the airlock anyhow? Probably more than most would think. Zane could hear it now in his head.

_"Sorry, boyos! Axton left without sayin' g'bye! Instead, his last words were, 'Gods help me! NOOoo! NooOoo, PLEASE doooonnnn'ttt! GAHhh, my spleen! Fuck, I'm such a pussy! WAHHhh, I'm crying myself to death! Bluuuurghhhh.' An' then he shite himself! Bah, his middle name was Worthless anyway! Now, who wants a drink?!"_

Damn, it felt good to chuckle. With how vivid his imagination was, he could practically hear himself cackling like a loon as he had the time of his life taking the commando's.

Ahh feck, he probably shouldn't laugh at that. Aside from being Pandoran, what was _wrong_ with him?

If he needed anything, it was a punching bag. Had he access to Amara's, he would have put his fist through it. At least it _felt _like he could, though if the siren hadn't succeeded, his chances were slim - unless he used his holoblades. Then he could tear the shite out of it.

Sure, he could have deployed his clone and took his scalding aggression out on it, but that seemed unfair as hell. It wasn't his own handsome face he wanted to pulverize. He was too damn beautiful for that, blue as his twin was. Probably what he _really_ needed to do was refrain from physical violence and sleep it off.

He was being stupid, really, and he knew it. Feck, he should've been over that petty shite ages ago. Evidently there was some semblance of Pandora left in him. He was behaving like Amara was the only woman within the region. Though things on his dirtball of origin had drastically changed throughout the years, the populace had been almost exclusively male when he had been a kid. Like starving skags, men had brutally competed for a _hint _of tits. Entire clans had gone to war over them.

Clearly that was not the case anymore, and his cock would do well to remember that. Hell, if her happiness depended on it, shouldn't he be glad to pass off Amara like some kind of father figure? Sure, he would miss her, and he was convinced no one would ever be good enough for her, but...she needed to follow her heart or some sorta sappy shite. And then he would be free to bed surf like he always had and sample more of life's greatest pleasures.

Commitment was an awful pill to swallow, after all. What fun was there in knowing whose bed he would end up in? That was so _boring. _The first pair of legs he would spread would be Moxxi's - because she was as good in the sack as one would expect, and then after that, he would hit up Ember. Beyond that, he would _freestyle. _The more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

As for Amara and Axton, good on them. From what Zane knew - and despite his jabs - he was a good lad. He could give the commando credit for some of his wittier comebacks. They were _light-years _better - and quicker - than Moze's. Sure, his Dahl record was far from impressive and his career had been an utter failure, but he wasn't dead yet. That said something. He was a meathead, though. Still young and stupid. If anyone could fix him, it would be Amara.

_Jumping the gun a wee bit, ain't ye? _asked his neglected sense of logic.

Zane supposed he was...maybe? If Amara said there was nothing going on between her and the commando, then there wasn't. His stubborn mind tended to ignore that substantial oversight.

Shite, if he could trust Amara with his life, he could sure as hell trust her honesty. And they shouldn't have to discuss it at length, either. Her word was solid as eridium and rarely broken. Besides, since when did he mind being a side piece? Usually, that was best, having all the benefits and none of the upkeep. He would gladly let Axton do all the heavy lifting, provided he was capable. Zane still had his doubts and for good reason. What kind of man carried around his former wife's wedding ring, anyway? That was unspeakably pathetic.

_Kinda like a grown man acting out to burn his bridges, 'ey?_

Pressed as he was to admit it, Zane knew all about that. Technically hadn't he gotten hitched because he _hadn't _wanted to share a few special lovers? Of course, some didn't count...like the ones he had married when blackout drunk...or so he could break some stupid vow of celibacy. Regardless, he supposed not - at least not after the first couple times. Back then, he hadn't recognized his own inability to stick around.

Now that he was_ beyond _familiar with his own questionable habits, he wasn't too keen on repeating those same mistakes. In his fifties, he was damn set on remaining one of the universe's most eligible bachelors. Still, just because he had no intention of putting a ring on Amara's finger didn't mean he wanted to share her.

Huh. That suggested she represented something new for him, didn't it?

Glowering, Zane didn't want to think of that. Then again, he never did anything _without _calculation - unless he was getting his dick wet. That, he did on impulse. Behind everything else, there was usually a rhyme or reason, whether it was good or bad, to whatever he did. He suspected his conduct that night was no exception. Lord knew he had a habit of getting shitfaced aboard Sanctuary and had never struggled with bad behavior...

Already, the operative knew he had subconsciously been striking the 'eject' button on his and Amara's affair for some time. It had gone on for far too fecking long. His feet couldn't have been colder if he had shot himself in them with freeze rounds. That wasn't to say their sex wasn't rewarding because it damn well was - and _that_ was part of the problem, same as him sleeping over or holding her hand in private. Even his missing eye could see a neon sign trying to flicker on inside his head and spell out his fears loud and clear.

He was neither ready nor equipped for that. Not at fifty-three, not _ever._ Instead, it was far easier for him to sneer at the entire situation and favor bitterness.

Amara would get bored with her shiny new boyfriend and miss him, Zane told himself. There was _no_ way in feck Acton could get her off like he did. When things inevitably failed, she would try to use him as a rebound and force him to decide whether to take her up on the offer or refuse her. A man had to have _pride_, damnit...but then he was also a nice guy and she _was_ a good friend. Hindsight was usually 20/20, and besides, he wouldn't mind helping her come to terms with her inevitable disappointment. More than that, he was a horny bastard.

The more intrusive thought like that chewed at him, the more his temper demanded to take the wheel. His ego simply couldn't swallow the unexpected turn of events and _that_ had been unwelcoming news for him. If nothing else, him grappling with those scenarios proved he had grown spoiled and placated from being out of the polyamorous scene - and off his stride - for far too long.

That was his own damn fault. After leaving Moxxxi's, his first impulse had been to fast-track to Promethea and hit up a gentleman's club. God knew he missed them like hell. What better way was there to drink himself paralyzed than being surrounded by escorts and strippers? He knew all the places that promised a _damn_ good time. Probably some new joints had popped up since he had last ventured there to get his jollies off.

Fortunately, past experiences convinced Zane that getting hammered while in such a foul mood would be a mistake. He could imagine the shite he would get if he called Sanctuary from lockup and admitted he was sobering up in a drunk tank. Sure, that was nothing his boyos wouldn't expect, but still, it wasn't _professional. _Then again, it had to be better than getting in a physical altercation with an ally…

The last thing he needed was to be subjected to Ava giving him a lecture. Awkward as that would be, he might laugh and get himself in deeper shit. Older than everyone as he was, he _really_ ought to know better. And he did...he just had to give a shite first. _That_ was the challenge.

He, more than anyone, knew he did stupid shite when he was intoxicated. Did that make him _a_ drunk? Maybe. Possibly. _Sometimes._ He felt he managed his vices well enough - he just got carried away sometimes. More often than not, he was a merry fool and _generally_ kept his clothes on, provided he didn't hit the tequila too hard. He didn't regularly make folks want to sock him in the face unless they envied his dashing good looks. Other times, he was a giggler and a snuggler while sloshed, and that resulted in entertaining times.

Truth be told, he _should_ have been busy considering the benefits of incorporating another man in his and Amara's playtime. He hadn't been with another lad since Timothy and _that_ had been too long ago. Hard-up as he had been at the time, that lapse in judgment had been one of his more irresponsible during a mission. At least he had waited until _after_ the heist to fill Ember up good and hard.

In hindsight, he had lied to Amara about not having screwed anyone else since they had met. He hadn't _meant_ to. Caught up in her as he had rightfully been, everything else had completely slipped his mind. After having had all the great sex they'd had at the hotel, he hadn't had the mental capacity to remember things accurately. What did it matter, anyway? As far as he was convinced, Amara should only concern herself with where he stuck his langer during their affair. As for what preceded or followed it, it wasn't any of her business.

It most definitely hadn't been the first time he had forgotten about sticking his dick somewhere. Fucking and forgetting was his modus operandi. While he hadn't truly abandoned his memories of nailing both casino-goers, he had momentarily overlooked them. He definitely wasn't interested in broaching the subject with Amara again and correcting himself.

_Oi, _he could practically hear himself say_, Remember how responsible ye expected me te be back at the casino? Well, have I got a funny story to tell ye! Grab yer seat 'cause it's a doozy - an' has a sequel!_

Heck no, he wasn't going to go there - just like he didn't intend on inviting Axton to their bed with his usual style of flourish.

Sure, he could have summoned his clone and doubled up but the equipment would virtually be his own. Don't get him wrong, he had the best damn cock, but his digital doppelganger was lacking in the reality department. Being as impressively handsome as it was, it couldn't compare to a real lover.

Even knowing himself, it surprised Zane now that he had once contemplated making a pass at the attractive commando - back before he had first noticed how chummy he had been with his partner. The siren had been laughing sonorously at whatever joke the soldier had been telling. Always looking for a good time, the operative had been immediately intrigued.

Ordinarily, he would have been all up in that and poking his friendly head into their business. He would have used the opportunity - not that he ever _needed_ one - to introduce himself and some of his own brand of humor. Instead, he decided there was some potential between the two and hadn't wanted to risk cockblocking his teammate. After all, he knew how bullshite that could be.

Promptly dropping the notion, Zane had opted instead to throw back a few beers with Mordecai. The pair of them had split off to hit up a planetside bar. Instead of acting as the sniper's wingman, he had almost ended up taking his prospective fling _and _her busty friend back to a hotel. Following the adage, 'bros before hos', he had forfeited his chance at getting laid to instead get plastered with his Bird Boyo.

The things he did for the Crimson Raiders!

In hindsight, he had been painfully hard-up. Axton was a good looking lad but he really wasn't his type. Beyond having a warm body, which was always a nice quality, his appeal ended there. More than anything, Zane had eagerly awaited for the soldier to make a move on the siren and give her that cutesy sort of happiness that seemed few and far between aboard Sanctuary. In fact, the operative had all but ditched his outfit for a Cupid costume and taken aim with a bow and arrow.

Probably had he not hopped into bed with Amara himself, he would have tried to match the two up. The silly romantic he was, he could only witness so much flirting before even _he _got impatient. He would have done his damnedest to hold both of them like dolls and try to make them kiss. After all, he had hopes for fun weddings and little Raider babies. Likely it was selfish, but he wanted to be _someone's _cool uncle. Imagine what an entertaining babysitter he would be!

Frustrated with himself, Zane gave his fist one solid knock against the wall. Feck, he had been a jackarse. There were no two ways about it. He had _no_ problems with Axton and yet he had gone and made some. That definitely hadn't been him at his finest. Besides, how in blazes could anyone appreciate how good looking he is when his head is shoved up his arse?

He hadn't intended to fight with the fella, nevermind use personal ammunition against him. The thorough scrutiny he had given Axton was by no means special. He vetted everyone he came into contact with. The first time the blocky commando had come within range of his ECHOeye, its facial recognition technology had pulled up a plethora of intel. In his spare time, the operative had analyzed the dossier provided by Dahl's database - among others tapped by his algorithms.

There has been nothing intentional about it. It had all been par for the course. If anything, Axton's bounty was among the most legal he had seen. Dahl had blasted damn near every detail of his life across the ECHOnet in order to provide professionals like himself a plethora of leads and insight to his character.

Was the advantage unfair? Never did such a thing exist in his line of expertise! With his own information thoroughly redacted, Axton couldn't really compete. He wasn't buddy-buddy enough with the commando to offer him more details than his teammates already had, and he preferred it that way. If he ended up liking the guy enough, maybe he would digitally clear his slate - not that the soldier needed it if he hadn't yet taken a bullet to his head.

Despite how Zane had impulsively behaved, it wouldn't be _his_ gun - or fists - that ended the commando. Instead, he had some amends to make. Eating his goat wasn't his favorite activity, but for the sake of teamwork, and just plain decency, he would do it. And while he would probably rather jump into a black hole than attempt to explain himself, he figured he could distract from that with some of his more ridiculous stories and a few pints as peace offerings.

To think he had intended for his visit to Moxxi's to be uneventful! He had planned on passing the time with a few beers before being on his way. For a man who could consume an entire keg on his lonesome and barely feel a buzz, he figured his plan had been harmless. Honestly, he hadn't intended on drinking hard liquor at all. On his own, he might have ended up drinking a shot or two, but that would have been it.

To think he had been having a fine old time by himself and minding his own business, only to have Gaige make her unexpected introduction. Chock-full of her own wild stories, she had proven herself to be good, fun company. What he _hadn't _anticipated had been her coming onto him almost like a bullymong in heat, but who was he to complain?

Despite his wiser intentions, he had ended up buying a bottle of Moxxi's highest proof whiskey to share with Gaige because she had said she was game...except it turned out to be too much for her too soon. Clearly the mechromancer, cute as a button as she was, was also a bit of a lightweight. That, combined with his rule of never leaving a drink unfinished, had led him to virtually dry the bottle himself.

What could he say? As he told stories, the amount of liquor he consumed had gotten away from him, and then suddenly his belly had been full of nothing but beer and whiskey. He hadn't really _felt_ it until Gaige had abruptly tugged him toward the booths - and then surprise had cruelly sobered him.

Needless to say, he hadn't expected to find those two vault hunters sneaking around like teenagers on a date. He and Amara were fecking and even _they_ didn't pussyfoot around like that...did they? Nah. Either way, he had tried to play it cool. If only his damn drinking hadn't run his mouth for him. Shite.

Ah, well, probably what had come out hadn't been all that bad. He hadn't been _that_ far gone. Axton, being a military man, had to have some thick skin or he wouldn't have made it. The fact that the commando hadn't really fought back suggested he hadn't been that offended. Still, some of his own blows had been low, even by his standards.

Alright, so he owed Axton a few pints and a shiny new gun. Zane figured he could present it to the soldier stock-first and invite him to shoot him if it would make them even. It was the least he could do for taking verbal potshots.

For now, he still had so much pent-up frustration that he needed to vent. Booze was still pulsing thick in his blood. Had it not been for his adrenaline, he probably would have taken a nice nap by now. Instead, he just wanted to hit something. He needed to expend his excess testosterone, and there were only so many ways.

Rolling his jaw in its sockets, Zane couldn't deny how aggressive he still felt. Damnit, he thought he had outgrown that nonsense decades ago. If anything, he should be in an upbeat mood. After all, his ego had gotten a thorough stoking. Confident as he was, it was particularly nice to be reminded of how handsome others found him - particularly by a cute young thing. It was a shame how Gaige's personality made him feel _more _like a cradle robber than he already was, and that was one hell of a strange achievement.

Truth be told, that really hadn't bothered him any. What _had_ was feeling like he was hot shite, only to have Amara and Axton's thing thrown at him like a bucket of ice water. High as he had been on his own prowess, he had taken it like a slap to the face.

He still didn't know if he was more pissed that he had been shaken by it or because he hadn't been sober enough to follow his own rules, the first of which was _never react._

Shite, he wasn't a jealous man. He had _never _been. If anything, he would be the first to proposition someone to join them in the bedroom. Aside from being pathetically stuck on some ex-wife who'd had to save his stupid hide, he _was_ a more suitable lover for Amara. The operative wasn't selfish or cocky enough to deny that.

Proud of all he had personally accomplished, Zane sure didn't envy Axton. Hell, he wouldn't even trade the commando for his age. Despite how much he griped about his own, he had done his time and was pretty damn happy in his fifties. He had never been more handsome and charismatic. His league was his own - and his clone's, naturally.

Clearly he hadn't been in the best mood to begin with. Though he was known for his merry disposition, he was just as prone to being sour as anyone. Sometimes he didn't even know he was until it happened, and drinking was usually the trigger. So there, that's what it was. What harm was there in eating a serving of humble pie anyway?

Besides, Amara had the right to do as she pleased. They weren't exclusive. Probably she had figured he would be all for it, and how could he blame her? He _should_ have been. Maybe he was. Sure, perhaps she and her soldier boy weren't _actually_ up to anything. Possibly they were working up to something, which would be good for them. _Great, _even. Everyone deserved happiness however they liked it, _especially_ Amara.

Hell, Zane considered that he was lucky enough to be friends with the siren, nevermind be her partner. Strong-willed and stubborn as they both could be, they were almost too alike for their own good. There were occasions where Amara glared at him like she wanted to rip his head off his shoulders and others where he wanted to laugh like a smartass and dare her to. The two of them were natural-born leaders and Amara, in particular, loved being in control. Had he not been so easygoing and free-spirited, he would have flipped her two birds and cavorted in another direction over a year ago.

Even then, Zane knew he was a fool for punishment. He had a bad habit of getting tangled up in dangerous women. Amara, since the day he had met her, had been an untamed enigma. Few people managed to lift his eyebrows with intrigue but she had succeeded. Their interactions had been fun and friendly until she, living up to her siren namesake, had managed to seduce him - which, admittedly, was _anything_ but a challenge. Since then, he had been unable to break her gravitational pull and in being so drawn to her, hadn't been able to resist burning up in her atmosphere.

He might be the first to admit that he had made a lot of dumbass mistakes in his day, many of which had taught him the invaluable lesson: one should never figuratively shit where they eat or sleep. Naturally, that was exactly what he had done with Amara and hoo, boy, he hadn't just stepped in it but had tracked it all over the place. If only he could have listened to logic instead of his dick.

Unfortunately, wisdom wasn't guaranteed with age. He had proven that time and time again. Even then, he figured he could enact some hint of damage control by not impulsively diving into the next available woman - particularly one aboard Sanctuary. He had no intention of living with a scorned partner if he could help it. There were a thousand ways that could make his life hell - on a daily basis, no less. No easy piece of ass was worth that, nor would it be wise of him to ruin things with one of the only people he trusted to have his back in a fight.

Who would have thought he would hold a woman he had met through sheer dumb coincidence in such high regard? Definitely not him. He certainly hadn't expected to truly enjoy Amara's company, nevermind that of the other Crimson Raiders. For as long as their shared goals bound them, he planned to stay her friend and _not_ piss her off. He figured he could manage that regardless of who she hooked up with.

Either way, he was sure Amara's thing with Axton wasn't as underhanded as it seemed. He had no reason to feel butthurt. Still, he couldn't deny that he would have _loved _to put the commando in his place by flooring him. Apart from destroying his friendship with the siren, he probably would have been kicked out of the Crimson Raiders or straight airlocked into space.

Would it have been worth it? It depended. The way he saw it, he was pretty fond of the whole _living _business, provided he got to enjoy himself along the way. Sometimes, he was a man who delighted in petty victories as much as real ones. He tended to derive the same pleasure from winning an argument as he did landing a perfect shot. Wouldn't him cleaning Axton's clock like the ol' Pandoran-Irishman he was have achieved both? He liked to think so.

Zane hated his physical reaction more than anything. On his way back from Moxxxi's, his body had decided it was an ideal time to spring an erection on him, and it had nothing to do with the redhead involuntarily in tow. He practically had to shut the door on Gaige to get her to let off, which would've been funnier if he hadn't been hard up. And besides, she reminded him a little too much of a particular ex-wife who scared the shite out of him, not that the resemblance made a bit of difference. He wouldn't have taken her to the sack regardless.

Instead, it was his adrenaline and testosterone overload that gave his cock a mind of its own. Likely he had spent one night too many thoroughly buzzed and watching nature documentaries. It seemed there was always some young male trying to overthrow an older alpha from his harem. By design, he was also a bit pent up, and that only made matters worse.

For a change, he didn't _want_ to wank, but his body demanded it. Still, he figured it was better than stalking back the bar and feeding Axton a fist sandwich like he truly wanted to. He wasn't one to go for sucker punches and besides, he would only succeed in getting himself turned inside out by a siren and thrown into Sanctuary's cell. He was pretty sure there were rules against aggression between teammates - as there _should_ have been.

_Best get used to yer hand again, boyo. 'S gonna be yer life again, soon enough - 'less ye hit Ember up._

Hell, what would stop him? Zane could think of far worse ways to handle his sexual frustration. She had been a great lay and he still had her ECHO details on speed dial. He saw no reason why he shouldn't nail her good and hard, just how she liked it. Shite, she was one of the rare women who came from anal sex almost as much as she did vaginal. She was _definitely _a keeper. No wonder he wanted to marry her!

Thinking of that certainly wasn't helping his condition. Cursing his cock for the thousandth time in his long life, Zane went about releasing the straining bastard from its uncomfortable oppression. Hastily separating his belt and holsters, he released the button of his pants and tore down the zipper with a metallic rasp.

Raging hard and equally red, his aching cock sprang free from his boxer briefs. All his craving for a donnybrook really had his blood going and his erection proved it. Already, he was dripping, his member twitching as it celebrated its freedom and demanded release. Heavy as they were with pent-up lust, his balls were practically blue.

To think he had been saving up to get laid. _Ha. _Well, at least he had the decency not to wank off to Amara now. He figured he should best knock that shite off before it made his situation worse.

This wouldn't take long, he told himself with a hiss. In fact, he gave himself five minutes. He honestly didn't care how fast he finished - he just needed to get off. Given how much he wanted to take his edge off and get over this conflicting mess of irrational feelings, he went right on digging into the compartment beneath his bunk.

All jokes about outdated materials aside, he _really_ wasn't in the mood to peruse an extensive selection of digital porn when he was feeling so impatient. Not right now, damnit. Instead, he retrieved the first magazine he had stuffed under there and thumbed it open.

Guns and tits - _perfect. _Just what he needed: a nice selection of busty sluts wielding rare SMGs, curvaceous ladies hugging lucky shotguns between their jugs, and one particularly plush sweetheart humping her landing strip over the sexiest rocket launcher he was sure he had ever seen.

_Feck yeah_, and not a single siren among them.

He didn't even remember getting this one, honestly. Had he ever looked at it? Probably, but not in some time. The pages were pretty crisp, not that he ever jizzed all over them. He wasn't that much of a barbarian and besides, pages tore when stuck together. He re-used the damn things because he was plenty easy and also because he didn't need a library of them taking up his limited storage space.

Honestly, printed materials didn't usually do it for him anyway. He was a digital kinda guy and he liked _sounds_, provided they weren't forced moans or fake whimpering. Those just made him laugh or mute the file. He knew the noises women made when they were really getting off and those were what did him in.

Breathing out a stair-stepping sigh of relief, the operative turned to the next page, barely realizing he had started stroking. That was the damn thing about wanking - it was so second nature, it could be autonomous. At the thought, he blinked upon realizing he hadn't slicked himself up. He scowled at his calluses - and the threat of chafing they presented - and reached back among his belongings to fumble around for his lube.

Because the universe fecking hated him, he discovered an empty bottle. His fuller one was taunting him back in Amara's cabin. It had skipped his mind _entirely_ to order another, given how he rarely resorted to his hand these days.

_Motherfecker. _Strike two to his nuts today. Unless he wanted to jerk it with machine oil or spank it with soap - which he did _not_, that shite burned and bubbled everywhere - he was stuck with resorting to saliva. He sure as feck wasn't dumb enough to dry dog it.

Fine. Whatever. That was what he got for allowing it to slip his mind...pun unintended. He would add it to his extensive list of shite to order. For now, he spat into his hand before palming himself again and spreading it adequately down his shaft. It took a few attempts to coat himself generously enough until he was satisfied he wouldn't soon skin his cock alive.

Much better - and all the more reason to make it quick.

His voice gravelly, Zane breathed out a moan and extended a centerfold to his hungry eye. That was one _hell_ of a hot blonde teasing the barrel of a classic Jakobs revolver along her folds, the dark metal slick with her juices. There was a glittering trinket of a heart dangling from it, teasing so close to her clit. He wanted to tongue that pearl and watch it sparkle.

Scratch that, he _really_ wanted to penetrate her with the pistol - unloaded, naturally. Seeing as many displays of gore as he had, it wouldn't help his personal objective any to have his mind feed him _that_ imagery. Argh, he wasn't that morbid.

Next page then. He drew in a shaking breath and sped up his strokes in an attempt to chase away anything but that prurient sensation. And ohhh, how the sight revealed to him would do the trick. His length twitched in his grasp as he laid eyes on a wonderfully luscious, dark-skinned woman with her legs obscenely spread and two fingers sunk deep in her snatch. Against the ground, she braced the deadly length of a sniper rifle and was running her tongue up that gleaming metal. That slutty beauty had his cock flexing in interest.

Yeah. _Yeah, _she would do it for him. Balancing the flimsy magazine between his free hand and one bent leg, he allowed his eye to lid as he bit his lip in anticipation. He grunted as he tugged at his member and relished in the indulgent sensation, drinking in every detail of her sinful body. She had some really nice tits. Small enough to fit in a martini glass. Really sweet, cherry-sized nipples. Hard, naturally. She had long hair, too, half piled atop her head and the rest spilling down in spirals. The look in her eye proved she just _knew _how many lads would be fucking their fists to her.

Gritting his teeth gently, Zane couldn't help but buck his hips and squeeze his cock by the base, his greedy gaze temporarily distracted by the resulting flare of his cockhead. It was then that he released his hardness, leaving it to bob while he reached down to ruck his off-white shirt up to his sternum.

Maybe he should have done the same to his under armor but then it was easier to wipe clean than his hairy stomach. It wasn't like he cared anyway - what man did? If anything, the black canvas was an erotic backdrop to his release whenever it streaked his chest. In his satisfied daze, he had been known to admire the contrast.

The armored plating and hexagonal, high tech material just did it for him. Like all erotic things, he didn't question it. God, what he would give to see it stretched across a woman, hugging all her curves like it did his abs. As far as he was currently concerned, there was nothing hotter than a woman with a taste for big guns and fat cocks. If only one had been there with him, he would have more than satisfied her need for both.

Throughout his life, Zane Flynt had been called many things but _small_ wasn't one of them. Given how many folks had personal encounters with what he was packing, that meant he was gifted and he knew it. Hell, he had done plenty of side-by-side comparisons with every man he had bedded and remembered those glorious bastards who had outdone him. Needless to say, those lads had been _extra_ fun.

Grinning down at his cock, he figured it was just something else he could be proud of. And for the types who were crazy enough not to like their men well-hung, he had the skill to make anyone scream his name. Just thinking of that gun-tonguing slut collapsing against the rifle in keening pleasure had him pumping up into his hand and finishing each stroke with a firm twist over his dribbling tip.

_That _had his breath catching and added to the precome slicking his race toward his much-needed finish. Licking his dry lips, he felt the pleasure thrum down his spine and add to the pressure in his balls. He would be there any feckin' minute now. _Any minute. _But what was the rush when he was so fixated on sexy women and forgetting his real problems? It meant the distraction was definitely working.

Yeah, it was. He was losing himself in the tightness of his own touch, his wrist wringing more pearly tears from his slit. Sure, his rough fingers weren't ideal for the sensations he wanted most, but beggars couldn't be choosers and he wasn't desperate _or _spiteful enough to bend Moxxi over her bar. _That_ would have been a damn good reason to go back.

Just like that, Zane was thinking of her again and found himself surprised by how mentally fecking the vixen felt more taboo than ever before. God, he really should have spent more time appreciating her tits when they had been practically shoved in his face. Instead, like an idjit, he had been too occupied with his drink and misplaced sense of loyalty. Who in the feck was he again?

Like hell any of it mattered. His disappointment didn't _begin_ to stop him from thrusting into his grip or increasing his pace even more, his glans pumping in and out of his fist with urgent purpose. The sound of his damp hand against his meaty cock was both slippy and obscene, building on the tension coiling in him.

His eyelid falling heavily, he could _taste_ the telltale essence of climax, the exhilarated rate of his heart picking up and beginning to thunder against his ribs before someone _abruptly _rang his door. Needless to say, he was neither in the mood or position to respond.

Releasing a panting snarl, he slammed his eye tightly shut and instead clung to the memory of Moxxi's ass squeezing his cock, the barkeep bent over and taking his every thick inch like a fecking _champ-_

Another series of beeps repeated, but he _refused _to acknowledge them. It was probably Gaige anyway, the stubborn lass. He had to give her credit, though - and might when he was finished. For now, he continuing pumping into his grip. That fire was still building in the pit of his stomach and _begging_ to overflow, enough that his toes curled from it.

Eyes screwed shut and his brows heavy with the promise of orgasm, he could practically feel it biting at his heels like a famished animal. Christ, how he needed it. He had needed it a day ago.

Feck everything else and whoever was trying to interrupt his moment. Forcing his eye open, he fixed his gaze onto the magazine to give him something tangible to cling to and felt his stomach muscles tighten as a result. Lewd noises threatened to push their way up from his throat, and he almost let them - _would_ have if he didn't have some uninvited visitor.

Ah feck it, it wasn't like they would hear him and who cared if they did-

The slamming knock tore split his focus asunder again. He was _this close _from grabbing his pistol and sending a couple of rounds through the metal. For now, he _reluctantly_ tried a less fatal approach.

"I'm busy!" he irritably bellowed, and that was all that needed to be said - or should have been, provided they heard him.

The impatient striking of the metal barrier suggested that whoever was on the other side either hadn't heard him or wad outright ignoring him, the latter of which was more likely. Injecting more threat into his voice, he tried again.

"Piss off!" he yelled, sounding as aggravated as he rightfully was, given the circumstances. "I said I'm _busy!"_

On the other side, Amara's voice was both incredulous and commanding. "Is Gaige with you?"

Ohhhh. _Ohhhh _that was fecking _rich._

She had some nerve. She was probably there to bitch at him about giving her boyfriend some attitude _in addition_ to accusing him of getting with the mechromancer. Like _shite _she was actually searching for her.

It took immense restraint for Zane to bite his lip and not retort the way he wanted to. He didn't know how he managed, honestly, given her insinuations combined with the fact that she was the last person he wanted to deal with. He had done enough reacting already.

"Dunno where she is!" he barked and sternly glared at the door, not that she could see him. Feeling the ache of his own damning frown reinforced his determination to cease that interaction from thereon out. The siren would have to fecking listen and get off his case.

His reasons were many. His attitude wasn't the only element of him rising to the bait. His erection was obscenely dripping and rock solid. All he wanted was to get off, breathe a sigh of relief, and sober up - and would, as soon as he had one damn moment of peace aboard that feckin' tin can.

Unfortunately, Zane knew his partner wasn't ever so easily dissuaded. For once, _just once_, he clenched his jaw and prayed that she would prove him wrong. The last thing they needed was to address what had happened back at the bar because that was currently guaranteed to lead to a rip-roaring altercation - one that would undoubtedly inform the ship, loud and clear, of their dalliance.

Probably no one would fecking care, just as he was determined not to, but intoxication tended to make him loud. That was just _peachy, _provided his underlying mood wasn't shitty. As far as he was concerned, he needed to give his liver significantly more time to expunge all the alcohol circulating his blood before he faced Amara again. Then _maybe_ he wouldn't make a scene.

_Of course_ the siren didn't share his sentiment - because she fecking hated him, clearly. At the sight of one astral hand rising through his floor, Zane's heart and motions stopped dead. Familiar as Amara was with the door interface, she had no trouble disengaging the lock and granting herself access.

Thanks to his stomach suddenly leaping into his throat and lodging there, he squeaked a sound that was as far from manly as he could manage. Even quick as he was, the operative was too stunned to accurately punch the overriding bedside panel before the hydraulics hissed open.

Sputtering with a wide eye, he hastily slapped the magazine over his dick and snapped at his teammate's stupifying audacity. "'Ey! What don't ye understand about keepin' the feck out?!"

His tone was so high in disbelief, his voice broke from it. He didn't give a shite that it did - he was too busy trying to rearrange himself in a less compromising position and failing miserably. Already, Amara had seen _more _than enough and paused only to shut the door behind her before impassively crossing her buff arms.

Well, at least she had the decency to do that - and not much else. Grinding his molars together, the operative mentally cursed her and the blue balls he was going to suffer. Needless to say, if looks could kill, Amara would have been tempting death with the glare he pointedly shot her.

Now, it was just the three of them: Amara, him, and his langer. It was far from unusual for him to have his dick out around the siren, but it was definitely the first time he had been angry about it. Especially living on that fecking vessel, a man needed his privacy.

Dissatisfied with her immediate assessment of his room, the siren stopped to open the bathroom door and peer into it, evidently searching to catch him in a lie. Really? Did she truly fecking think he would be beating his meat if he had a willing body at his disposal? Did she even _know_ him?

"I said I was _busy,_" he snapped abrasively, no longer giving a single shite about censoring his irritation. After all, the tic in his jaw was so pronounced, it had to be glaringly obvious.

Unfortunately, his attempt to conceal other livid features was failing him miserably. For as much as he wished he could will his erection away, it wasn't like Amara's presence did anything to discourage it. Even if he thought back to her being cuddled up to Axton, he would be forced to face the damn reason he was sporting wood in the first place.

"Oh knock it off," she said simply, glaring in disapproval - at what? Him polishing his knob?

Ah, of course not - her violet sneer was fixed on the graphic material draped over his erection while it protested his abrupt neglect. Had he been in the mood for _her_, he would have resumed his stroking and let her lend a hand. If that was what she expected, she had some nerve.

Disgruntled as Zane was, he could feel the telltale burn of a blush heating his face, ears, and neck. He _hoped _it was from being worked up but in reality, he was the closest he had ever been to embarrassment. It wasn't the first time he had been caught by Amara with his pants down, and he had definitely put on a show for her many times before, but the circumstances made all the difference.

It was one thing to have someone know a man wanked to porn and another to have one's friends to actually _see_ it, because _that's _where her violet eyes went: straight to the evidence. Arching one skeptical brow, her gaze sharpened with scrutiny. Hell, it might have been easier if she had smirked in amusement, but instead, her expression remained reproving.

Clearly neither of them was laughing. Even he felt severe, struggling to accept being caught off guard, which _never _fecking happened.

Internally, he briskly brushed himself off and played it cool, albeit peeved. Gesturing to himself, he huffed at her, "Well, what do ye want? Can't it wait?"

Narrowing her eyes further, the siren snorted, "Clearly you couldn't."

Feeling the furrow of his own scowl lessen momentarily, Zane huffed and felt it return in fuller force.

"Wasn't expectin' ye. Figure ye'd be busy," he countered, doing his damndest to keep the bitterness from his tone. The fact that he felt it at all still grated on him, adding to his gall.

_No _one was rubbing salt in his wounds but himself. Even then, he let the implication of his statement hang heavily as he firmly challenged the siren's gaze.

Amara appeared to be rolling heavy words on her tongue but ultimately said nothing. Instead, she dropped her arms from their inscrutable weave and continued toward him, confidence in each of her steps.

At least he didn't stutter at her and further damage his image. He did, however, scramble further upright and clasp a hand to ensure his cover remained in place. Honestly, he didn't know why in the feck he bothered because what he _really_ wanted to do was snap at her and cram himself back in his pants. If she was itching that badly for a fight, he would give it to her. Unfortunately, thoughts like _that _were partially responsible for his inability to fit back in his trousers. Damn it, _no_ man volunteered for that pain.

Distracted by his internal conflict and the lingering inebriation slowing his senses, Zane wasn't convinced how to react until Amara was practically upon him. When she reached for the nudie mag, he tried to smack her hand away. He would have succeeded, too, if she didn't furl a fist and, with a flash of her glowing tattoos, phaselock him in place.

Amara's advantage was fecking _bullshit_ was what it was, even if it was his fault for getting tangled up with one of the most gifted humans in the six galaxies. She didn't even have to expend effort to trap him in place, capturing him there as effortlessly as someone lifting a pint. Unlike an enemy destined to be crushed or filled with bullets, he wasn't fully paralyzed. Instead, he was restricted enough that he couldn't flex his limbs or retaliate. He could sure as feck make his frustration known, though.

"This shite again?!" he huffed, and feck if it didn't remind him of the _last _time she had used her powers against him, back after shocking him with their first kiss and misinterpreting his stunned lack of reaction.

This time, he _didn't _care to proceed as they had - despite his erection being out in the open.

Blatantly ignoring him, Amara reached over to pluck the magazine from his helpless hands. Only after she had taken a long moment to flip through it did she pull a face and then turn it to display the page he had been enjoying. There was no denying which that had been - his precome was smeared across it.

Openly judging him, her voice was dry as she asked, "Seriously?"

Locking his jaw, Zane said nothing. His tongue felt too dry and fat in his mouth anyway. The muscles jumping in his cheeks said far more than she needed to know.

Snorting under her breath, the Partalian took her precious time perusing through the images with a condescending edge on her face. Whenever she reached a centerfold, she turned the magazine to unfold them and scrutinize the models before rolling her eyes overdramatically. After what felt like forever, she turned her attention back to him and wryly snorted, thoroughly unimpressed.

"I don't know why you bother with these things," she sighed irritably, her hands engaged in balling up the paper and throwing it in the trash.

Given the audacity Amara had shown already, that was _hardly _the icing on the cake. If anything, it only furthered his resolve to give her the verbal finger. Already, she had taken far more liberties than she was allowed and he was done with it. He was _so _done. He was about to make that clear, too, when she stepped even closer to him.

At her mercy, Zane remained frozen in place, and _damn, _he wished there was something he could do to break free. He wasn't certain what his first action would be when he escaped that mysterious captivity but he figured he had time to plan it. Having witnessed her capabilities, he knew how long she could sustain her hold. He also knew how futile it was for anyone to fight it.

The way those eridium eyes glittered down at him, in all his exposed and erect glory, had the operative parchedly swallowing. He wondered what he could say, if anything, to smartass his way into being released.

Instead, when Amara lowered herself to her knees, he couldn't find his voice.

...

Amara was quite sure she had heard a saying about not bringing up troubling talks in the bedroom once. She wasn't thoroughly convinced that what she wanted to discuss even constituted that. And really, where else did they have to tackle more personal matters? To her, they hardly seemed appropriate to broach over ECHO. If nothing else, their facing the situation directly would force her partner to be less avoidant...in theory.

Needless to say, she hadn't planned for them to have sex as they had. She certainly hadn't expected to find Zane masturbating after his agitated behavior ar Moxxxi's. More than that, she hadn't anticipated herself in _any_ way tempted to assist him. God knew he didn't deserve it. If anything, she had been hellbent on giving her partner a verbal ass-kicking. Fresh on her mind as his bullshit remained, even she had been surprised by the unanticipated turn of events. To consider her actions as impulsive was an understatement.

Maybe she had been conditioned to seek pleasure with him instead. Maybe she had simply been tired of all the tension and craved relief from it. Maybe she had wanted Zane to revert back to the man she knew instead of further exacerbating the bastard he had been. Maybe she had needed that reconnection to reassure herself that their affair hadn't had to end.

Whatever her reasons, their getting physical hadn't been a result of angry aggression. They hadn't shaken the walls with escalating cursing or arguing. She hadn't torn off his dick and launched it across the room as she had expected to when hammering her fists on his door, demanding to be let in. And though she couldn't bring herself to regret what they had done, she wished she had exhibited more personal restraint.

Sleeping with Zane clearly did nothing to alleviate her guilt for him mistreating Axton.

She still regretted that she hadn't stepped in and prevented the operative from being such an asshole, but then her friend was a man capable of fighting his own battles. The way the commando had so easily shrugged everything off assured her that he harbored no ill-will toward her or her partner. In fact, Axton had seemed to appreciate that she hadn't come to his defense and had agreed that it would have made matters worse. If nothing else, it would have put Zane on the defensive

Quite the opposite, the operative was now settled beside her with his arms behind his head, appearing as contented as ever. Why wouldn't he be? Their heart rates had recently normalized since getting their fill of each other. Their makeshift bed still smelled like sex. The sounds they had made when they had reached their finish together had been lush with pleasure and vividly warmed her belly to remember.

Sometimes, they simply needed a good, solid fucking. That was exactly what they'd had and what she had wanted. There were certain points in her cycle where nothing short of a hard railing left her as satisfied as she felt lying there, her muscles cozy in the afterglow. Despite what Axton had insinuated about Zane's behavior, she hadn't noticed anything unusual in the way sex had progressed between them. To her, it hadn't _seemed _possessive. He hadn't even initiated.

Between the two of them, she had been equally responsible for their intercourse being rough. With her hands on his ass and her legs around his waist, she had spurred him on. Beyond that, Zane was also prone to roughness when he was drunk. Now, with her older partner resting peacefully beside her, that had dissipated.

Even when she spoke up, daring to tread on a topic she was convinced was harmless, Zane didn't offer much of a reaction.

"You need to be nice to Axton," she ordered, the sudden sound of her voice cutting through the silence. With conviction, she demanded, "What in the hell was that, back at Moxxxi's?"

From her partner came an unintelligible murmur before he sighed, "...mmh?"

Raising herself on one elbow to better see Zane's lined face, Amara narrowed her eyes. It was about then when his reluctantly opened halfway. Considering everything, she should have expected him to have been dozing. Even then, she scoffed under her breath.

That icy blue struggled to focus before blinking away some of that thick bleariness, remaining on her as the operative furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Y'say something?"

"I did," she huffed, amused despite herself. _Old man. _"I _said..._I won't tolerate that bullshit you pulled on Axton. You don't have to get along with him but you sure as hell need to be nice to him."

Blinking again, Zane managed to appear both incredulous and half-asleep. He gave her a poignant snort before rolling his face away from her and grumbling, "_Am _nice to yer boyfriend."

_This again_, she thought angrily. Stubborn bastard didn't know when to quit. _You _are _my boyfriend, you jackass._

Dissatisfied, the siren literally seized the situation by grabbing Zane by his bearded chin and rotating his attention back to her, refusing to be disregarded.

His frown was immediate. He looked a bit more awake after that. "Why the feck ye wanna talk 'bout 'im now?"

"He's not my _boyfriend,_" she snapped firmly, wishing she could say what she was truly thinking. How could he be so dense?

Scoffing under his breath, the operative said nothing more - until his abdomen bunched and he sat up, giving his back a stuttering stretch in the process.

"Seriously, yer bringin' him up now? Christ, woman - I don't even know what nonsense yer goin' on about. I jus' sat with the man an' had a drink, ferfeckssake. What more do ye want?"

Amara couldn't _believe _she had to point it out to him. Surely a man as intelligent as Zane couldn't be so stubbornly, _intentionally _oblivious.

"You were a dick to him!"

"Ah," he sneered, and _now_ he conveniently remembered, smirking in sordid amusement. "So ye have a problem with me bendin' 'im over."

"_Zane_."

"I was _not,_" he went on to defend, grumbling at her and possibly wishing he was more convincing. "Dunno where ye get that."

Refraining from smacking him upside his silver head, Amara growled, "Who in the hell _wouldn't _get that? You couldn't have been more obvious without punching him in the face."

Countering, Zane sounded more obstinate than ever. "I didn't, though, did I? Nope, so let's skip this talk. I'd rather not lie to ye by pretendin' I have a conscience. I _hate_ that shite."

"Like it or not, he's your ally," she snapped at him, wishing he would get it through his thick skull and acknowledge that fact, among others. "Axton doesn't have any problems with you, though he damn well should. For the sake of our team, the least you could do is make amends and prove you're not actually a jackass."

That smartass smirk was back on his face again. It, combined with his words, tempted the siren to strangle him. "Oh, so he cried to ye 'bout his hurt feelings, did he? Took him for the type!"

"No," she hissed, glaring daggers at him again. She couldn't resist grabbing him by his bearded chin, fisting into it. "There you go again. What's your problem with him?"

Fearlessly, Zane persistently challenged, "Ye mean the one I don't have?"

She all but threw his head aside in her frustration, filled with distaste for his annoying degree of stubbornness. He was either in denial, being impossibly avoidant, or both.

Both. Definitely both.

"Look, I don't know the guy," he went on to argue, leaning up on one arm for glare at her at her level. "And even if I did, why do I gotta like 'im? Is there some rule to bein' a Raider requirin' it? Can't say I got that memo."

"He's a good friend of mine," she clarified again, and then narrowed her expression, knowing that was all that needed to be said. "The least you could do is be decent to him."

Did Zane even hear himself? If he did, she sure as hell wasn't convinced. He forced an exhale. "Look, ye have me _sincerest _apologies fer makin' yer boyfriend upset."

"Why are you being like this?" she demanded, letting a note of authentic disappointment creep into her voice. She hoped that perhaps that would encourage him to work with her as opposed to against her.

It didn't.

"What, like meself?" he retorted flatly, crossing his arms against his hairy chest in a posture of defiance. "Clearly ye don't remember what I told Tannis before Carnivora - 'bout me not expectin' to like any of ye. I ain't always as friendly as I seem."

Oh, she was so going to call him out now. "Bullshit. You were plenty friendly with Gaige."

_That_ was fair game. It had to be, even if she, unlike Zane, didn't misinterpret his entertaining the mechromancer as overstepping their boundaries. At least _she _didn't mistake his friendly interest for more than it was.

"She was hittin' on me!" argued the operative like that explained everything and then added, as though Amara couldn't relate, "She's a smart lass, that one, fer appreciatin' all this."

Far from amused for a plethora of reasons, the siren resorted to accusing sarcasm. "So, am I supposed to get pissy over you talking to her?"

"'Course not! Stop insinuatin' that's what I was doin' to your _male friend._"

_Smartass._

Regardless of his inebriation, Zane had to be held accountable for his behavior. As far as she knew, he only ever jokingly blamed his conduct on that. When it came to serious lapses in judgment, he had always manned up to his mistakes, few and far between as they had been. Had he been black-out drunk, _maybe_ she could have bought his excuses, but it was obvious he was just playing stupid.

There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that Zane would prefer her taking him for a douchebag over explaining himself. Even if somehow forced to, she didn't expect his attempt would be sincere. He was more likely to have a precalculated, and falsified, excuse at his ready disposal. If anything, his continuous obstinance made her believe he might _try _to make her hate his guts so that she would leave him alone.

She didn't even have to say anything to garner another glaring retort from Zane, who had dropped his arms after belatedly recognizing his defensive stance.

"Ex_cuuuuse_ me mood fer not bein' the most _splendid _when ye start spoutin' off nonsense 'bout other men after sex," he huffed. "Ye ain't even bein' kinky about it!"

Annoyed, Amara's face dangerously tensed. "I hate to point this out, Zane, but if I was interested in Axton like you seem to think I am, wouldn't I have screwed him instead?"

No, actually, she didn't mind for a second bringing up that fact.

"Not if he's still wipin' his tears away," deflected the operative, clearly avoiding the logic of it.

That had her tempted to turn her back to him and end the talk, only finding herself more and more frustrated with him. For a man in his fifties, Zane was being ridiculous. Even worse, he was insisting on it.

But, he beat her to the chase. Grumbling to himself, he turned to face away from her and settled sternly on his side. That had her snorting. What were they, a married couple having a spat? Were they really going to fall asleep mad at each other?

Daring to look over at him, and resisting throttling him with a pillow, she caught sight of the patchwork of scars comprising so much of his back. Something about the visible remnants of suffering, however healed over they physically were, extinguished most of her agitation with him.

Despite herself, Amara found herself relinquishing part of the ground she had argued for and instead, leaned against him, earning another grumpy mutter from him. At the same time, her left palm landed on his arm, half prepared to fix him in place if he dared to pull away.

To her satisfaction, he didn't. Still, between the pronounced tension in his temples and the crinkle of his crow's feet, she could tell that he was frowning with shut eyes and trying to seal her out.

"I'm not saying _get along with him_, though that would be nice seeing as he's a _friend _and a vault hunter," she emphasized, trying to keep her tone even. "Besides, if you gave him a chance, I know you would like him."

Zane sounded far from convinced. In fact, she was surprised he spoke at all. "An' why's that?"

"Because you are friendly when you're not hell-bent on being an ass. And you have similar interests. He likes big guns, _you _like big guns-"

"I _bet_ he does," grumbled the older man, earning a slap on his arm. How was that even an insult, given Zane's own sexuality? She poignantly rolled her eyes at that.

Goodness, he was aggravating. Back at the Promethean hotel, _he _had been the one to suggest that their arrangement could be adapted to include another person. He had mentioned the potential, at least. At the time, she hadn't known how honest he had been, but she didn't think that he had been in any way opposed to the idea.

Now, Zane was far from expressing the enthusiasm he would have had if he was indeed on board. The pure absence of that was obvious in his voice, even if he gave a nonchalant shrug.

"Sure. _Fine_, I'll be as friendly as ye want me to be," he said dryly. "Bring 'im over. I'll give it to him up the arse."

Something about the bitter way Zane said it made her laugh. She didn't doubt he would. Still, he sounded so perturbed. The way he left it at that, instead of responding to her amusement, had her reminding him, "You would like that."

As soon as she said it, a bit of a pit formed in her stomach. Given Zane's inhibitions, it was particularly thoughtless to let him even consider them having a threesome. She wasn't interested and wasn't prepared for him deciding that he was. He could have asked to sleep with any number of people. The fact that he hadn't yet, and didn't use that window of opportunity to, had her both relieved and feeling like shit.

Between the two of them, she had expected Zane to broach the subject of adding another person to their bedroom. Even in _jest_, he hadn't, and she sort of had. It hardly seemed to matter to her conscience that she had been joking. The operative wasn't convinced of it.

It was the first time she regretted bringing it up and hoped it would be the last. She also hoped that her partner would _finally_ trust her to tell the truth. She wasn't backpedaling merely for show. She did her best to ensure that her face expressed her purest honesty when she leaned over him, pulling on his arm to further command his attention.

The operative obliged her halfway, though his weathered expression was closed-off. By now, she swore she knew everything about his appearance.

"Zane, I'm kidding. Really," she promised, interrupting that tense silence. "Axton and I are friends. _Just_ friends. We've never been interested in each other beyond that."

He said nothing. Instead, he regarded her with his pale eye before turning back on his side. The sigh he released was heavy, but even then, he muttered, "'S fine. Gotta warn ye, though, if ye ever change yer mind - me accent isn't gonna make roleplayin' him very convincin'."

In that moment, the siren didn't appreciate Zane's twisted humor. It was a stark contrast to her determination to assuage the complications between them. Perhaps, for him, jest was the best coping method.

Still, Amara didn't know what to say to that. The last thing she wanted was to make him feel insufficient. God knew he worked tirelessly, and selflessly, to keep her thoroughly satisfied. She couldn't deny that and never intended to. Feeling for him as she did, she certainly didn't want to discourage their affair in any way or risk him doubting it.

Given all he did for her, could she blame him for leaving if he felt his generosity went unappreciated? It didn't matter how easily his skill made her come - if he thought she was left wanting more and that he, in some way, wasn't satisfying her, she couldn't see him continuing. Instead, Zane would take his pride back and suggest she go satisfy herself elsewhere. In fact, he would act like it wasn't any skin off his back and resume his usual promiscuous lifestyle without her.

She really needed to choose her battles better, Amara realized. For now, she needed to try and resolve everything between them. She just wished her partner would give her an assist and that he wasn't as closed-off as he was. Even then, it was a small relief to detect him gradually lowering his defenses.

Relenting somewhat, Zane finally turned to face her. He appeared to have shaken off more of his intoxicated stupor before tiredly eyeing her. Then, with a shrug against the bed, he grunted.

"'m kinda serious, here. I might have one eye but I ain't blind," he chuckled before absently scratching his chest. "Axton's a good lookin' lad. Ye wanna invite him, I'm sure we could work somethin' out 'tween the three o' us."

From what she could read of him, Zane seemed unrepentant. That wasn't what she was going for. She knew, for a fact, that Axton was bisexual, but that didn't matter. She couldn't understand how her partner could be so antagonistic against the commando one hour and willing to accommodate her the next.

Then again, that was what Zane did, wasn't it? He was all about her pleasure and could undoubtedly seek some of his own in that arrangement. Still, that wasn't a door she wanted to open, nor was she willing to eat her own words just yet.

"I was _joking_," she reiterated, rolling her eyes at her companion and finally earning a low chuckle from him. "Of all the things to take seriously, you choose that, you dirty old man."

Zane hardly looked convinced...or hard, for that matter, which really demonstrated his true mood about everything.

"'M plenty serious 'bout gettin' ye done as ye want," came his amused response, however contradictory his body behaved. "I could totally lie to ye an' claim that I usually get ta know a lad better 'fore I share with 'im but y'know better."

_Share_, he said, implying he had a stake in her. Amara wasn't sure whether her stomach fluttered with excitement or tensed because of it. Had he been serious, she knew he would have been consumed with envisioning the fantasy...and that his body would have responded accordingly.

"Still not interested," she said and then, with some new consideration, angled her response to better appeal to him. "I only made an exception for you because you're so handsome.'

"S'at so?" asked the operative, curious as to what she was playing. Authentically himself and unable to resist, he gave her a lopsided smirk before encouraging her. "Tell me more."

Oh no, she wasn't playing that. Instead, she asked, "You really think I would put up with this shit if it wasn't?"

_That_ earned a scoff from him. Good, that meant she was gaining some traction. If anything else appealed to Zane more than sex, it was humor - the drier, the better.

"I'm really not going to make a habit of doing this with teammates," she poignantly reminded, glaring at him. Her partner couldn't possibly have forgotten that.

"I know, I know," he sighed before attempting a smile at her. It was clearer now that he was trying to placate her and adapt, which made her gut drop instead.

That was _not_ what she wanted. What she _did_ want was for the operative to show that same territoriality he had at the bar - just not in such a dickheaded fashion. Instead, she wanted to keep everything between them...private and intimate. And she wanted to keep _him_ an exception to what she had done. Maybe more than anything, she wanted to keep them _exclusive _\- and she wanted him to want that too.

Instead, Zane seemed to softly argue against her and in doing so, reverted back to what he had convinced himself was better for her. "I know ye don't wanna risk yer friendship with him 'n' all, but y'never know - that could bring the two'f ye closer. That wouldn't be so bad, now would it?"

Officially, her heart panged - because she didn't want _that_ to resonate with anyone but them. She loved what they had. She loved _him_, and she wasn't afraid of it. She hadn't been for quite some time. Because of that, she wanted to be _his _exception. She wanted him to put his foot down, like he did when he rarely felt strongly about something, because she wanted him to feel that about _her. _Now, after watching his territorial dispute with Axton, she was more convinced than ever that he did.

Besides, Zane looked good all mussed up and relaxed in whatever bed they shared. She wanted to keep him there, like that, because of her.

All she needed was hope to propel her further and embolden her. His possessive behavior, intoxicated as it had been, provided her that foothold necessary to climb further up the mountain of his defenses. There was still a risk of her falling back down, but without trying, how could she ascend? By now, it was clear that Zane didn't consider himself capable of taking on the task himself. For all that he had, he didn't seem to have that breed of courage.

Amara remembered, again, the belief that people drunkenly acted on impulses they always had and that inebriation only made them more honest. With Zane, she didn't doubt there was truth to that.

For a moment, she frowned. Then, gazing at him with intensity, she asked, "Closer...like us?"

She didn't miss the way that pale eye regarded her, searching as though trying to ascertain her motives. The faintest of shadows appeared under his brows and would have been easily missed if she hadn't been so attuned to him.

"Aye," he said, and from the hesitation that filtered momentarily into his voice, it was clear he felt he was walking through a minefield. He was wary of admitting too much, so he settled for saying, "O'course."

That was it. She hadn't reacted soon enough to him heckling Axton. Now, more than ever, she needed to take charge so that Zane didn't get more ridiculous ideas embedded in his skull, which seemed more and more likely by the minute. Him warming up to the thought of her and the commando having a relationship - or with them adding another person to their affair - were the _last_ things they needed working against them. As far as she was concerned, no one else deserved a place even in their pillow talks.

Well-aware of how to best appeal to the operative, Amara knew it was time to set things straight.

With grace and confidence, she maneuvered herself atop him. Watched him rise to his elbows while she straddled his narrow hips and hugged them between the heat of her thighs. Her siren swirls aglow, she savored the sight of him flexed beneath her, her hands gliding to admire surfaces of sinew, scars, and silver hair. Palming gently, she lingered across the elevated percussion of his heart before she bent down to him, hovering her parted lips above his.

Her tone, when she spoke, was laden with sultry sincerity. The way her moving mouth tentatively brushed at his had Zane's shoulders tensing with the urge to unite them, though he obediently awaited her permission.

"Your cock...is the only...one I want," she promised between gentle kisses, languidly trailing them across the baited part of his lips. Lingering there, she could _taste_ the frisson than ran through him, furthering the submissive tilt of his head.

What she told him wasn't a lie but instead, a truth she had never tried to hide. More than she wanted to verbally convince him, she intended to show him and prove herself more than she ever had.

Using a single commanding hand, she pressed Zane flat onto the bed, her muscles tensing beneath her caramel skin. Bringing her other down to stroke across the dense spread of hair spanning his rippled stomach, she trailed her palm lower, finding his member rigid in his desire for her.

Captivated by her demanding composure, an almost timid moan rose from Zane's core. She could feel him resist his urge to arch as she firmly stroked him and, impatient for what she wanted, lifted herself on muscular haunches to guide him where he belonged.

Together, they exhaled as she brushed his blunt tip along her slit and took him in with a slow push of her hips. Relishing the feeling of their union, she couldn't resist her mouth falling open in a silent oval or the way the dormant indigo of her markings enlivened to a brighter, hotter cerulean. Only when she was full with him did her expression grow smug, her sensual smirk possessive and her eyes heavily lidded.

A rough groan passed through his teeth, an edge of surprise to his tenor. The way her silken walls hugged him was delectably snug. Taken aback by it, his hands tightened at her hips, a gasp parting his lips as he asked, in disbelief, "How are ye still so feckin' tight? _Christ._"

Purring down at him, Amara languidly swiveled her hips. She allowed her body to answer him, her breasts heavy and her nipples pebbling in need. At this angle, there was always a stretch and the pressure of his blunt tip firmly nudging her cervix. It didn't seem to matter how often her body had taken him - their fit was always snug. Even the way her folds hugged his girth was deliciously tight and thickly wet.

The intimate sensations of their connection had her leaning to taste him again. Desperate for her, Zane met her halfway, arching to indulge in her warm mouth. His kiss was hard, deep, and dizzying - everything she wanted until she couldn't breathe. Only then did she give a satisfied purr and press him flat to the bed, straightening her back to best watch him eagerly appraise her poise.

Capturing his eye with her intense own, she kept him sunk to the hilt and began rocking her hips, stirring his every inch inside her. At the same time, she entertained herself by spreading her fingers across the jagged scars decorating the span of his pelted chest. She abhorred the visible damage done to him but also appreciated the marks for what they were: Medals of Honor earned throughout his missions and so many decades of cutthroat survival.

Exactly how she wanted, there were no dog tags or wedding rings around his neck. Instead of tanned, sandy complexion, there was pallor and silver. Zane's name was a whisper on her breath as she stroked his hard pectorals and grazed her nails through coarse hair to hidden skin, watching strands curl. At the same time, she used her other fingers to tease the pink of one nipple until it stood at attention, earning a deep hum from his diaphragm.

Beneath her, the operative was enamored by the seductive swiveling of her hips. With her walls squeezing and kneading every inch of him, he swore she used every muscle in her core to massage him. Such skill was both a blessing and a curse, rewarding his resilience but testing it all the same. The feeling of being sheathed in her hot juices was divine as ever, her ambrosia readily beading down his scrotum.

With fluid grace, she pressed herself close enough to kiss him, his mouth eagerly meeting her there. The brush of his facial hair and their intermingling scents were so undeniably heady, and so erotic, that she was drunk on them. Together, their tongues swirled and stroked in a heated tug of war while at the same time, his hands settled on the small of her back. They invited her to clench and rock against him, all as the thrust of his pelvis accentuated her every erogenous motion.

Even the pleasure rapidly building in her core couldn't prevent her from changing the angle of her mouth to further consume him. She kissed him so deeply with desire, her arms lacing beneath his neck to hug him, that her breasts were pressed firmly between them. At the same time, his own arms rose to tighten around her waist, drawing her nearer so that they weren't so much having sex as embracing with him buried to the hilt inside her.

There it was again - that intimate thing between them that they didn't dare speak of. When the undercurrent between them wasn't just chemistry, wasn't physical need, wasn't a superficial fling. Instead, their connection was something more satisfying, more invigorating, than all the loot of their vault cracking. Seeing Amara atop him, her visage showing such passionate devotion, stirred something deep within the operative. He would never admit it, that was for damned sure, but that still didn't prevent him from taking it all in as greedily and desperately as he could.

Insatiably, her body spoke to him. _More, _it said, like a secret between two naked souls. Zane, as always, listened. She sighed for him as his familiar fingers found their way between her thighs, sparing a long and delicious moment perfectly caressing her swollen, moist petals. That sweet touch had her leaning down to press herself to him in an open-mouthed kiss, their tongues softly sparring as he continued his clever exploration.

She was shimmering with anticipation as the practiced pad of his thumb came to wetly circle the sensitive pink of her clit. So long ago, he had mastered the exact pressure and the most delectable pace, knowing _just _how to flood her with that intense blossom of rosy bliss.

Inundated with it, it took every ounce of her willpower not to go weak in the knees and fall vulnerably atop him. Against the skillful swirl of his fingers and the deliberate brush of his member filling her, she didn't stand a chance. The way Zane stirred his hips and finished each stroke with a deliberate flick had rich pleasure throbbing rapaciously throughout her core. It was more than enough to have her head tip backward while her nails pressed small divots into his skin. At the same time, she reared back, her spine straightening so she could take him deeper.

He didn't dare stop thrusting - not when she was feeling so damn amazing around his engorged member. She was so close to free-falling over the edge, his every thrust making her cry out. He could feel it in her silken walls as they gripped and tightened in building waves, each growing stronger than the one before it. He could only groan, feeling the familiar need for his own orgasm urged further by the hungry coaxing of her core.

By now, she was far beyond caring how easy she proved herself for him. She merely clung to him with her thighs as her ecstasy rendered them to jelly and caused her to waver atop him. So lost in that physical manifestation of heaven, she could only cling to Zane's shoulders as he sat up to embrace her. The way he wound his rugged arms around her slim waist and drew her flush against him, forbidding any hint of space between them, had her heart aching against her ribs.

Amara nearly couldn't withstand the intensity welling inside her, more then than ever as his hands eased upward, through the silk of her hair, his touch so full of intent that her words failed her again. She could only meet the intensity of Zane's gaze as their foreheads pressed together. Could only listen as he breathed strangled phrases to her, his eyebrows knitted tightly together and the fissures in his face contorted in utter devotion. It wasn't long until his mouth stole hers in a kiss that was so searing, it forbid everything else.

Breaking away to draw breath, her velvet sighs were replaced by shallow gasps, her chest arching in anticipation against the masculine friction of him. For as devoted as she was to riding him, she couldn't help but fill her hands with the jagged silver of his hair and urge him on. With her eyes closed in excruciating ecstasy, she met each of his deep thrusts with her rocking, urgent own.

Together, they moved, matching each other's gasps and moans of pleasure. She gave herself as freely as he took her, his callus hands palming and squeezing her breasts. Soon, they were trailing down her torso and hugging the flesh of her hips and thighs. As his digits sunk into the round of her ass, her own traveled along the contours of his burly arms before gripping at the sweat-ridden build of his shoulders.

Lips open, the operative buried his grizzled face into the slope of her neck, taking in her feminine scent. Sensually he kissed her there, along the azure that marked her skin, the touch of his expert tongue sending fireworks ablaze throughout her. Even with the salty tang of her sweat, she couldn't have tasted sweeter to him. The vibration of her moans would have resonated through his tongue had she not held her breath while her limbs shook and she spilled, like liquid mercury, over the edge.

There was never, _ever_ any way of mistaking the vibrant glow of her climaxing body. The whimsical marks spanning her skin increased sharply in intensity, that turquoise hue coming alive as she did against him, bucking and sweating. The color emitting from her, pulsating and electric, flared before dimming and phosphorescing brilliantly again. No matter how many times he had witnessed the display, it was as captivating as it had ever been.

In his ears, Amara's thunderous moans were collapsing into high pitch whimpers glittered throughout the sounds of their slapping bodies. Even as the emanations dissipated from her skin, she continued to ride him, lost in her moment.

For Zane, the woman in his arms was molten fire. He could feel the sheets cling to the thin sheen of sweat risen in his efforts to control himself. At the same time, his abdominal muscles were twitching with every breath he drew in. The sight of Amara alone could have done him in. If seeing her atop him, staring at him with intensely beguiling eyes, wasn't the most beautiful thing, then he didn't know what was…

At the same time, the siren drank in the sight of him beneath her, his bushy brows knit together in sheer concentration, his breath escaping him in rough, shallow passes that had the prominences of his face beading with sweat and his chest hair damply curling. The sight of him, like that, never failed to send untamed butterflies spreading throughout her belly, landing heavily and hotly between her legs.

At the same time, Zane's aroused attention fell to where their bodies joined, his dilated pupil eagerly taking in the cream dripping from where she arrhythmically twitched around him. Witnessing him so fixated on her wetness made her that much more aware of how copious and slick it was. The tangible lust in his accented voice only proved his visible appreciation.

"Wanna taste ye," he husked eagerly, his expression every bit as hungry as his brogue.

She could only nod and lift herself off his straining member, sighing at the emptying subtraction but craving a chance to gather her breath. Had she not been as dazed as she was, she would have realized sooner how there was no chance of that whenever Zane settled at the apex of her thighs.

Before Amara knew it, her legs were spread shamelessly wide across the operative's capable shoulders. Doubling her over, he nearly drove her knees to her shoulders as his mouth hungrily engulfed her right breast, his mustache grazing the azure curling about her supple flesh.

With finesse, he sucked at her, his limber tongue darting out to lick a series of firm stripes across her nipple before sealing his lips more tightly around it. He lingered there, nursing and swirling to his heart's content before drawing back and releasing the perky bud with a pop. Wetly he flicked at it between a series of spiraling strokes, his right hand rising to fondle her other breast.

Between him lavishly tasting and kneading her sensitive skin, his fingers varied between skillfully twisting and caressing her pebbled nipple. It was sensitive and primed when he subjected it to the same oral treatment. The contrast between his callus fingers and his smooth, sucking mouth had her reflexively arching herself in offering and elicited a shaking moan from her throat.

Only after leaving her nipples tight and her breasts pink from stubble did he finally descend between her thighs. Hungrily pressing his mustached mouth to her womanhood, he found her soaked and beautifully stretched from his cock. Growling, he wasted no time in plunging his tongue in and thrusting in ways that had her shimmering with pleasure.

Shamelessly he nuzzles into her slippery, molten sex, his nostrils flaring with her rich scent. He groaned in his fervor, withdrawing only to tongue at her lips and lick her clean, all while tracing the azure patterns swirled there.

Amara was like candy on his tongue, melting with every erotic caress. Her thighs gently quivering, she squirmed as his mouth moved along her swollen sex, his touch practiced and generous. Her hands were in his hair again, clutching fistfuls of silver as he enclosed her clit in milking lips and stroked his tongue around it. Between him wetly brushing up and down and wriggling it from side to side, she could only buck her hips and bridge over the sheets.

Crying out for him, the siren shook with the rapid onset of her release, her head tossing and spreading the luminous length of her hair along the sheets. Against his bearded chin, her entrance poured warmth, and even then he focused on cupping her pulsing clit with his tongue, cradling it with tender caresses that prolonged her exhilarating finish.

Savoring her shallow breathing, Zane allowed her to come down from that high. With slow, loving licks, he relished the taste of her fresh cream on his lips and hummed in deep approval. It was no secret that he relished how her nectar clung to his scruff, nor could he be more convinced that she was made to be eaten out. In his appreciation, he laid a trail of wet kisses in his wake and chuckled as goose flesh spread across her legs.

Insatiable lad that he was, Zane was far from finished. As soon as he sensed she was ready again, he nuzzled at her pubis and pressed a languid, open-mouthed kiss to her folds. Atop his shoulders, he felt the muscles of her thighs quiver and clench, and even then he tongued patterns across her swollen pearl that mimicked the surreal markings in her skin.

Easing an affectionate hand through his handsomely disheveled hair, Amara glided downward to roam the expanse of his shoulders. With lazy fascination, she seemed content to study every groove, every scar, and every muscle that shifted beneath pale skin. She used that touch, combined with a squeeze of her legs, to draw him nearer while he persistently pleasured her, pulling on her petals with playful, fluid sucks as he sunk three digits deep inside of her.

The operative groaned at how engorged and pillowy she was inside. Still, his fingers knew her well, playing her like an instrument tuned to his particular ear. Curling his touch, he knew precisely how to hit that sweetest spot with each and every thrust. At that same time, his free hand curled around her left thigh and anchored her tightly, pinning her there to experience every heated second. That touch alone had her whimpering and indenting impassioned crescents into his skin.

Surrendering to every powerful sensation, Amara swiped her tongue across her plump lips and arched her neck, pleading nonsensically. From the way Zane's mouth worked her clit, so perfectly in tandem with the skillful rhythm of his fingering, she was hanging by a thread. There was no mistaking the flush darkening her torso or her vulnerable expression, her eyes clenched tightly and her mouth blissfully ajar. Every panting breath, every deliberate stroke of his penetration, every perfectly circling flick of his tongue had pleasure frantically crescendoing in her core until it all came undone like one massive thunderclap.

What a light show her climax was, blue tendrils coming to life across her body. She keened and swore repeatedly, throwing back her head as she rode the waves of that orgasm crashing through her like a tsunami. By the end of it, her eyes were closed and her body was limp, her chest heaving as she weakly chased her elusive breath.

She didn't know how long it took her to open them again - she only knew that Zane looked positively delicious looming over her with that carnally pained expression. Between his legs, his balls hung heavily and his cock ached, veined and weeping generously. Something held him back from slamming her pliant body into the bed. Possibly she appeared _that _spent and certainly felt it. Even then, she swallowed to wet her parched throat and parted her legs in invitation, offering herself to him again.

"Have me, Zane, however you want me," she purred to him, her tone dark and sensual velvet. She watched his pupil blow wider, nearly swallowing blue in its entirety, even before she commanded, "_Show _me."

She felt his intense shudder work its way throughout his body and filter through his breath. Saw the spark in his eye catch fire, triggering a rapid series of heated motions.

Suddenly, he was atop her, mouth adeptly capturing hers. For that time, she swore his kiss had never been more demanding. He was all teeth and tongue, stunning her with how aggressively he fit his mouth to hers. Dazed by it, she hardly had the time to protest him rolling her onto her stomach.

Almost before she knows it, she's reflexively rising on all fours and Zane is aligning himself behind her, forcing her down with a dominating press of his body. His blunt tip was smearing along her slit, his breathing gravelly in unbridled anticipation, his grip nearly bruising her skin.

Her gasp, as he harshly filled her, was sharp, her hands lashing out to seize the sheets for purchase. There's a deep pang of pain as he struck her cervix, causing her to tug her hips away from his hold, and even then his steely grasp caught her. He slipped halfway out before jerking her back, baring his teeth at the bow of her back as he slammed himself fully inside her.

With him buried to the hilt and trapping her in place, her walls spasmed wildly around him. She's slick and hot around his cock and even then, her cunt clenched as it adjusted to his brutal claiming. Her instinct was to spread her knees further apart to better fit him but even then, the operative growled in refusal. The way he shoved her leg together had her warbling into the pillows, feeling as though she would tear.

Still, something primordial in her submitted to the harshness of Zane's mounting. Instead of fighting his brutish thrusts, she sank onto her chest, failing to smother her involuntary whimpers. A forbidden part of her _craved_ it, rejoicing in the unforgiving sharpness of his pace.

Somehow, she savored the way he dragged himself out before violently slamming back in, uncaring of the way she yelped with each punishing slap. Even then, she couldn't fight her need to dig her blunt nails into his firearms, cutting skin in her desperation. With a throaty snarl, he bore his teeth into her shoulder, causing her to flinch and share that lancing pain as he fucked her.

Soon, she couldn't do even that, the operative shifting his head to bite her neck and further dimple her skin before rising to plunder her mouth. The electric burn of him was so intense that she nearly recoiled from it. Even then, in her need further connect, she reached to blindly score her nails up the back of his neck and tangle them into his hair.

This, _this _was different from all the rough sex they've had. Their intercourse was often heavy-handed when Zane was intoxicated but this time, he was deliberately harsh. The strength he used to bruise her hips was brutally primal while at the same time, he was breathing in her scent in ragged, shuddering mouthfuls punctuated by guttural growls.

The man mercilessly fucking her and bending her to his will wasn't her attentive partner. His vengeance was Pandoran - greedy and rutting, overwhelming her body with conflicting sensations. Even as she cramped, a sharp pressure building in her core, his primal aggression filled her with the need to be possessed. Her ass stinging from the onslaught of his relentless pounding, she could only buck and choke as he repeatedly struck her womb. With each taste of pain came an intense satisfaction, her body seizing as it coalesced into a furious and aching climax.

She's face down against the bed, with her ass up, when she comes to, disoriented and drenched and trembling like a leaf in the wind. Zane is flush with her, tirelessly working in and out of her, but even then his pace has slowed enough to feel her walls squeezing each inch of him. He's rocking now, his scar-marred arms collecting her beneath him so he can better consume her. His damp forehead is against her temple, his scalding exhales gusting across her skin, his chiseled cheek scruffy against hers.

She could have fought him off, could have resisted, but even then, the animal in her relished it. Even as he withdrew to his tip, leaving her cunt empty and aching, she keened as he roughly shoved in again. Locked beneath him as she was, she marveled at his strength - at the way his right arm seized her around the shoulders, hugging her to him, while at the same time his left anchored around her hips, his muscles bunching as he drew her into the fierce driving of his thrusts.

In his demanding hold, she broke, another flood of exhilaration striking her as quickly and furiously as a whip. Even then, as she cried out and shook, she felt his fingers trace along her lower lip, gliding across as her ecstasy spilled past it. Given the chance, she would have tasted them, would have sucked him, had he not cupped her chin and used it to tilt her head back. There, with her braced against his shoulder, he soothed mustached kisses across her glistening forehead.

Harder still, he fucked her, his force throwing her body back and forth within the cage of his hold. At the same time, it sent her hair spilling across her face and veiling her, the darkness jostling like ribbons. Even beneath the manifestation of her dishevelment, she fought against him, pounding herself back to meet each and every downstroke with equal intensity. It was enough to have Zane burying his face into the depths of her dense, glowing hair and drink in her scent with ragged, shuddering mouthfuls.

Everything about it was overwhelming - from the way he bore down atop her with his weight, to the feel of him pistoning himself through the quivering clutch of her body. Soaked as she was, he felt huge inside her, his tip viciously striking her cervix. Pushed past her physical limits, she caved for him, breathlessly cursing with each driving slap of his hips, the squelch of her pussy nearly obscene.

Afterward, when she was left raw and bruised inside, she would regret allowing it. For now, she consented, insatiable for feeling so needed_. _The way Zane took her, selfishly and savagely, he seemed desperate to leave a piece of himself inside of her. The sounds he made had never been more primal, resonating in parts of her deeper than she could describe.

Nearing completion, the force of his thrusts escalated until they were nearly unbearable, her teeth breaking her lip. Tasting copper, she grimaced as his sac repeatedly struck her clit, each stinging slap punctuating his searing strokes. The primal force of him had her pulse pitching into a wild fit, her lungs burning from her incomplete respirations. She could only press her forehead to the arm braced beneath her and try to survive the raw storm of sensations sweeping throughout her.

Amidst their violent coupling, Amara could feel his scratchy kisses tenderly brushing her face. With conflicting affection, they trailed along the front of her ear, the corner of her jaw, the edge of her mouth, his ragged brogue offering sweet nothings that left her dizzy among that feeling of frenzy. Over the broken sounds forced from her, she couldn't quite make out the words spilling from his lips. She could only hear the deep growl of him and make out her name among the harsh slew of praises until, finally, distinct words broke through.

"You're mine," he snarled, and that was it - _that _sent him spiraling over the edge, his voice fracturing with it, his member twitching deeply inside her. "Oh _feck-"_

Hoarsely panting as bliss coursed through him, Zane's back went rigid. With a few final erratic, deep-seated thrusts, he came, groaning her name as his body involuntarily shuddered. Head tipping back, he savored the ecstasy spreading through his loins, his balls emptying in a series of rapid, pronounced pulses. The throbbing of his cock, combined with the wet heat at the mouth of her womb, had her tightening in one final, reflexive orgasm.

Together, they rode out that raw pleasure, groaning and riding through the mind-melting sensation until they were left gasping from it. Beneath the pinning of his body, Amara could do little more than arch back against him and pump her hips against the instinctive grind of his, keeping him at her cervix where she wanted him.

In unison, they joined in a kiss over her shoulder, the siren lifting a possessive hand to caress the operative's stubbled jaw and tease a thumb along his mustache. Like that, they came down from their highs, the movement of their mouths sloppy with satisfied exertion. Remaining there and lingering on the flavor of the other, their tongues hugged among silken caresses until they grew breathless. Only then did they separate fully, the loss of Zane's heat enticing her to protest softly.

Even as he pulled out, Zane's hand lingered on his slick length. Bracing himself on one taut arm, he tried to catch his ragged breath while weakly stroking his heavy cock. He cursed tiredly, gazing at her flushed face as she tried to collect herself. She admired him even as he expelled a ragged breath and finally sagged back onto the bed, turning to face him.

Even exhausted as she was, Amara's eyes roved over the length of her partner spread across her bed. She memorized the sight of him flushed and satisfied, his ivory skin gleaming in the dim light and his member resting thick against his navel despite how spent he was.

Between her legs, she felt that erotic, familiar warmth. With one last ripple of lust, she felt the opaque stream of his seed dribble down her inner thigh. She didn't have the strength to care as she allowed herself to collapse into those marred and welcoming arms.

Dazed as they both were, there was no missing the shared rhythm of their rising and falling chests. Zane's pulse, as she settled against him and tucked her face against his neck, was thundering.

Her intimate words, spoken quietly and simply, might have elevated her own heart rate had she not been so convinced of them. Already, she had mentally recited them time and time again - often during moments spent entangled with her partner exactly how they were.

"I'm yours," she promised, her lips sensually tracing those monumental, velvet words against his skin.

Heavy with exhaustion, Zane's arm curled more tightly around her waist and embraced her that much closer. Had she been expecting more of a response, she would have been disappointed.

Instead, she smiled as his body gradually softened against her. It wasn't long until she felt the operative slip into slumber, his chest thrumming with nasally exhales. On his back as he was, it was only a matter of time before his bearded jaw relaxed and those throaty, familiar snores inundated the room.

Amara certainly _wished _she heard something more sentimental than that but settled for it. Honestly, she expected nothing more and nothing less. Probably within a half-hour, her tolerance would fray enough for her to ease off him and roll him onto his side. Short of returning to her own cabin, that was the only way she would manage some sleep.

For now, she appreciated the peace. More than that, the weight of Zane's words warmed her throughout and settled over her like a comfortable blanket. His actions leading up to that suggested his intentions were more sincere than some utterance made amidst a moment of blind passion.

_Why can't you just tell me if you want me to yourself? _she asked the sleeping operative, even as she reached to lightly trail her fingers through his snowy hair. So deeply asleep, he didn't stir.

What stopped her combing was the fact that he very well could if that was indeed what he wanted. She didn't dare ask because she was certain she didn't want to hear the answer. He was too easy going. Too untamable. Too set in his ways of chasing pleasure and committing to nothing but his missions.

It would have been easier for her to instead think that Zane, brave to a fault as he was, was intimidated by change. He had been one way for so long, did he even think it was possible to alter his ways? Or did it all seem impossible and he planned to remain as he was indefinitely? Perhaps he was happy being exactly how he was, but even that didn't explain why he avoided acknowledging alternatives.

Axton was right, Zane did maintain his composure. He was loud and boisterous, but he still kept his cards close to his chest. The fact that he had lashed out at the commando despite his jovial, bubbly personality suggested an inability for him to smother his underlying emotions.

If anything, the interactions between the two men had been decent enough until Axton had mentioned her traveling with him. From then on, the tension had snowballed. Zane's own mention of Axton being her _boy toy _had signified his shift toward outward aggression. In hindsight, Amara questioned if that was officially when the operative was convinced that _his_ role was challenged.

Leave it to the old bastard to reduce their relationship to that. Still, his brashness implied that maybe, _maybe, _there was the potential for more.

For the same reasons she couldn't make requests of him, she knew she couldn't ask questions. More than anything, she didn't want him to flee. Already, Zane was prone to run in any other direction than where she wanted them to go. That made everything seem so futile to her and worse, it made her feel vulnerable. She was _not_ the type to walk in eggshells, particularly being the siren she was.

If anything, Zane's unpredictability felt so contagious that even she was sometimes convinced that everything between them was temporary. And was it really fair to them, or to her, to handle everything so superficially if their relationship had the potential for lasting integrity?

If she was so concerned with being hurt, then Amara supposed she should have cut her losses early on. Now, with Zane occupying her bed with regularity, she dared to have hope for them. With him sleeping so soundly, his chest steadily rising and falling beneath her hand, how could she not?

Compared to how comfortable the operative appeared, her body was still tender and would likely remain that way for days. Their sex had been intense, particularly at the end, but despite aching inside, she didn't regret it. She would spot from their harsh intercourse, she was certain of that, but it wouldn't be the first time he had bruised her where she was most vulnerable.

If anything, she had invited it by giving Zane permission to do with her as he pleased. His feral reaction had been what she expected and felt would best connect them. Having so willingly submitted herself, she proved that she trusted him. Beyond that, she had enjoyed the thrill of being at his mercy, raw and exhilarating as it had been. If she was honest, she had never experienced a more primal satisfaction until then.

Contrary to her expectations, it was Zane who initiated a change in position. Rumbling something in his sleep, he turned toward her and forced her to follow suit. As though the maneuver had been rehearsed, she rolled her back to him and felt him follow. She spent the remainder of the night in his arms, with his furry warmth spooned behind her, gazing at his living space.

Considering all the time they spent together in her quarters, the scene laid out before her was comparatively unfamiliar. Amara didn't know how he could stand to keep it so dark, his choice of blue light seemingly chilling the air further. It made her tuck herself that much closer to the older man behind her, soaking in his warmth while also distancing her from the edge of the narrow bunk.

One thing was certain: if they ever made their relationship official, they were sleeping in her room. For as much as she liked the closeness, she missed the spread and softness provided by their makeshift bed. She had forgotten how thin and miserable the bunk mattresses were. No wonder Zane's back gave him trouble.

Beyond that, his quarters were spartan. A green plant near the air vent waved gently at her but other than another suffering in the far corner, everything was so metallic_. _His decor consisted of displayed guns, strewn tools and drone components, and shipping crates. To her, there was nothing homely about it.

Zane lived like the man he was - composed enough, overall, with little pockets of chaos and disorder. She swore he had as many empty beer and liquor bottles occupying his workstation as she did candles throughout her room.

More than she was troubled by the contrast of their respective environments, the siren found her chances of rest interrupted by her thoughts. The simple idea of the two of them attempting to make anything more work between them was a daunting one - not because they weren't compatible but because of how their dynamic might unexpectedly change.

What if Zane surprised her and _didn't _run from commitment? What if things between them could withstand everything she currently expected to break them?

Sighing to herself, Amara dropped those trails of thought. She reminded herself, again, not to mistake Zane feeling possessive as him actually desiring more from her. He didn't have to _want _her to dislike the idea of other men having her.

Certainly Zane came across as flippant and free-flowing, and he had nothing negative to say about polygamy. That didn't mean he wanted to involve just anyone in it. Maybe there were people other than Axton he would have been more receptive to. She couldn't pretend to understand what chemistry there had to be to share someone sexually, but she knew there had to be _something, _even if she couldn't personally relate.

She could only guess that maybe Axton and Zane were too much alike - not that the operative wasn't into himself. It wasn't like she knew any of his former lovers, save for Moxxi, to judge that. He didn't come across as particularly selective as far as physical attributes went, and she knew he was both attracted to men and women...and that he hadn't hated Axton's guts when he had previously seen her with him. If anything, Zane's former suggestion that she hook up with the commando had seemed perfectly well-meaning and encouraging.

Now…so much had changed.


	17. Eleven Out of Ten [Apologies and Fantasies - Sanctuary]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As much as I immediately want to give more oomph to this story, I can't regret them having a good sex life.
> 
> FYI, there's (literally) some basic m/m porn in this. If that scares you, what are you doing here? Aha!
> 
> That said, *rubs hands eagerly together for next chapter*.

'Reckless' best fit what they were doing, and yet Amara wasn't responsible for it. She certainly hadn't expected the operative to abruptly grab her by the hips and corner her across from the stairs past Marcus'.

Once he began his maneuvered, Zane wasted no time in capturing her in a searing kiss. She found herself pressed between his insistent body and the metal wall she found herself braced against. She didn't know which was harder, honestly. All she knew was the sweltering stroke of his tongue and the familiar way his mustache tickled her.

Had he not initiated with such gusto, she might have had a chance to resist him. Instead, with a tongue as graceful as a serpent, he eased past her lips and seduced her with his unwavering expertise. That oral artistry, combined with his palm rising to cup her face, had her swept in his storm. She barely registered the audible shift of leather or the clasp of hand on her ass.

Despite their compromising actions and public location, Amara responded in turn, fisting the operative's shirt and using it to draw him nearer. Nearby, refugees conversed. Marcus laughed like the filthy warmonger he was. Someone cursed after tripping down the metal stairs. And still, nothing quite mattered but the man eager to consume her.

Everything_, everything, _blended into the periphery. The entropy from the wet friction of their mouths was rapidly building, threatening to ignite an inferno. She swore each sensation of Zane's invigorating kiss flooded her veins and drove her nerves delirious, her body opening to him like a flower towards a sun.

Reluctantly, she sobered enough to arrange her leg atop his hip - only to have an unexpected glimpse of motion sending her heart staggering. Impulse had her hastily pushing her partner away, her mind already racing, _this is it, it's about time-_

Wide-eyed and alongside her significantly calmer partner, she found herself staring at a chore bot.

"Pardon me, humans," it droned monotonously before circumventing the outermost vault hunter before puttering past, programmed only to concern itself with its mop and bucket.

Her heart rate spiked, Amara watched the ropey tendrils of its cleaning implement trail slightly behind its hovering inertia. The container it carried gave two rusty squeaks before it moved beyond audible distance. Only then did the siren glance back at her older partner, who was giddily grinning.

"Guess we're gonna discover if robo-staff gossip!" he chuckled, his nonchalance causing Amara to glare. At that, Zane gestured after the automated custodian and began socking one fist into the palm of the other. "Ye want me to take it out? Silence it fer good? That, I can do, but I ain't fillin' in fer it!"

With no intention of resuming where they had left off, the siren was glad for her foresight when two women appeared and walked past. Occupied with a fanatical discussion about the latest fad ECHOnet drama, they paid their war heroes no mind. That was for the better twice-over, the Partalian decided, as she wasn't a personal fan of the genre. She had heard enough details circulate the ship to know she didn't want to be.

If she needed a reminder of how quickly word spread aboard Sanctuary, that was a prime example. As much as she didn't want to hear anyone blather about senseless television, she didn't want to be the subject of their gossip. Even then, had they been caught, the aftermath wouldn't be permanent...would it? Like a contagion, word of their affair would spread like wildfire. Once it infected damn near everyone, wouldn't they develop resistance and be immune to it?

That was a nice thought. Then again, thanks to Zane's tricks, it had never been easier keeping everything contained between them - provided their hands and mouths wandered only in private. Still, those brief and risky moments were exciting, if not always for the best reasons.

Zane appeared anything but discouraged. In fact, he approached her again. Prepared as she was to prevent him from testing their luck, she allowed his mouth to hover just shy of her own. He was so close, she could hear him breathe in her scent and release a dreamy exhale. Instinctively she did the same, tantalizing herself with the essence of his inviting cologne.

"Tonight?" he asked hopefully, voice gruff and hot against her lips.

"Tonight," she assured him, smiling with promise.

With that, Zane released a hum of longing and stepped back, returning to his friendly place alongside her.

Despite the casual air of their stroll, Amara couldn't help but consider how they hadn't discussed their last time together. Of course they hadn't. Zane had unnecessarily apologized for being so rough but that had been the extent of it. The fact that there had been no mention whatsoever about those few, yet substantial, words said between them was in no way surprising.

For now, Amara was glad enough to have some progression between them, even if it only made her want more. Zane, on the other hand, couldn't have appeared happier.

...

Possibly watching Zane make amends with Axton had been somewhat of a mistake, Amara recognized in hindsight. Then again, she hadn't expected watching the two men interact and share a pint to have the effect that it did.

It had begun after she and Zane had left Marcus'. With her inventory ten junk guns lighter, she had accepted his offer to link arms. Compared to their earlier indulgence, that sort of friendly contact wouldn't raise brows, particularly given her partner's mannerisms.

They hadn't backtracked far to the commons before Axton's voice ricocheted down the metal corridor. Upon recognizing him, the operative had slipped out of her hold, glanced around quickly to ensure they had a second of privacy, and pressed a quick kiss to her lips before prancing off in the commando's likeliest direction.

Certain enough of Zane's intentions, Amara had appreciated his initiative. Even then, she had hung back in the shadows to allow the operative to act without her interference. Her presence remaining unnoticed, she had watched the scene unfold.

The moment Axton saw Zane approaching, a look of dread surfaced - perhaps furthered by the affable smile the older man wore. Appearing very much like he was taking a mental inventory of his firearms and plotting an escape route, the commando squared his shoulders and stood his ground as though preparing to take a punch. Instead, the older man stopped with a small dance in his step and finger gunned at the sandy blonde.

Sensing the tension, Zane cut to the chase. His tone was among the perkiest to have graced the commons.

"'Ey there, boyo! S'good ta see ye aboard again! Say, I got some apologizin' to do fer bein' a bastard the other day. Y'know the one."

Axton sure did, and that was why his bulky arms remained stiff at his sides. After narrowing his emerald eyes in scrutiny and determining he might not be beheaded, he chuckled lowly.

"Lemme guess," he said, bobbing a blunt finger at the operative, who had casually stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. "Amara put you up to this."

"Nahh! _Nooo_," spouted Zane, his brogue comically exasperated. He withdrew one hand to flap it in dismissal of the notion and gave the other a man an Are-Ye-Kidding-Me? scowl. "But she did leave one o' me testicles intact. Good fer me 'cause I was actin' enough like a bitch to ye!"

With flourish, the operative threw out one arm and hooked it around Axton's meaty neck, half hugging him and nearly bending him over in the process. Despite having witnessed Zane's mannerisms with Gaige, the commando still appeared startled as the older man gave him a mirthful jostle.

"Jus' happens sometimes!" he explained with a barking laugh before reaching over to poke Axton on the chest. "Have ye ever tried the cots aboard this clunker? There's only one side to roll off of an' it's the bad one! Besides, me attitude can't be as attractive as I am, 'cause that'd be unfair to the rest of ye!"

As questionable as his methods were, they were undeniably _Zane. _The man was anything but subtle. The fact he couldn't see her roll her eyes was a small travesty.

Prepared to make his pitch, the operative extended his elbow to Axton identically as he had to her not five minutes before - and just as casually.

"Buy ye a drink, boyo?" he asked with a grin. "An' then a gun?"

For as obvious as Zane's verbal offer was, the commando appeared wary of misinterpreting his presented arm. It wasn't until the operative accentuated it with a resplendent gesture that Axton was convinced. With a nod, the commando inserted his forearm, forging that connection.

"Hell yeah, I'll take you up on that," he chuckled, thoroughly amused by Zane's shift in behavior. Good-naturedly, he patted his chauffeur's arm.

"No better apology than pints and firearms, am I right?" prodded Zane as he began his charming strut.

Falling into step, Axton opened his mouth to make a suggestion but then thought better of it. Instead, he gave a short laugh. Catching on, Zane's smile grew wicked before he gave a dirty chuckle.

"Guess you're a cool ol' coot after all," was what the commando settled on.

"Ye don't even know the half've it - but yer gonna!" Zane announced - and with that, began marching his companion in earnest toward their neon-decorated destination.

It was about then that Moze made her appearance, the gunner practically walking past the two interlocked men before faltering. She hooked a befuddled thumb at their backs while Amara approached her.

"Care to explain?" she demanded of the siren, her expression crooked.

Smirking, Amara took her by the hand and pulled her along in their leisurely pursuit. Soon enough, the four vault hunters were back in that sultry establishment. Occupying a table with her favorite gunner, the siren watched the two men slouch at the bar while her companion sipped at a white Russian and grumbled.

"I always miss all the fun!" she complained, referring to the vague description she had been given about Zane and Axton's formerly heated interactions. "I would have loved to see Zane's panties get in a twist! Do you think they'll need a room? Wait - they have his. Ah, god, then I'll have to _listen_!"

Snorting as Moze pulled a face, Amara braced one cheek atop her knuckles and regarded her with amusement. "Trust me," she offered as reassurance, "if they were going to go at it, they would have last time."

"Ugh, I would have been stuck hearing it!" she protested, thinking back to her quarantine. Then, after her expression turned confused, the gunner admitted, "Wait, shouldn't I be relieved? Huh, I'm not sure whether to be grateful or disappointed."

Rolling her eyes fondly at her teammate's sexual confusion, Amara turned her attention back to the two men. Minute after minute, it became apparent that a referee wouldn't be needed.

As expected, the pair had hit it off. Amara doubted she had ever heard such rowdy laughter aboard Sanctuary. At a few points, she wondered if she would regret them becoming friends - if not solely for the sake of everyone's eardrums but also because they reverted to a couple of frat boys.

For hours, the operative and commando filled the bar with ridiculously exaggerated stories and clinking bottles. This time, the older of the pair wisely stuck to beer. Fond of ale as he was, Axton was more than glad to encourage its generous consumption.

Had it not been for his previous flub, Zane would have undoubtedly gotten plastered with his newest boyo. As it turned out, he didn't need to imbibe copious amounts of alcohol to behave as if he had. Caught up in all the army stories and other assorted nonsense, his energy wasn't all that dissimilar to when he had been boozing up with Gaige. There was, however, more mad cackling and deafening sound effects split between the explosively expressive vault hunters.

Moxxi, not one to ever deny free advertising and having patrons drawn in by curiosity, still had to hush them on a number of occasions. Probably she feared for the state of her glassware between all the wall-shaking laughter and bartop fist-pounding.

Amara hadn't expected anything less, which was why she found herself that much more frustrated that their interactions had gotten off to a rough start. From the way the men left Moxxxi's with one of their arms thrown around each other's shoulders, no one would have known it. Possibly their bonding time would have ended differently had Axton let on that he knew about them, but maybe it wouldn't have. The commando, it turned out, kept his promise to her and Zane remained none the wiser.

Likely, it was better that the two of them bonded without that disclosure. Regardless, it was easy to determine that they had forged a friendship. There was no shortage of affable back slaps and fist bumps between them.

In fact, Amara was surprised they hadn't cleared off a table, braced their elbows atop it, and proceeded to arm wrestle. That didn't mean they wouldn't get around to it eventually, but for now, them striking up that kind of competitiveness was probably best avoided. Even without such a blatant display of bravado, they had drawn quite the crowd.

Seeing Zane on such good behavior made her want to straddle his lap as he sat atop his stool, lean herself back against the bar, and pull him into a deep kiss by his jacket collar. What a way _that _would have been to publicize their affair. Had she any less resolve than she currently did, she would have realized the fantasy.

Witnessing the two men seated side by side, the contrasts between their personalities were as pronounced as their differing attire. For as boisterous as Axton was, Zane's stylish flair made him seem spartan. In fact, Amara found herself questioning if she had grown accustomed to her partner's oddities. Stacked up against the operative, the commando seemed so reserved.

Outspoken as Axton was, he certainly wasn't as peculiar as the Pandoran nor did he exhibit such flamboyance. Emphasized by his companion's composure, Zane's dramaticism had her, in good humor, doubting her taste in men. Though both sounded macho when chuckling, Axton's amusement didn't compare to Zane's when he, at his most tickled, escalated to maniacal giggles. Needless to say, it was no mystery which man was saner among them.

When the time came for Moze to need a refill, Amara's offer to fetch it hadn't been without ulterior motives. As much as she wanted to treat her friend, she needed an excuse to step up to the bar and more closely inspect her boys. As a result, she earned their snorting placations and Axton's thumbs up.

Seeing them from the side, one man aligned behind the other, she noticed herself lingering on their appearances. Despite the decades dividing them, both men shared the same high energy. Their openly shared attributes ended there. Axton was square throughout compared to Zane who, with his crested hair, pointed beard, sharp nose, pronounced brows, distinct mustache, was all angles.

So close to the two, Amara found Zane's physical maturity that much more appealing. Everything, from the gray of his hair to the lines of his age, warmed her with fondness. It made her want to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss his sharp cheekbone...or his firm lips. Instead, she gave his deltoid a friendly squeeze and met his gaze with avid attraction.

Giving her a cocksure smirk, Zane's awareness was unmistakable. Unfortunately, at that time and place, that was as much as he could do about it.

...

Amara spent the following nights overtaken by fantasies of the two men bonding in entirely physical ways. More than once, she had woken from dreams of them engaging in sexual acts, only to discover herself unbearably swollen and in need of release.

Ordinarily, she wouldn't have resisted such inviting thoughts. Provided her imagination didn't interfere with anything, she would let her mind run wild and entertain itself with that enticing eroticism. Instead, she was reluctant to allow it. More than anything, she didn't want to think of Axton in that way, regardless if her fantasies solely involved him with. Thinking of them together, immensely arousing as it was, also reminded her of the _possibility_.

Having planted the sexual seed, Moxxi had suggested the two men _wrestle _out their aggression in bed. How _that_ hadn't elicited a flourish of immediate fantasies was lost on Amara. Now, at the least opportune of times, she found herself inundated with them.

Ordinarily, she should be grateful to be surrounded by such attractive men. Instead, Amara considered it as somewhat of a curse. What was worse was how Zane had acknowledged Axton's attractiveness. As much as he had come around to entertaining thoughts of involving the commando in her pleasure, her mind insisted on removing herself from the scenario entirely.

Amara was fair with herself and knew there was no harm in enjoying a bit of lustful daydreaming. When it reached the point that it routinely began interrupting her meditation, she decided she had to do something to satisfy it. Still, she had no intention of entangling Axton in their sexual affairs and decided she didn't need to. Instead, she made the conscious decision to channel her desire directly onto her partner. To her, it was both better and fairer to focus on his experiences with other men.

As it was, she didn't want to take anything too far or encourage anything she might regret. While she didn't expect Zane to choose any man over her or trade what they shared for anything, she was uncertain what to expect. If nothing else, she decided that catering to her fantasies while appealing to his sexuality could stir up some new excitement for them. They didn't need a spark, electric as they were together, but why not add a little something extra?

The last time they had been together, she had given herself freely to Zane and let him do to her as he had pleased. It had taken her days for that inner bruising to fade away, and she had used that intimate soreness as a reminder of their time together. Now, tonight, they were going to do what she _wanted _to do.

Knowing the operative as she did, she couldn't imagine him resisting her in any way. She also wasn't one to stress over equal reciprocation. Neither of them needed to rationalize or bargain with what they desired from the other. Instead, she knew her intention for them was purely focused on mutual gratification - just with her own specific twist.

Her tastes had never drastically changed. Above all else, she simply wanted Zane. Usually, she had no preference about what they did together, so long as she felt him inside her. There was nothing better than having him, strong and solid as he was, hugged closely between her legs and feeling herself between his scarred arms. For them, there was no better way to physically reconnect after a long and arduous day.

Zane always fucked her however she wanted and however her body _needed. _Sometimes fast and hard. Other times, sensual and slow. There were times of the month where she needed a few careful thrusts to adjust to him. When she was fertile, she was too tender to fit the whole of him without flinching, and still, her primal need made her beg for that delicious pain. With how intense, and _irresistible, _she found that sex to be, she was grateful for her partner's foresight. What was better than feeling bare skin and being so naturally liberated?

Emotionally, she felt best with him buried deep inside her, his mouth on hers or her neck, his beard brushing tantalizingly along her chin or collarbone, fully consuming her in the heat of him. In those moments, she couldn't deny what she felt for him. With how passionate he was in his lovemaking, it was easy to convince herself that he felt the same.

Rather than face a difficult truth, it was easier for her to drop her head back in bliss and forget. To focus instead on the possessive way he palmed her hips and guided her onto him. On the way he rumbled sweet nothings against her neck. On the way he pulsed and unloaded inside her, spilling against her womb like he wanted more.

For now, she burned for something different. She wasn't ashamed of what turned her on. She wanted to see Zane get off to the sights and sounds of men having sex. Imagining the operative fucking his hand with greedy intent on his face and bucking his hips with need was enough to have her soaking. The thought of him doing to her what he craved to do to them was enough to send her over the edge whenever she pleasured herself.

She had wanted to use the opportunity to test her boundaries a little and - who was she kidding? There _were_ no limitations between them. She simply wanted to see if Zane lusted after men as much as she suspected he did. It was one thing to be certain of it and far more erotic to witness it. It wasn't like Zane was a closed book about his sexuality. In private, he was anything _but _censored. Still, she wanted to see if maybe he missed sharing himself with other men.

During one of her nights alone, she had thumbed through the immense library and settled on a scene she had marked for just that opportunity. Now that the time had come for them to have their fill of each other, and Zane had promised to "Pop over shortly", she pulled up the video on the monitor. From then on, she leisurely settled back against her mountainous collection of pillows and ensured she made herself particularly alluring.

With one knee comfortably bent and her other leg extended with pointed, painted toes, she luxuriated in self-confidence. There, in nothing but a silken pair of panties, she put herself on sensual display. Like a curtain, her loose hair draped behind her, softly fluffed from lazily brushing her fingers through it. Her hands were embellished with precise, elaborate henna. Whether or not Zane would notice the nod to her culture was debatable, but Amara decided she wouldn't mind either way. After all, he was so easily distracted by the rest of her…

One way or another, they would have each other. That was all that mattered. Disappointment wasn't even a possibility, honestly. She was ready for _anything. _Her heart, as always, was aloft with anticipation.

Within minutes, Zane appeared in that welcoming blue flash of light. She had to give his awareness credit - even before it fully dissipated, the operative winged up one bushy brow and regarded her with intrigued, albeit surprised, keenness.

More than anything, he had probably expected to encounter her in her pajamas, if not in her late-night workout attire. He seemed wonderfully taken aback to discover her practically bare and ready for him - before secondarily noticing the pornographic display on the bunk-mounted monitor.

"Uhh," he began with an audible grin, glancing at the monitor before directing his curiosity toward her again, hardly hesitant. "Am I interruptin' somethin'?"

Zane was wrong to think he was, but then how would he know what her tastes in erotica were? He had no way of telling what she privately enjoyed. For her, watching women make tender love while aligning their curves was what allured her most. There was nothing more sensual than two beauties indulging in pleasure and sharing an emotional connection together.

Naturally, there was porn for every preference that catered to romanticism but in her experience, scenes shared between women were most plentiful. She just didn't enjoy the majority of porn, raunchy and kinky as it was. Needless to say, combing through man-on-man videos had been quite an adventure for her.

Smiling coyly, she trailed one hand languidly from her eridium-graced neck, down between her breasts, to linger along her navel before smoothing lower. Trailing her fingertips along the edge of her panties, she traced it for a heated moment before seductively teasing them between her legs.

"Wouldn't mind if you were," she told him before tilting her head toward one shoulder. Then, gazing at him from beneath sultry lashes and smokey eyeshadow, she purred, "Do you like what you see?"

Zane really had no idea what he was in for, did he? She could practically hear the gears turn in his head before he settled on the conclusion that she was ovulating. Maybe she was, perhaps she wasn't. She didn't need to be to crave him.

"That a trick question?" he asked, giving her his most charming, crooked grin. "I sure as hell do, gorgeous, but ye know me - I always wanna see more."

Humming, her hands found their way to her breasts, gliding along their firmness before cupping their weight and pressing them together. Relishing the intense burn of his fixated eye, she gave them a gentle bounce before teasing her dusky nipples to stiff peaks.

Suddenly, Zane was much too far away and wearing too many clothes. Honestly, she didn't know why he ever bothered arriving dressed. Even then, she could appreciate that he was barefoot and free of that clingy bodysuit, giving her a tantalizing view of his rugged chest through the low neck of his shirt.

Smugly curling her lips, she reached out to crook her finger at him. He needed no further encouragement to do away with his garments, stripping them with merciless tugs and impatient shoving. Amara looked on with approval as he lowered himself to the circular pad and pressed himself to her. The familiar weight of him, combined with the friction of hair generously covering his chest, made her shiver.

_That_ was how she liked him, masculine and rugged. The first thing she did was rake her nails through that coarse spread of silver and possessively curl her fingers into it. Her lustful tug earned a cocksure grin from him.

She simply couldn't resist taking charge. Using her hands to push him aside, she threw one leg up and over him, straddling his lap. Zane, as always, was more than willing to grasp her hips and guide her sensual rocking. Within a minute, he was sitting up and ensconcing her waist in the familiar embrace of his arms.

In tandem, their mouths sought each other, hers opening to the smooth sweep of his tongue. That hot, silken touch enticed her to moan into their kiss and trace her fingers over every inch of him that she could reach. At the same time, one of his hands rose to admire the dark depths of her hair, stroking along its lustrous strands before cupping the back of her neck and drawing her more deeply into him.

They remained like that, their mouths silkenly melding. At times, they allowed their lips to part, only to brush tenderly and ease together again, adding sounds of wet softness to their calm breathing. Every brush of tongue, every tantalizing suck, every gentle graze of teeth had heavy need building inside of her.

When their lips finally parted, swollen and lewd, they united gazes for one intimate moment before fitting together again. Trailing sensual open-mouthed kisses along each other's necks, they teased with hints of teeth and soft, color-raising suction. The sensations, combined with their intermingled sighs, caused fire to ignite in their bones.

With a sound of need, Amara ached into Zane as his tongue grazed her collarbone and dipped lower to trace oil slick patterns atop her right breast. With nimble skill, he followed the twists and ringlets present throughout her brilliant markings. His attentiveness, combined with his craving for her supple flesh, had her presenting herself on one extended arm while caressing the back of his silver head.

She felt like a goddess in the way that he so readily bowed to her. As much of a sexual servant as a willing partner, he was ready to please her at all times and in any way she wished. He worshiped the very ground her toes touched and he was never the least bit ashamed to admit it or act upon it.

That was why, when he began to tongue and taste her nipples, she had to stop him. Already she knew how challenging it would be to refuse him if he progressed any further in working his magic. Flattening one stern hand against his heated, furry chest, she eased him away while reaching beside the bed with her other.

"You're going to be a good boy and jack off to men for me," she said with resolve and reminded, "I was a good girl for you last time, wasn't I?"

"The feck, sweetheart?" he gruffed gently, somewhat incredulous, though an erotic glint appeared on his actual eye. "I mean, I sure as hell ain't complainin'. Jus' didn't see ya bein' so into that is all."

"It's not the porn I'm interested in," she admitted, one of her hands moving to tease her own right nipple between forefinger and thumb.

Captivated, his sky blue eye avidly watched her before flitting to her face again, a wry smirk tilting his lips as reality dawned on him.

"So ye were plannin' this," he chuckled, perceptive as always.

With a purr, she reached to take one of his weathered hands and guide it to his erection. She couldn't hide her excitement as she curled his fingers around that smooth, velvet shaft.

Encouraged by the marvel of her presented to him like a gift, Zane was more than willing to slowly stroke himself from base to tip. The nearness of her hand, separated from his member by his own, made him ache for her softer touch.

"You don't watch porn?" she teased, unable to resist. As _if_ he would deny it. She could only imagine how loudly she would have laughed if he did.

An amused quirk appeared across Zane's handsome features, accompanied by a throaty chuckle. "Gorgeous, I ain't gonna even gift that with an answer."

He didn't have to. Still, he seemed reluctant to relent in his pursuit of her. If he wanted to get off in such a way, he would have addressed matters himself. Laying beside the woman he craved so intensely and not being able to indulge in her was practically torture. Fortunately, it was a method he could appreciate.

Encouraged by the hope of having his obedience rewarded, the operative looked to the monitor and lounged comfortably in place. Eager as Amara was to engage the video, he was calmly in his element. There was nothing new about the scenario that played, even if it was a bit tame for his tastes. The fellas were decently hung and attractive enough. It didn't take much to have him appreciating his own lewd touch.

For as much as Zane _intended_ to satisfy her request, he found himself intensely, and understandably, distracted by the siren alongside him. He both couldn't help himself and didn't care to. Unable to resist temptation, he spent the first half of the film trying to kiss and fondle her until she successfully folded his fingers around his member again. He huffed when he finally relented, virtually disinterested in the men passionately sucking each other.

"Yer confusin' me, sweetheart," he husked, surprised by his own impatience. "Ye wanna see me wank, all ye gotta do is gimme yerself ta look at."

Leaning into her partner, Amara playfully sunk her teeth into his lower lip, drawing a gruff moan from him. That alone was enough to have him rising up on his elbows and attempting to mount her again - until she, with a daring hint of her honed strength, planted a hand on his chest again to force him down.

With a pouting sigh, the operative finally relented and submitted to her whims. She could hardly see that as punishment, really, though he was still regarding her with curiosity. Even then, he obliged her, running his hand up and down his hungry length with a barely perceptible shudder.

She kissed his cheek for it and couldn't resist snickering at his little grumble. In response, she nipped at his mutton chop before draping herself along his left side, situating herself with the intention of gazing into his remaining eye. She preferred its revealing intimacy to his colder, metallic implant.

All she saw was stirring amusement, and she couldn't immediately determine why. Her initial guess was that Zane had assumed she was as uptight as she acted. Did it really tickle him that she was attempting to be more sexually adventurous?

"Ye do this with every man yer with?" he asked, throwing back that question she had posed at the hotel all those months ago. It made her smile fondly to remember.

"Only the ones I sleep with," she purred, giving it back just as good.

That had Zane chuckling before he nodded first at the monitor, then back to her, while wearing his lopsided smirk. "I wouldn't really suggest it for the types who don't like this kinda thing. Me? I'm game. _Lucky you!_ One condition, though."

"What's that?" she prodded, wondering when bargaining had become allowed.

Zane's gaze was bright with excitement as he made his request. "Ye lemme finger ya while we do this."

Even before she could speak, his mustached mouth descended on her neck with hot encouragement, his touch offering her a hit of pleasure she knew would pale compared to his offer. She couldn't prevent her eyes from easing shut as he languidly savored her and skimmed his hand along her upper leg. At her elevated exhale, his clever touch grazed the apex of her thighs. Even before she could consciously react, she relaxed to accommodate him.

"C'mon, sweetheart. Let me in," he whispered, the masculine friction of his voice causing her walls to clench in anticipation.

Even then, Amara was reluctant to fully submit. She sensed the idea of giving herself fully was a poor one - not because it wouldn't be fulfilling but because she was giving an inch when Zane would want a mile. Still, her legs decided of their own volition to make room for his expert hand and allow him to multitask as the video played.

Months ago, they had fallen into a pattern of sexual pleasure, but she could never complain. She laid on her back, with a feline stretch, and welcomed Zane's magical touch. He was never one to skimp on foreplay, and her body was well trained to expect it. Even the anticipation of what he could do to her brought her halfway there, long before he penetrated her with his fingers.

Had she allowed it, he would have spent more than a little time kissing her there, brushing with tongue and beard and mustache as her fingers carded through his hair. For now, she couldn't allow herself to yearn for that.

Soon enough, it became apparent that her plan was rapidly derailing. It was difficult enough to focus on watching the operative work his cock while he simultaneously pleasured her. Him stroking along her folds and tenderly hinting around her clit made her body weep with craving. Allowing him to have his way was _definitely_ a mistake, she acknowledged her haze, as she ached to be penetrated.

Still, his meandering touch refused to satisfy her needs. Knowing damn well that it could, she refused his playful intentions by pulling herself just shy of his reach, making Zane grunt in protest. Shooting him a scalding glare, he responded with feigned innocence - until her continued refusal forced him to breathe a grousing, "_Fine_".

With a chuff, he tugged her back over and into a smirking kiss that had her cupping one of his scruffy cheeks. From there, he wasted no time in dipping his fingers to the knuckle where she wanted them most. She welcomed his renewed intent with a deep sigh that quickly escalated to a moan. It wasn't long until his practice caresses brought her to her first gut-deep climax, that release accentuated by the sight of him more eagerly stroking himself.

When she came down from it, she had to physically turn Zane's head toward the monitor to make him watch it, causing him to give a naughty chuckle. Finally, he obliged her more than before. Between the pornographic imagery and the feel of her snug around his fingers, he was more motivated to seek his own pleasure. Now that she had come, his cock demanded his touch more than before.

She would have had to have been blind not to notice the particular flare to Zane's nostrils when one man penetrated the other. With lust, she watched the way his grip tightened and concentrated at the base of his cockhead, angling against his frenulum. And then witnessed the longer, straighter pulls along his erection, his pace matching that of the man fucking the other. When the bottom moaned, he responded with his own growl and squeezed himself at the base, focusing hungrily on the scene.

Watching her grizzled partner, she couldn't resist the lust stoked inside of her. Couldn't fight the rapid ascent of her excitement and the way he masterfully fingered her. Couldn't help her pleasure being furthered by the thought of him fucking a man as roughly and deeply as when he had last pounded her. The way he tightly fisted his cock at the same place as the pornstar plowing his partner had her coming with such sharpness that she swore from it.

From then on, her partner's attention split from the men in favor of her. At that moment, she was satisfied. She certainly couldn't complain about having him fully invested in her again - not with how those knowing digits continued to delve inside her and withdraw in ways that made her nerves shimmer. Or the skillful way he brushed the pad of his thumb around her clit, coaxing all he could from that blessed bundle of nerves while rhythmically thrusting inside her.

Her pleasure only furthered as Zane gave a knowing sigh and focused on that inner place capable of reducing her to shattered pieces. For as intense as that special spot was, she still resisted its allure. She still hadn't come to fully accept the kind of orgasm he sought to give her. Had he not been so insistent, she wouldn't have allowed it.

As far as the operative was concerned, her hangup was just another boundary meant to be broken. Confident as he was, he was thoroughly convinced he would add it to his achievements. It wasn't as though Amara could imagine allowing anyone else to take her there, past her limits. Of all the lovers she could have had, Zane was the most devoted to empowering her sexuality.

Even if his intentions had been selfish, it was difficult for the siren to deny him when he got that fervid fire in him. Hesitant as she was, his anticipation was seductive and deeply evocative, tempting her to surrender to his whims. Already, that telltale pressure was welling inside her, her own uncertainty demanding she bite her lip.

It always began like this: slow and torturous. Deliberate as his penetration was, it was clear he wanted her to feel his every imbedded inch and stroke along her walls. Feeling him work sensation into her most tender place had her jaw going slack. Delicious tremors danced down her spine, enticing her body to seek more of him in a series of clenching, rippling pulls.

Chuckling, Zane withdrew to his fingertips before angling them further along her anterior. With each adept curl, Amara could feel fresh pulses of wetness gather around his stirring movements. By the time he eased a third finger inside her, she felt too sensitive to take more, and still, he urged her walls to relax until he breached that intimate resistance. The fit was tight, the stretch delectably intense, so much that she was whimpering in urgent need.

Even then, that intense feeling of vulnerability had her reaching to force Zane out by his wrist. Her reaction was more instinctive than anything, causing her to softly protest her sudden emptiness.

"Stop doing that," she ordered him despite herself, earning his mischievous smirk in response.

"Doin' what?" Like he could even feign innocence. "Gettin' ye ready ta gush like a fountain? Sounds to me like ye were enjoyin' it."

She had been, but that was beside the point. Needing a moment to find her voice again, Amara directed her attention to the video still playing. One man was licking between the other's legs, his mouth trailing along his taint. It was clear from the receiver's gasp where his tongue traveled. An instant later, the camera changed to prove it.

One shaggy brow winging up, Zane wolfishly grinned at her. "Ye want that, do ye?"

Before she could adequately respond, his hands were gripping her hips and turning her over. With equal finesse, he lifted her onto all fours and situated himself in position. Her attempts at speaking were interrupted by those three digits reclaiming their depths inside of her cunt.

His fingers rotating to the knuckle, Zane's hungry mouth went to work. Beginning with tender, warm flicks to get her accustomed to his touch, it wasn't long until he advanced from tracing her shy pucker to getting it good and wet for his deeper touch.

Sensation flourishing along her shiest nerves, she felt herself pressing into his touch. Her pussy grew greedier as her mind struggled to decipher the dual stimulus, pleasure spreading throughout her pelvis until she was aloft with sensation and clutching the sheets beneath her for purchase.

Mustachioed maestro that he was, Zane worked her over with harmonized ministrations. With his thumb passing tenderly along her clit and his embedded digits massaging her from within, his mouth indulged between her buttocks. She shivered as the flat of his tongue eased down to her perineum and wiggled softly there, stroking up and down before finally curling upward and squeezing into her pucker.

Immersed in his work, Zane groaned as her hole cinched tightly around his intrusion, the hot gust of his breath tickling her moist skin. Within seconds, he was thrusting his tongue, stretching and relaxing the taut band for his hungry penetration.

Mouth agape, Amara bucked back against his dual onslaught, enticing him to strike a matching rhythm. Then, between the magic of his mouth and fingers, she felt her pleasure rapidly coalesce until everything shimmered with beautifully pulsing sensation. At that moment, nothing mattered to her but losing herself in it, her moans of exhilaration spilling from her lips until she was left exerted and shaking from it.

Satisfied after milking her climax, Zane withdrew his fingers, his intense gaze taking in the gloss that stretched between them. Growling, he licked the thickest stripe from his spread digits before hungrily sucking them clean.

Shivering at his display, Amara tantalizingly swayed her hips at him. Blue fire sparking in his eye, he smacked both rounds of her ass and squeezed before burying his grizzled face in between. Slick and gluttonous, he plunged inside until he ran out of tongue and withdrew before thrusting again and again. Uninhibited in his task, that appendage tirelessly twisted in ways that had her clit throbbing, the raw thrill from that taboo act never ceasing to stun her.

Clapping a hand on either cheek and spreading her wide, Zane drew back to inspect his handiwork. Having his attention there, burning into such a private place, had even more of an abashed heat flooding her face. Fixated instead on her willing hole, the operative nipped one cheek, and then the other, before filling her again with a lurid groan.

He sucked and tongued at her until she drove a hand into his thick hair and stopped him. Had it not been for her firm tug commanding his attention, he would have rimmed her until she was shaking. Reluctantly slipping from her with one last greedy pass, he gently bit at the top of each muscular cheek before humming in lewd approval.

Zane wasted no time in aligning himself atop her, his teeth setting firmly into her neck. It was enough to have her flinching in surprise and gasping out in warning before he drew back, only to more lightly bite the other side. She could feel his body thrum with excitement while he grinned into her skin.

"Careful," she cautioned, looking back at him with narrowed eyes.

Immediately, his nipping transitioned to open-mouthed kisses. Even then, her partner couldn't help but set the tips of his teeth against bronze once more, his breath baited with anticipation.

"Want you so badly," he moaned to her, his narrow hips shifting until his cock slotted between her cheeks. There, he rocked himself, his hungry strokes stuttering from his shameless excitement.

It wasn't her pussy that he wanted - that much was evident. Had it been, he would have pushed inside her and began to ride. Instead, whining gruffly in torment, he nuzzled at the shell of her ear and sent tingles blooming throughout her.

"I can be gentle, _real_ gentle," he promised, sounding equally desperate and starving. Amara could practically hear inside his head - _pleasepleaseplease - _as if the feel of him grinding himself against her wasn't revealing enough of his desires.

Should she? The siren couldn't believe she was distantly considering. Regardless of the porn actors having anal sex, it hasn't been her intention. Beyond that, she could admit she was intimidated by the act. The thought of something bigger than a finger sounded uninviting. However much she trusted Zane to cater to her comfort and ensure her enjoyment, she wasn't ready. It wasn't time for her to allow it. At least, not yet.

"You'll have to buy me dinner first," she half-teased and half-informed. She wasn't much of a drinker, but even she would need a half bottle of wine before she felt more receptive.

Zane's response was hopeful. She wondered if it was wise of her to suggest even that, as he immediately nodded and rolled himself more firmly against her. Willing as he was, he proverbially bowed to eat from her offered hand and lapped greedily at it.

"That can be arranged, absolutely," he breathed, sounding fully prepared to throw on his clothes and bridal carry her to some lavish destination. "Even right now, if ye like."

Reaching to flatten her hand against his handsome face and push him away, Amara ignored his whining protest. It wasn't until he sidled from her and settled atop the bed that she fit her index finger against the pronounced pout of his lips.

"Maybe someday," she told him, watching his superficial disappointment be immediately overtaken with an excited glow. It was enough to have her roll her eyes before she leaned in affectionately to kiss him, rewarding his patience.

Zane, it seemed, remained determined to accomplish another indulgence. He abruptly stood from their shared bed and walked to the bathroom, leaving the siren to blink in confusion. It wasn't until he appeared carrying a towel that she knew his intent. Out of consideration for her, he shook it out and smiled with purpose. After all, _he_ didn't mind any amount of her bodily fluids.

Despite the stern expression she shot him, he went about nonchalantly tucking the fabric beneath her hips. She didn't even have to lift them for him to situated it beneath her and then nod in satisfaction. Following that, he wasted no time in filling her again with his fingers.

For Amara, it seemed too soon for everything to coil as tightly as it did inside her. Within a dozen precise strokes, that carnal fire was blazing in her gut. Gently at first, her body began bucking, the rapid escalation of that sexual pressure soon making her writhe in earnest. As though against her will, her legs were tensing and the room began fading from her periphery.

"S-stop," she was saying, _begging _almost, but the perfect pumping of Zane's fingers was unwavering, forcing her to blink back stars.

Even as her hand caught his wrist and squeezed, his onslaught persisted. His attention ardently committed to her, he continued applying that short back and forth pressure on the place stealing her breath and causing that intimidating pressure to swell like a glittering wave inside her.

Those determined digits were pistoning now, striking that special place with relentless precision, causing color to bleed in her vision and the pulse in her ears to drown out nearly everything else. She could only make out her own rising voice amidst it, her pitch elevating until it was crystalline, short sobs wracking her as her body thrashed and both invited everything inundating her while simultaneously fighting it.

She knew nothing but her vain struggle and that pressure as it rose, rose, _rose_, until it grew overwhelming, until it crested, and then- _bliss_, exhilarating and blinding. White blotted out everything and removed her from her body even as it jolted and bucked and, with a sharp intake of breath, _spilled._

For so many stunning moments, there was nothing but the sound of Zane's fingers pounding inside her, filthy and merciless. Nothing but the feel of his tongue tracing shapes against her pucker. Nothing but her thrashing, breaking, keening.

Torn asunder by the whirlwind of sensations wracking her, she knew nothing of the wetness pouring from her. She didn't notice the fluid flicking from Zane's rapid pistoning or the way her quivering thighs dripped with her copious juices. She didn't register his fight to stay inside as the powerful contractions responsible for those ecstatic shockwaves continued crashing through her.

When she finally came to, her nerves were still buzzing and the heartbeat in her ears was reluctantly slowing. The towel beneath her was soaked, her inner thighs were drenched, and her walls were still trying to force out her partner with weakening contractions. This time, he obliged them, though his affectionate touch remained, his sweltering hand cupping her swollen sex.

Like that, they lingered, their mouths moving fluently together, smooth and warm as melted candle wax. Those long, considerate moments and languid caresses allowed her an opportunity to recover. Despite his hardness avidly pressing between them, Zane was as accommodating of her as ever. He took his time gently drying her skin before drawing the towel aside.

Across the room, the erotic film hadn't only been forgotten but had also run its course. With her partner so agreeable against her, nuzzling her breasts and softly sucking her nipples, she couldn't bring herself to care that they hadn't made more of it. Already, she knew what she wanted. In search of it, her hands wandered along the operative's slender hips before grasping his firm ass.

Zane thought nothing of it until her fingers grazed along his cleft. Only then did he hum against the top of her breast before chuckling huskily. At the same time, she pressed against him until he yielded and rolled onto his back, the intent of her fingers becoming more direct. Her mouth was on his neck now, her tongue tracing his pulse until she neared his beard and nipped at it.

"It's my turn," she purred, maneuvering herself between his scar-littered legs as they parted in accommodation. Already, Zane's visage was highlighted with anticipation.

"Who'm I to refuse a gorgeous lass?" he was saying, half-grinning and brimming with need while he reached blindly alongside the circular pad. He didn't stop until he found what he wanted.

Eagerly, he pressed the lubricant to her hand and went about arranging himself into a more comfortable position. He stacked two pillows behind his head, shuffling himself snugly into them, while she looked on in calm amusement and poured a generous drizzle along one hand.

Some time had passed since they had last done this - that much was clear. Amara wasn't sure who missed it more between the two of them. They both enjoyed it for different reasons, and honestly, wasn't it only fair for her to finger Zane so intimately after all he had done to her?

With a smirk, she stroked the pad of her middle finger against his entrance and discovered him eager as ever. He eased himself onto her digit as much as she pushed into him. At that moment, she was tempted to withdraw and tease him with the same coyness he often used with her. Unable to muster her own patience, she gave a few shallow, tentative thrusts to help him adjust before reaching deeper.

By now, she knew how to find that delicious place. She recognized that telltale hitch of his breath and the tremor that ran through him when she nudged it with her finger, circling against it in a slow, smooth rhythm. Felt how his entrance clenched from the deep ripples of pleasure she coaxed from him, watching keenly as his bearded jaw fell slack and the tension collected in his abdomen, his etched muscles drawing taut.

Zane's mouth opened but no sound came out. Even his respirations stopped as her finger curled more firmly inside him. Finally, with a sharp exhale, his voice shuddered out in a rich moan that had her belly positively glowing with arousal, followed by hints of breathless others.

Like this, the operative was putty in her hands. He was so reactive to every deliberate pass over his prostate, whether he cursed softly or angled his hips. There were times where he nearly fell silent, his brows pinching tightly as he focused on the sensations - before releasing a stair-stepping exhale she felt in her core. The beads of precome that streaked down his length mesmerized her, more building with every rigid twitch.

She watched his right hand open and close at his side before he began inching it toward his straining member. Looking up to his handsome face, she discovered his attention on her as he stopped short.

Curious about what she wanted most, he asked, "Ye wanna do the honors?"

As tempting as it was to watch Zane get excited by his own touch, she had already seen that. And though she would never tire of watching him masturbate, she wanted to give him more.

Prepared to prove herself, Amara situated herself more comfortably between his legs. Then, with half-lidded eyes, she pressed a closed-mouthed kiss to his oozing tip. That was answer enough for Zane, who appeared satisfied as he crossed his arms behind his head.

Taking his cock in her hand again, she squeezed around the thick length of him, appraising the reward of her clever work. For just a moment, she tightened her grip and stroked him with just the right amount of friction to give him that bone-deep pulse of pleasure. It was enough to have him humming in smirking appreciation.

Opening her mouth, she grasped his base and guided his erection between her plump lips, her other fingers still milking his prostate. She felt him twitch at the feel of her. Warm and moist, she cradled him with her tongue as she drew more of him in, encompassing what she couldn't deepthroat with a pumping hand.

"Mmm, sweetheart," he moaned. How could he not with her tongue lavishing the belly of his cock with each divine pass? The sensation of her moist heat around him, combined with her rubbing his prostate, had another groan juddering from his chest and his head threatening to fall back. Glimmering pleasure licked up from his core like fire, each caress of that gland encouraging it to spread.

Cock throbbing with need, the operative marveled at the siren slowly engulfing him, her plum lips dragging damply back and forth along his veined length. The salacious flush of her hollowing cheeks had him cursing softly, the sight only fueling his need. It would be a damn shame to give in so soon, he knew, and he tried to resist. Using her hair as a distraction, he carded his fingers through the thick of it and bundled that silk up out of her face. At the same time, he grazed the backs of his other knuckles along the azure dots decorating her left cheekbone.

From the way his abdomen bunched, Amara knew her combined efforts were quickly proving too much. For as carefully as she paced herself, he was sensitive. The mental factor was something she couldn't prevent, nor did she want to downplay it - for either of them.

"Ain't gonna last like this," he grit, confirming her suspicions, his tone tumbling into a gasp as one poignant nudge of her finger hit _just right._

Reluctantly pulling off his glistening member, Amara allowed herself a moment of self-satisfaction. It wasn't often that she could test Zane's resilience, though the combination of tight-fisted fellatio and prostate massage tended to finish him off the quickest. Knowing what she did, she never regretted making him come. It wasn't as though they couldn't continue to enjoy the other in the short time it would take him to recover.

Rather suddenly, the operative perked up before flashing her a renewed grin, seeming reminded of something. He drew himself off of her finger before sitting up and capturing her mouth with a fiery and short-lived kiss before pushing himself up to stand.

She watched as he, in all his nude glory, bent over his discarded pile of clothing and retrieved his digi-stucter. Had she not been distracted by his alluring ass, and then his strong erection when he turned, she might have inquired what his intentions were. Instead, he remained one step ahead of her.

"Back in a jiff," he promised with a wink - and promptly thumbed his responder, vanishing in that sudden, short-burst flare.

Zane didn't lie - with a spill of blue, he returned sooner than she expected. Around his finger, he twirled a solid rubber band, looking like the cat who got the cream. He gave her his most award-winning grin and cocked a hip, striking a boldly naked display.

"Is...that a cock ring?" she asked, wondering why she sounded at all nonplussed. Of all the people she knew, Zane would own one. Manslut he was, he never ceased to live up to her expectations.

"It's fer me clone," he mock-defended with a comical sideways glance before he broke into a grin and slingshotted it at her.

Amara caught the band after it deflected off her chest, her features pinching as she closely inspected it. Quite simply, it was a literal ring of stretchy silicone material. Had it been bigger, she could have worn it at the galaxy's most mundane bracelet.

His erection bobbing, Zane dropped himself to the mat beside her and struck a pose, laying on his side to face her while propping his spiky head atop his knuckles. With his other hand free to wander, he went about tracing the siren swirls along her skin before warmly palming her hip. Prominent as always between them, his manhood remained on proud display.

"Figure that'll do the trick well enough," he said, gesturing to it with his pointed beard. "Usually works when I ain't in the mood fer some honest edgin'."

The fact that Zane devoted time and effort to his masturbation could never be a revelation. Still, for as casually as he introduced the cock ring, she was a bit more intimidated by it.

Without a doubt, such a toy could do some damage if not properly used. Needless to say, she wasn't well-read on the subject.

"You should do it," Amara told him with clear reservation, easily returning the band to him. Despite how often she pulled her hair back into a tie, she didn't think this was quite the same. She was, however, more than willing to learn.

Happy to oblige, the operative stretched the rubber until he could situate it around his cock. It took a moment longer, and considerably more care, for him to pull his balls through and prevent the tension from snapping back. Exhibiting practice, he eased it to snugness before he, with prominent focus in his jaw, made some minute adjustments. Only then did he relax back atop the pad - at least as much as he could, given the circumstances.

"Phew," he breathed, already tensing as his member strained hotly. "Dunno why I do this to meself."

Beaconed by the fascinating rigidity of his member, Amara reached for it with a curious hand. More veins were prominent on its surface than ever before, that velvet skin so engorged, it was glossy. Already, his cockhead looked angry, it was so bright - and flared at her touch, tentative as it was.

Exhaling with a hiss, Zane shook with a laugh before smirking at her. "Sensitive," he admitted, and then looking down at himself appraisingly, added: "I mean, that should be obvious. Looks like it's gonna pop off an' ricochet 'round the room!"

Leave it to Zane to be in his condition and still laugh about it. In quiet amusement, she scrunched her nose before reapplying lubricant to her fingers. Situating herself identically to before, she brushed along his entrance and felt him twitch at that viscous coldness. With a hot shudder, his body welcomed her again.

It wasn't long - it never was - until he was lifting his pelvis in an instinctive attempt to piston his member somewhere warm and tight and wet. The lack of stimulation on his aching shaft had him gritting out a sigh of frustration, his knuckles bleaching as he fisted the sheets below him.

Unable to resist his urges, one scarred hand moved to palm roughly over the weight of his cock. It appeared painfully hard, pressing hot and dribbling onto his sculpted stomach, leaking over the coarse hair there. Soon, he was gripping around the base and twisting up along the shaft, forcing down a tight swallow as he stroked tentatively over the swollen head.

Lips parting, Zane could feel the rub of her fingers smoldering deep in his belly, the muscles throughout his thighs tightening. A shudder worked its way to his toes as he gave himself another delicious stroke that twisted at his ridge. There, swirling his thumb across the glossy surface of his glans, he focused entirely on the sensation before releasing his length to strain freely.

"Another," came his rasping demand. Amara could feel him will himself open for another finger, that vulnerable drawstring of muscle allowing a third to slip in.

She had to shift her wrist to accommodate him, rotating it to adjust her angle carefully. Now, she wasn't so much thrusting as applying a gentle, kneading pressure on his prostate that caused his body to tense and his throat to flex around a stilted "o-ohh…" She savored the rare sight of his eye nearly rolling back into his head.

God, she craved seeing Zane like this, with his ears flushed and his handsome expression contorted in total bliss. She loved seeing thin sweat bead at his hairline and the faint way he writhed, appearing positively aloft with sensation. As much as she enjoyed reducing him to a vulnerable mess, she wondered why she didn't take more advantage of it. With the operative always ever-so-willing to be however she wanted him, she had to be crazy not to. The way his hole drew in her fingers was proof of his receptiveness, and her nature as a siren demanded his utter submission.

Even for her, the temptation that welled up was sudden and unexpected. As a siren, she tended to reserve her abilities for fighting. In lovemaking, there was still so much neglected potential. That had to change, she decided. Submitting to her whims, she summoned her ethereal extensions.

Lost in his pleasure, Zane didn't recognize she had until those glowing hands simultaneously clutched his wrists and firmly fixed them to the bed. Only then did he react with a startled, his eye fluttering open even as her real fingers continued stretching his entrance and rubbing his prostate. Giving a testing flex, the operative found himself pinned, his cock twitching even as he gazed up at his shackles - while at the same time, another ghostly hand fisted into the back of his hair.

Gasping at the sensation, Zane moaned - and then again, more hoarsely, as that projection pulled back his head. Unhindered by actual form, that blue hand retracted into the mattress and extended his neck with it, pinning him at his limit.

Appreciating the sight laid out before her, Amara almost _wished _he would resist her. Unfair as her advantage was, what would his attempts have achieved? Instead, the operative's utter compliance fed her cravings for power and whispered promises of trust. Had Zane not been so wholly at her disposal, he wouldn't have allowed himself to be so shamelessly manipulated. Now, he was hers, his breath erotically hitched, and he was there for her taking.

How else would he experience this with anyone but her? It would take three lovers, if not four, to render him so helpless. Knowing him as she did, she didn't put it past her partner to have been involved in such a sexual tangle before...but _she_ was different. No one could do as she did. No one had her siren powers or her passion. No one could pleasure him as only she could.

_No one_, and she would see to it.

Awash in prowess, Amara willed two more hands into creation, their luminous fingers trailing along his scarred chest and leaving goosebumps in their shimmering wake. She teased their tips across his pecs, down along his ribs, and then his sides, before easing them down his hard abdomen, watching his muscles bunch on reflex. His reactivity had her purring as she raked them back up his torso and eased toward her goal, unable to resist the coquettish smirk on her lips.

Adeptly, she used those summoned fingers to trace around Zane's small, flat nipples, teasing them to stiff peaks before she varied between tweaking and rolling them. The sound that shook him was _aching_. He all but writhed in her grasp, still trapped where she held him yet free to arch his spine and grind his hips.

The inviting sight of him tempted those magic digits to pinch and pull at those neglected peaks until he swore in lurid pain and drew his lips back to expose fangs. Even then, she took him a little further, twisting enough to sting before releasing both of his nipples simultaneously. Blood flooded back, hypersensitive red overtaking pink, his throat flexing around his strangled groan at the sensation.

Still unsatisfied, Amara summoned another extension to join the fray. She drank in the luminescence vividly reflected by his polar skin as that hand caressed along his elongated neck. _That _had him twitching in reflexive reluctance, his eye trying to see the hand stroking his goatee - the same one that traced his acute jawline, combed through one long sideburn, and twisted one half of his mustache before grazing along his sharp cheekbone.

Amara didn't miss the concupiscent sigh that left him as she faintly trailed those warm fingertips along his lips. She couldn't help but moan, airily, as his tongue reached out to trace them, tasting that mystical heat. Then, fulfilling their mutual need, she allowed him to draw one poised digit in, inviting that intimate touch. With wanton, he opened his mouth to obediently lure in the other and languidly suck, making her clit crave his oral touch.

Enamored by the act, she trembled at the sensual way he indulged those fingers. Her stomach flipped at the sight, the beauty of his total surrender flooding her with lewd fantasies. Everything about it was erotic, from the way his eye eased shut with desire, to the sweep of his silver lashes fluttering gently with his motions. Even the way his crow's feet softened as he shamelessly consented, relaxing into the role bestowed upon him.

In that moment, nothing was more erotic than feeling Zane consume her. Between the needy clench of his entrance and the way he sucked her fingers, he personified need. The sensation of him groaning low as she traced his teeth had her responding with a spine-tingling moan of her own.

Still, she craved to render him powerless against her - to overwhelm him with so much pleasure, he couldn't focus. She wondered if _she _was the one most distracted by the display spread out before her, and why wouldn't she be? Zane was there, fully exposed and stretched around her. Her ethereal arms were glowing against the canvas of his flushed skin. The fine sheen of sweat accentuating his muscular topography further accentuated the starry shimmer of her magic. His suck-swollen pout as she withdrew those mystical fingers and folded them around his throat. The way he arched in offering, his expression of utter solace even as she firmly grasped that vulnerable column.

For Amara, there couldn't be more authentic proof of his trust. Despite her dangerous clutch, his expression furrowed only when she doubled her fingering efforts. Pressing more directly at his prostate, she massaged in tighter, firmer circles. His spine visibly tensed from it, his exhales increasingly shallow from the intense pleasure engulfing him.

Where it wept and pleaded, his member was a stark shade of scarlet and, when she finally squeezed him, burning to the touch. Within her hold, the operative hissed and jolted at the tentative stroke she gave him. Between the cock ring and the loving abuse of his prostate, she marveled at how steely he was. In that moment, she wanted nothing more than to feel him so impossibly swollen and hard inside.

For Zane, it felt like he was precariously balanced on the precipice, waiting for the simplest touch to make him spill. The lurid pleasure and coil of tension were_ there_ \- he just needed a couple of pumps of his cock to send him over that blinding edge. That was how it always was, like this, the promise of being so thoroughly emptied exhilarating like freefall. Even now, as precome slithered down his shaft and scrotum, he was filled with molten heat. It made him sweat, made him gruffly swear, made his cock twitch and his heart hammer within the cage of his ribs.

The sight of Amara there beyond his desperate erection only added to that frustrating orgasmic suspension. The plush shape of her lips and the aroused burn of her amethyst eyes nearly drove him delirious. He opened his mouth - to demand, to moan, to beg, he couldn't say - before a particularly deep stroke had him quivering, intense pleasure arcing from prostate to dick.

All he knew was that he wanted to fecking _come_. That he couldn't think of much else. That she was torridly tormenting him with each nudge of his prostate. As though from a distance, he could hear his primal growling. Could feel the tension in his hips as he tried to thrust, his cock straining for more friction. He didn't _need _it, _Christ_, he would shoot without it, he just needed a little more. And feck, the press of her milking fingers had him making some pathetic and strangely fluctuating noises.

Futile as he knew his attempts would be, Zane couldn't stop his instinctive fighting. It didn't matter how hard his biceps bulged or how tightly the muscles in his forearms rolled, he couldn't break the translucent hands holding him captive and preventing him from jerking himself to a messy finish. He could only bare his teeth and manage a snarling laugh while Amara watched him, her eyes glittering like gems.

Withdrawing her fingers from him and replacing it with identical extensions, she allowed herself to clamber atop her partner's sweaty body. However much she missed feeling his rim quiver around her, she knew the smooth, warm energy of the other would satisfy him all the same. In fact, she could guarantee it, using her powers to maintain that angle, depth, and pace she had milked him with. She even _furthered_ it, those extensions free to work without physical limitations and incapable of tiring. There was no mistaking the guttural groan Zane gave or the way his abdomen rapidly rose and fell with sensation.

That blue eye was positively glazed as Amara situated herself atop him, treating him to the visual of her curvaceously muscular form. His pupil sharpening, he growled as she gave his straining length a single stroke - and then again as she aligned him with her slit, her abundant wetness bathing straining velvet.

Torturously slowly, she brushed against him, the contact between their bodies causing his breath to catch. Giving a sensual groan of her own, she knew she couldn't get carried away. Too much, too soon, and he would shoot all over. Already, each stroke of her petals along his shaft had precome pouring from the slit of his swollen cockhead. Avidly she watched the pearly glisten of it smear, clingy and slippery, across her swollen sex.

Unable to resist any further, Amara rose on her knees and steadied his base with her guiding hand. To the sound of his frantic grunting, she aligned his member of it her dripping entrance and lowered herself to encompass him, his reaction stark and immediate.

"Oh _God_!" he heaved, his voice fissuring and breaking off with those two nearly hysterical words.

Zane's entire body jerked within his glowing shackles, the force of him surprising even her as she took the whole of him. There, nestled against her womb, he felt larger and harder than ever inside her. Delighting in the stretch, she stirred her hips while watching his eye roll back and drank in his verbal struggle as sensation overwhelmed him.

"G-gonna- _gonna come- Christ-t-" _he was straining to say, his lid squeezed so tightly, she had never seen deeper fissures in his face. He _looked _like he was going to break. To her, it was beautiful.

Elongating herself atop him, Amara felt a swell of pride. She knew the dark lust in her lidded eyes conveyed exactly what she wanted, her lips curling with it, her true hands bracing against the violent heartbeat in his chest.

"_Mmm_," she moaned, aroused by the sensual resonance of her richest lust. "I know. I want it all inside of me," came her sonorous purr, her hips sensually rocking with encouragement.

With a spill of hair, she leaned down to kiss him, open and messy and breathless as he moaned her name, a low growl reverberating behind it. The sound of him, like that, had her gliding one hand down to her clit and begin rubbing it in quick, tight circles. At the same time, she worked herself up and down his cock, consuming him entirely. A low and keening whimper pulled from her throat when his length pressed into places she wasn't sure she could take.

But she did, even as she's reveling in the filthy sound of their hips colliding and her wetness sliding as she pulls back and swallows him down again. He's lifting his pelvis to plunge deep, the needy tilt of his voice cutting through the harshness of their respirations

"C'mon now, sweetheart," he grit, clearly pushed to his limit but still trying his damndest to hold back for her. "Need ye to come with me."

"I will," came her breathless promise. And she would.

Already, she could feel herself ripple around him. Could feel the knowing fuck of his hips as he reacted to it, driving himself harshly through her juices and striking her cervix in ways that had her choking on need. At the same time, the magical hand between his legs continued pressing the gland guaranteed to overfill her.

"_Please kiss me_," came the operative's strangled voice, and she didn't dare deny them what they both wanted - never when he begged so pretty.

With the fluid grace, she draped herself along his chest and released his wrists from her ethereal hold, those arms vanishing from existence with a burst of starry glitter. In a flash, his hands desperately captured her hips.

She felt him strain his neck to seize her in a fierce, desperate locking of lips, a shudder of hot sensation flooding through them as their tongues met with sparks and their impassioned battle of thrusting sucks shook them both with a torrential climax.

Had their mouths not been connected, they might have shaken the entire ship. Zane's carnal cry was one of shocked delirium, and she had to fight to smother him. Even then, with her own throes of orgasm, she could barely stifle her own thunderous groans.

Nothing else mattered. There was only the feeling of Zane electrified and thrashing beneath her, his mouth breaking apart from hers as his elevated voice raised to a soundless pitch. The powerful sensation of his cock throbbing rapidly and filling her with heavy, heated spurts overtook everything - even the pain of those scarred hands desperately digging into her flesh, fixing her in place.

It felt like forever before she came down from her high, her vision positively hazy and body glowing with beautifully dissipating sensation. Beneath her, Zane's chest gusted with ragged exhaustion and his member remained hilted inside, his slick seed dripping out of her.

Positively drained by his bliss, the operative hardly reacted as she eased her ethereal hand from his body and allowed it to dissipate from existence. The rest of him was still heaving, his sweat-drenched chest rising and falling, his flushed face fallen to the side.

Seeing him so thoroughly spent had her expression radiate victory, her cheeks reddened by her rapture. It wasn't until she gave a savoring shift of her hips that Zane impulsively twitched, a small sound of agony escaping him. Snapping open, his blue eye struggled to focus on her as his hands futilely attempted to stop her.

"_S-sensitive,_" he haggardly gasped, the state of him enticing her to lean forward and lap gently at his dry lips.

No longer having a need for them, Amara willed away her siren appendages, her tattoos returning to their quieter state. She made a mental vow to engage them more to their play in the future. With them so capable and readily available, she could think of no better, private use for them...

"My old man," she crooned fondly as she settled atop him, appreciating the damp cling of his chest hair as her breasts bunched against his pecs.

For Amara, that was the perfect position to settle into, their intimate closeness allowing her to rain gentle, affectionate kisses along the lines of his forehead and trail them down along his temple, nuzzling aside the wet cling of hair there. She didn't want to stop, even after she pressed her lips along both of his brows, the bridge of his nose...then further, alongside one corner of his slack mouth, nipping gently along his mustache until she could set her teeth in the frosted hair on his chin.

Quietly, the operative moaned. He barely tipped his mouth to hers as she trailed her touches across it, unable to resist gently sucking at his narrower lips. In soft encouragement, she set her teeth in the lower half until he mustered the willpower to return her caresses.

She murmured happily as his arms rose to take her in his familiar embrace, the heavy weight of them drawing her more closely than his tired strength. She heard him make an utterance, even as she twined her fingers in his mutton chops and soaked up his lazy kisses.

"_Perfect,_" he had said, and she couldn't agree more.

There wasn't a thing she would change about their languid touches or the way Zane was a handsome puddle beneath her. For her, it was so rewarding to see him boneless and buttery for a change.

Soon, she would have to dismount and see about removing the cock ring from him. Then, she would get them some water before settling in for the night.

Until then, she hugged him.


	18. One Brick Short [Orgies Lead to Head Trauma on Pandora]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, has it been a week. Certain changes might reflect in more infrequent updates (though hopefully not). 
> 
> I swear, this chapter is missing so much since Zane is so difficult. *throws him*

Pandora, it seemed, was destined to be their second home. Their team found themselves fast-tracking to the familiar territory of Devil's Razor. Utilizing one of Ellie's beloved Catch-A-Rides, they cut across the arid sands in a technical and left tire marks in their wake.

Given that Vaughn had hailed them with a mission, the vault hunters anticipated hearing rabid hollering for blood feuds. Instead, the first sounds that reached out to them were those of hand drums being pounded in a primitive, festive beat. It was enough to raise brows and have their foursome looking amongst each other with intrigue.

As they rapidly drew nearer to the sculpted landmarks that comprised Roland's Rest, they could see the community of Sun Smashers throwing some sort of party. Men and women were avidly knocking together skulls filled with drinks and chucking back their contents. Most were more scantily clothed than usual. A long parade of them was dancing and waving around flaming staffs topped by bones and dehydrated body parts.

"I don't think I wanna know," Moze commented from the passenger's seat, directing her rifle away from the loud commotion.

"Invited to a party, are we!" came Zane's elated laugh from the back. Though Amara couldn't see him, driving as she was, she recognized the familiar sound of his gloves gripping the roll cage. She heard his metal boots adjust as he stood in the truck bed to better witness the ruckus.

As soon as she rolled them up to the edge of the settlement and cut the engine, they were consumed by the thick of it. War-painted, mostly nude bodies swallowed them up like a sweaty sea. It was enough to have her on edge while she dismounted the vehicle. Moze must have felt the same with how she sidled around the technical and took hold of her hand, intent on keeping her close amidst the frenzy of friendly bandits.

Together, the women scaled the hill that overlooked the celebration. It was there, between the emblazoned Firehawk glowing on Elpis and the looming statue of Maya, that Amara experienced the same visceral reaction she always did. She spared a moment to grant a soulful prayer for her sisters while Moze, sensing her remorse, comfortingly squeezed her hand.

With her siren book in one hand and her other flattened toward the horizon as though summoning her powers, Maya's statue depicted her as they had seen her. Both longer lengths of her hair trailed in the air, her expression as fierce as ever and her hooded outfit rippling behind her. She was every bit the impressive woman they had fought alongside.

Below them, Zane demonstrated no reservations about joining the crowd. Instantly he was whooping like his fellow Pandorans, his hands both _raising the roof _and thrusting devil horns above other flailing arms. Just as quickly, someone was shoving a skull mug into his hand and he was knocking back its unidentified contents. Amara could see, despite the commotion, the flash and vivid glow of his clone appearing among them.

Over the tribal percussion and of the enthusiastic shouting of the Sun Smashers, Zane's voice cut through via ECHO as he called out to the locals. "Me bandit boyos, what in the feck are we celebrating?!" If anyone answered him, it was lost under all the primitive cheering.

It was easy enough for FL4K to locate the operative by the way he removed his jacket and began helicoptering it overhead. At least the beast bot's initiative prevented her from having to drag him out by his neck. Instead, she watched Zane plant his hands on either of the AI's broad shoulders and hoist himself into a piggyback position. Then, patting that hooded head, he gave his chauffer a _giddy-up _kick and resumed swinging his coat while they trudged between dancing bodies.

He didn't drop off the beast bot until their team was reunited atop the hill and effectively distanced from the commotion. Only then did he brush himself off and shoulder into his jacket with a finalizing pop of its collar.

It was there they encountered Vaughn, the bandit war chief posed above his people in all his short, stalky, and bearded glory. Arms akimbo, he wore his prized Hyperion briefs with pride while his cape flapped behind him, his face smeared with colorful paint. Upon recognizing their approach, he began waving his arms with much less dignity - not that a man in his state of undress could claim ever having any.

Nearly hopping from foot to foot, he gave them high fives before leading them into the dome-shaped building to cut down the noise. There, he would presumably explain what the commotion was for - and, more importantly, why they were there.

Amara had to give Vaughn credit. After losing nearly all of his people to the COV, the former accountant had managed to reclaim a bustling community of a hundred or so followers. Beyond that, he had taken on the responsibility of protecting the memorials so important to the Crimson Raiders. In fact, without the help of him and his people, Roland's Rest would undoubtedly get defaced.

Whether or not the Sun Smashers were indebted to the Crimson Raiders was still up for debate. Amara didn't see why it mattered, honestly, so long as they were on the same side. It wasn't like anyone _forced _the brief-baring bandit to declare his loyalties. That he was an ally was plenty. It seemed enough that the community did their part to protect the memorials.

Roland's Rest, it turned out, was the very reason their team had been called to Pandora. According to Vaughn, his group needed to make some sort of pilgrimage. B-Team, it seemed, was otherwise occupied, though the details about that remained ambiguous.

"Basically there's a big orgy that happens in the distant Splinterlands," explained Vaughn with a showy clench of his abs. "That's the sorta thing _all_ my people need to attend! First, it just isn't _fair_ to leave anyone out, and besides, it's the local way of maintaining alliances!"

"Clearly I left Pandora too early," commented Zane aloud, earning a snicker from Moze, a whole not of nothing from FL4K, and an eye roll from her. "So I take it ye Sun Smashers'll smash anything under the sun!"

Throwing his head back, Vaughn burst into an adrenaline-high laugh. As usual, only he exceeded Zane's enthusiasm, the war chief giving such a stoked pump of his fist that it flexed his buff little body.

"You know it! We all bathe in the blood of our enemies, everybody screws everybody, and we all have a rip-roaring good time! Sucks you guys gotta miss out!" he grinned, his hands once more braced on his tighty-whitied hips with pride.

Only Zane nodded like it made the most perfect sense in the world - and maybe to him, it did. When he noticed the look she shot him, he immediately stopped and flashed her his most charming smile. She merely scoffed under her breath. It seemed she would never understand Pandora and all its nonsense. Anything but disappointed, she didn't think she wanted to.

"Anyway," boasted Vaughn, giving a proud swivel of his pelvis and a rapid dancing of his pecs, "that's why I need your help! Can you guys hold down the fort? I figure, y'know, you're Crimson Raiders and all and these are your people, soooo yeah! I mean, it makes sense to me!"

That much was true. Though they hadn't personally known most of those represented by the monuments, the stone figures honored those who had fought for their cause. Furthermore, those lost had been loved ones of their friends.

That mission was more easily received than the many other mindless ones they'd had. If nothing else, it assigned them a purpose well worth respecting. While she couldn't speak for the others, Amara felt proud to take on the task, even if she didn't expect much to come of it. She seemed to have forgotten that Pandora rarely disappointed.

Other bandit factions must have had scouts nearly to witness the Sub Smashers clear out. Those prepared for their attack had waited until Vaughn and his group had disappeared over the horizon to initiate rushing the landmark in droves. That was really the first time Amara recognized that some bandits could manage strategic patience.

Thinking nothing about the four left behind to fulfill an important responsibility, the bandits rushed forth without caution. It was clear, with how fiercely they spilled from their hiding places, that they had no clue what they were in for. Had they recognized the vault hunters who had destroyed the Calypsos and their massive army, they might have thought twice about attacking. Then again, that might have given them too much credit.

Eager to engage them, the vault hunters had responded with violence. It should have been rapidly apparent to the bandits that they couldn't win through sheer outnumbering. Regardless of how loud their blood-curdling screams were or how blinded by bloodlust they were, there wasn't a chance in hell they would land a single hand on the monuments.

They, not the statues, would find themselves destroyed - a reality that the vault hunters set out to prove with relish.

If nothing else, killing dozens of mindless assholes provided Amara with more entertainment than she expected. Between shooting bursts of her SMG and lobbing grenades, she commanded her siren abilities.

The bandits crazy enough to rush her head-on suffered first from her vicious fists, their carcasses smashed flat and smeared across the sand. Those who turned tails and ran, throwing their weapons overhead, she fathered with a sweep of one massive hand. Laughing at their pathetic kicking, she launched skyward, allowing gravity to reunite their fleshy bodies with the ground in gory splatters.

So enveloped in her passion, the siren fought with brutal intensity. She knew nothing but the sight of her ethereal fists shifting colors and reaping destruction. She sensed only dying shrieks and the scent of ozone as her energy split atoms like bodies.

Still, for how much she and her many arms craved a fight, she needed _more. _She sent fingers of fire ripping through their numbers, crisping them more than the blaring sun did the barren planet. The element that raged through her melted sand to glass upon impact, leaving glinting shards of irregular glass and molten masses glowing in her wake.

Even with her powers pulsing through her muscles and rendering her heart aflame, Amara could hear her teammates engage their share of the enemies. She could feel the tremor of Iron Bear's footfalls and the explosions of its missiles. As the mech's massive form appeared in her peripheral vision, she could watch it strafe high-velocity rounds through the onslaught of psychos.

Somewhere behind her, could hear Zane's maniacal laughter and the colorful rainbow of insults he spewed. Overhead, Zoomer lived up to its namesake, simultaneously unleashing controlled bursts of machine gun fire and whipping cracks of lightning. No doubt the operative's digital double had been dispatched, providing another valuable fighter capable of gunning down their attackers and keeping their numbers at bay.

In the thick of it, FL4K's loyal pets flew and galloped with bloodlust. Broodless launched itself high into the air, only to come down on a bandit with its spearing forelimbs. Even before the corpse stopped twitching, it had pounced another and ducked its elongated head to tear at its victim.

Kicking up tufts of sand, Mr. Chew was rampaging, snapping off legs and leaving bandits crippled in his wake. Others, he viciously gored and flung with his mandibles, sending intestines trailing behind them like kite ribbons. As for where the beast bot was, Amara couldn't be certain. Likely they had engaged their camouflage or taken the high ground. Without a doubt, they were using their precise rifle skills to pop heads.

Between their skills, the odds were stacked against the bandits. The bastards were dropping like dismembered and bloodied flies. In that sense, everything was proceeding well enough - until someone among the crowds shot off a rocket that narrowly missed Roland's head and detonated in the sky above, the shockwave strong enough to shudder the sands beneath them.

_Shit,_ was all she could think, while beyond her, Zane spouted off in exhilaration, "Oi! Someone ain't playin'!"

"Someone get eyes on that fucking fuck!" ordered Moze as she sent a blind burst of gunfire in their general direction. Any hope she had of drawing a bead on her target was overwhelmed by the rush of bandits that obscured him.

Had her powers not taken their toll on her, Amara would have decimated the mass of them. Having met her limit, her body burned. She only needed a minute to recover and will away that indescribable weight of her exertion.

Was she going to get it? Of course not. That was never how it worked. Already, she could see the coagulation of unmasked bandits strike up the most malicious grins she could imagine. As their halves parted, the barrel of the rocket launcher lifted between them. The wicked glint of it catching the sun sent a chill through her blood.

FL4K's round hit its mark a split second too late, the wielder engaging its trigger even as his skull erupted atop his shoulders. For as rewarding as the kill was, the sight of the missile rapidly spiraling toward Maya's monument had her reeling with dread.

Amara would have already felt defeated if she hadn't heard Zane's challenging bellow, the determination in his voice filling her with hope.

"_Oh no ye don't, ye cunt_!"

Searching for his position, her ponytail swung with the frenzied whip of her head. She caught sight of the operative just in time to see him, with his hard light barrier engaged, throw himself into the path of the rocket. The two collided with a ground-shaking, shield-shattering blast.

Even before the smoke cleared, Moze was there. She bailed into the settling debris cloud while behind her, Iron Bear re-materializing and engaged its shield, the holographic dome providing them cover. Only then, as the mech resumed engaging enemy forces, could Amara make out the gunner kneeling beside the fallen operative. She was bowing over him and grasping the flaps of his jacket, her panicked calling of his name cut through the deafening percussion of blood in her ears.

Amara didn't think - she acted. Her mind cut out everything in between kicking off the sand and skidding to a stop beside Zane. The moment she reached for him, startled at the bleached white of his face.

"He's alive! He's alive," Moze was saying, grabbing at her in equal parts reassurance and to stabilize her as she stumbled onto stricken knees.

Somehow, in her shock, the siren hadn't registered the digi-clone as it flickered to life beside her. It wasn't until that coded hand waved in her face, bright and blue, that she noticed Zane's bluescale face frowning at her in concern.

Finally capturing her attention, the digi-struct reassuringly patted her on the shoulder. Then, limited to pantomiming, it pointed to the operative before flattening its together and tilting its cheek atop them like a pillow.

"Guess there's no actual way to mime someone unconscious," Moze commented, rapidly popping her gum in anxiety. With that, she lifted one of Zane's legs and then gestured for the clone to assist. "Get his other, will ya? Let's get some blood back in his head."

Immediately frowning, the digital entity used a flat palm to halt her. Then, giving another poignant frown, it pointed at its own head with an index finger and made a dizzying, spiraling gesture before gesturing to Zane.

"He has a concussion?" demanded the siren, trying to stem her impatience.

In affirmation, the clone nodded and began brushing one cautious hand along that jagged, silver hair. Unresponsive, Zane remained as still as death save for the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

"That's right," Moze muttered as though to herself before looking up at the digital doppelganger. "You would know, wouldn't you? You and him are all wired together."

Giving her a thumbs up, the digi-struct gave a brief wave toward itself as though requesting them to keep their questions coming.

"No broken bones, then?" inquired the gunner.

The clone shook its head.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Amara asked, unable to drag her gaze away from Zane's unconscious face.

Shrugging, her teammate spent a moment in thought before addressing the clone again, who continued petting its operator with tender affection. "Can you wake him up?"

Frowning, the handsome regarded its original with an analytical expression before leaning down to kiss his clammy forehead. Then, raising the flat of one hand, it began slapping Zane in earnest, sending his head lolling and his slack skin shaking until Amara hurriedly apprehended him.

Immediately, she snapped, "Do you _really_ think that's a good idea?"

Giving a shrug, the clone's mustache tilted in that all-too-familiar crooked grin before beginning to thoughtfully tap a finger against its beard in contemplation.

Moze sighed. "How else are we going to know how bad it is?"

Looking at the corporeal clone, Amara watched it shrug its shoulders and skyward-facing palms. Only then did she huff, troubled by the situation. "We need to get him back to Sanctuary, regardless."

"Can't disagree with that, but you know he will," snorted the soldier. With that, she rocked back on her heels and turned to look for FL4K.

From their position, they could hear the AI picking off straggling bandits in the distance, the crack of their rifle a satisfying echo across the landscape. Overhead, their rakks dive-bombed a pink-haired woman while another masker bandit squealed, destined to become Mr. Chew's latest meal.

"We're gonna need the Big One to carry sleeping beauty here," the former Vladof soldier determined. "I'm sure as hell not doing it, and besides, we should both maintain a lookout to make sure no one else tries anything."

It wasn't a prospect Amara favored, but she couldn't deny it was a reasonable plan. Before she could agree, the clone snapped its semi-translucent digits as though coming to a conclusion before reaching to press its forefinger to the metal port in Zane's neck.

...

Having survived all the crazy explosions he had set off throughout his chaotic career, it was ridiculously easy for Zane to forget how dangerous they could be. Unlike his countless enemies, he had yet to catch the business end of a fatal one - but he had been damn close a time or two.

Granted, he had never made a hobby of throwing himself into the path of rockets or anything of the sort - and he wasn't planning to. His last reaction had, like many before it, been by the seat of his stylish pants.

In the shocked daze that followed, Zane wasn't really sure what had happened. One moment, some bastard bandit was aiming a bazooka at Maya's memorial. The next, he had lunged into its path while simultaneously engaging his secondary shield, blindly trusting it to endure the explosion.

And it _did_ \- but what he hadn't calculated, in his impulsiveness, was the shockwave that carried through its shattered remains. It all happened so fast, he never had a chance to regret his questionable, albeit effective, decision. His world bled white as he collided with the very _solid_ statue he had set out to protect.

Later, it would turn out that he didn't have a promising future as a human dart _and _that his hair did nothing to spare him the impact.

Like the meanest sonofabitch he could be, he fought to keep the dark promise of unconsciousness from encroaching his vision. He did his damndest to crane his neck and bring everything back into focus. Despite the splintering of his skull, he strained to make out the suspended remnants of his shield. Glittering as they did, they were both pretty and dizzying.

Zane had been too stunned to recognize the shadow that fell over him or hear the rapid missile fire that drowned out the static in his earpiece. He didn't register the searing heat of Iron Bear's turrets as their rapid gunfire tore through the hazy air or detect Moze kneeling beside him.

In the end, the shock of everything became too much. Pitch blackness swallowed him like a chilled inkblot, erasing every sense of existence that kept him connected to the planet. There had been no flashback of his life. No onset of dread. Nothing but nothingness.

Beside him, his digi-clone flashed to life, operating from failsafe protocols. By design, it was automatically triggered when the sensors throughout his head and under armor detected his lapse in consciousness. The instant it flashed into existence, it scanned their surroundings and defensively lifted its firearm to engage perceived threats.

Recognizing Moze with its piercing, coded gaze, the hologram lowered its weapon. From then on, it reverted to its secondary operation, which was to assess his condition and re-establish his consciousness until it depleted its energy stores.

Despite only providing the service a handful of times since its development, it would be the first time the vault hunters would witness its response. Interconnected as the operatives were, the clone could accurately convey his condition. For as much as he enjoyed talking about himself, Zane was too unconscious to play Twenty Questions.

It wasn't until the digi-clone started smacking him that his nerves began registering that he was indeed still among the living. That wavering realization involved a whole lot of splitting pain that had him sort of wishing he was dead. He found himself wanting to swat his assailant away but his arms refused to function properly. Ineffectively, they tried to flop at his sides and failed even at that. That wasn't at _all _what he was trying to make them do.

Belatedly, his other senses began bubbling up to the surface like multicolored carbonation. Someone was saying his name, maybe, their voice flowing into him like a tumbling brook but nowhere near as pleasant.

".…with us, you old pain in the ass," they said.

_Ass_ he half understood. _Pain_ he most definitely registered. It soaked into his bones and rendering his muscles into lead-flavored jelly. But feck, he'd had worse. To him, his skull-splitting headache was like suffering the most massive hangover without the enjoyment of earning it.

Soon, Zane didn't know _anything _but pain. A bolt of unexpected lightning flashed throughout him, instantaneously snapping him to consciousness with startling, sobering agony.

With one sharp intake of breath, the operative physically seized and his eye jolted open, the luminous slit in his cybernetic patch flicking to life and inundating him with a sickening amount of photons.

"_SHITE!" _he yelped, causing the clone to immediately retract.

Similarly stunned, the two women alongside him were spurred into well-meaning action, the smaller of the two bracing herself atop his chest to hold him down while commanding the siren, "Quick, grab him!"

Fast as Amara was at summoning her many arms, she couldn't beat the reflexive way Zane's startled hand flew to his chest. Looking positively - and appropriately - shocked, he clutched at his heart while rapidly panting. Him acting as though he was experiencing a myocardial infarction did _nothing _to assuage her fears.

Forming around her, her celestial extensions rushed to stabilize him as best she could. Her glowing grip fixed to his ankles, knees, and shoulders, pinning his limbs to the ground and preventing him from taking any rash actions he was in no shape to make. Through that strange connection, she could sense his muscles erratically spasm, still reacting to the spark his own likeness had given him.

"T-the f-feck?!" he stuttered, his jaw temporarily affected by the same condition - but it didn't stop him from slamming his eye shut and groaning in potent misery. "Me feckin' _head."_

One thing was certain: he needed an IV of whiskey. Even in his state, he was convinced that would fix everything, only to quickly recognize his lapse in judgment. What was he _thinking_? Obviously he was suffering brain damage. Funneled directly into his veins, the liquor would effectively bypass his taste buds - haywire as they currently were. He could swear half of his tongue had been dipped in lemon juice.

Moze was there. She was the one pressing on his chest, her palms rapidly searching for signs of injury. She palpated for protruding bone or blood or _anything_, clearly not one hundred percent trusting of his digi-clone's awareness.

Amara's most familiar velvet voice reached him, offering a little pleasant comfort.

"Done sleeping on the job, old man?" she asked, her shoulders visibly relaxing as she peered down at him through dense lashes. Even scowling as he was, Zane couldn't miss the authentic smile of relief that spread across her plump lips.

Damn, why wasn't she a more dramatic person? It seemed to him that she should be kissing him. Had she, it might have sent his trauma to the background, as nothing seemed enough to distract from her lovely mouth.

Feck, he felt drunk as shite. He was floored like it except with notably less giggling. There was too much aching and not enough binge drinking for that, damn shame that was. He could hear his own tormented groan as though from a distance, and even _he _wasn't sure if he was exaggerating for attention.

Suddenly Moze's helmeted head was in his face, her under-eye smudges either smeared or still coming into focus. Leave it to the twerp to cut it off from his gorgeous siren.

"Why's he not talking more?" she demanded, her expression pinched with worry. "He must be dead. And if he opens his mouth and finally starts making sense, we need to get him back to Tannis' infirmary, stat."

Talking was a good idea. He figured he ought to try it. And he managed, even if he croaked liked he choked on a warty swamp toad from Eden-6.

"No chance...o' that happenin'..."

Someone's hands - Amara's _real_ ones - were delving into his hair and searching his scalp. They found his point of impact, his lips immediately drawing into a vivid grimace while she lightly inspected the edema.

Behind her, FL4K loomed overhead, the wander's massive body blocking out the glare of Pandora's angry sun. From Zane's grounded perspective, the beastbot appeared even more massive than usual.

"While my sensors indicate that his vitals are stable, they cannot account for his brain activity," stated the beast bot. "Provided that was possible, it is my inclination to suspect its irregularity given the questionable condition of his psychology."

As always, their metal friend never failed to be warm and fuzzy. What a beautiful bedside manner FL4K had.

" 'Scuse me," Zane hissed, instantly regretting his decision but pushing on anyway - for the sake of his boyos. "...need'a brain fer that. Pretty sure...mine blasted outta me arse…."

With unusual softness, Moze snorted. "That's what happens when you catch a rocket, you crazy old jackass."

So many snarky references of his age - which were funnier when he didn't feel so much like a geezer.

"It wasn't his best plan," Amara agreed - but it had worked, hadn't it? Between them, Zane continued scowling and dropped back his head with an almost comical moan.

The gunner nodded. "That asshole is dead now. We're going to have to go grab that launcher, though, if it's that kickass."

It had to be if it managed to finish off his deployable shield in one big _boom_. He had to give credit where it was due - and evidently needed to invest time in updating the specs of his tech before it popped again like a balloon. How a Pandoran had managed to obtain such a weapon, he could only guess. Perhaps it had been a remnant from the war.

For Amara, it seemed a little strange to want the weapon that had injured one of their own - but if that didn't prove its capabilities, what did? None of that mattered now. Her focus remaining on the operative, she could care less about their arsenal. Her concern for his health was a relevant one, particularly given his injury.

Finally casting a glance up Maya's looming statue, Zane managed an accomplished smirk. There wasn't a scuff on it. Drastic as his action had been, he sure as hell couldn't regret its success. Truth be told, taking a knock to the head was a price he gladly paid to keep the memorial intact. Besides, his primary shield had remained intact and would have prevented him from being reduced to chunks.

Regardless, his flask burned in his pocket. The only thing preventing him from doing some self-medicating was the way Amara narrowed her eyes at him. Having the siren stare into him as though invading his mind had him refraining from reaching for it...for now.

Instead, he funneled his focus on one _very _relevant bone he had to pick - with his luck, specifically, and how others were in fact getting lucky at his expense. He even mustered both the willpower and determination to grit through his splitting headache, because some bitching truly was in order.

"Feckin' unfair," he groused, and he would have been glaring at the wasteland heavens had doing so not taken a sledgehammer to his head. "Me bandit bro is out havin' a kinky Pandoran orgy while I'm over here gettin' me head knocked in. Plenty o folks surroundin' me but no one's pants are off. Tell me someone's pants are comin off!"

"Everyone's pants are staying on," Amara informed him with a dry roll of her eyes. "Now hush."

Silently sighing, his clone made a show of wiggling its belt back around its hips and buckling it with disappointment. Feeling for it, the operative shot it a wink and watched its mouth widen into a flirty grin. With that, it blew him a kiss.

That was the worst news Zane had heard in some time. Letting out an intentionally pathetic whine, he could at least envision the siren begin to shimmy her jeans down those luscious hips of hers. It was probably for the best that his skull felt turned inside out or else he might commit more to the imagery than he should.

Phew, that would have been fun to explain - not that he couldn't blame sporting a chub on his body going wonky.

"Can you sit up?" asked Amara, her right hand settling above his elbow to prepare for an attempt. Maybe she wasn't in his head after all, and if she was, she hid it well.

Ordinarily, that simple request would have been no problem, but then his head had practically been knocked through his ass. That didn't stop him from trying, with a hiss - until fireworks went off inside his skull. Settling back, he needed another minute for the planet to stop exploding before he could try again.

The palm Amara smoothed over his forehead felt pretty damn divine, Zane has to admit. If nothing else, the soothing contact was a distraction from the knot pounding on his cranium. Her touch was always pleasant, though something felt different about it. Opening his single eye to curiously regard her, she gave a short hum of acknowledgment.

"I'm trying something," she explained simply, enhancing both his and Moze's intrigue. "Ava and I have been working on healing."

"Not sure if you can fix his head," the gunner smirked, her expression fading as pink bled into those siren markings and flooded the length of her arms.

From the warmth that radiated outwards-in, the operative was convinced Amara was doing _something _to him - maybe not what he _wished_ for but what was appropriate for the moment. Those siren abilities of hers were sending an aura of warmth wandering into his tired bones and muscles, enticing him to sigh in wonderful relief. Whatever magic she was working didn't _feel_ like a hypo, but one of those might make an appearance too. After all, his teammates were always so excited to stab him.

For now, his eye eased shut under that lovely warmth. When it dissipated a minute or so later, he was disappointed to feel it go. The closest thing he could compare it to was the high one felt after popping a molly. With all his money and wild lifestyle, he would know. That sense of euphoria and energy gradually faded as Amara's color change did, but even then, he felt an improvement.

He wasn't back to one hundred percent by any means, but he was sure as shite closer to it than he had been. Enough to, when he opened his eye again, turn his head to the siren with more intent and nod. "Let's give it another go."

It was Moze who grasped his left hand and elbow, and Amara who would have gone for the right, had she not created two mystical arms that reached for him. Needless to say, it was more than a little humbling to have those astral projections hook beneath his armpits and lift him without discernible effort. He felt like a doll being placed on his feet.

Alright, so it was a _little _embarrassing, but he wasn't one to care - particularly not when her true hands immediately reached to support him, one bracing against the small of his back while the other lightly pressed to his hard stomach.

She couldn't get enough of him, could she? If only he could have teased her. Wait, why couldn't he? He made a regular habit of shamelessly flirting with everybody. That he refrained from it meant his head wasn't on straight - straight as it could be, anyway. So, not level at all.

FL4K, immune to human nuance, was dutifully keeping watch at the now cleared grounds around them. Moze was distracted by brushing the dust, rubble, and shield fragments from his garments. When satisfied, she gave an "All clear" after determining that most of him was truly accounted for.

Zane didn't think much of anything when the nimble gunner clambered up Iron Bear and balanced on a foothold, enabling her to reach the exposed inch of his neck. It took Moze all but a practiced second to locate his jugular and trigger the hypo with a sharp prick - long before he knew what she was doing. Clearly she was getting too good at stabbing him.

_There_ was the sensation he was familiar with a momentary chill followed by a rush of heat as chemicals zinged through his blood vessels and made short work of permeating all his nooks and crannies. Later, the operative would suspect that the former soldier was more than eager to jab him because of all the attention he received from the siren. He definitely wasn't oblivious to the covetous way she watched Amara touch him.

"_Holy shite," _he managed, finally recovering the full expressiveness of his voice. "Ain't ever been at the receivin' end of a boom like that!"

He sounded excited - which he was, adrenaline belatedly hitting him like the flat side of a banjo. In comparison, his human teammates appeared comparatively exhausted, yet relieved, and irritated by the glee permeating his subsequent laugh. FL4K, as always, was FL4K.

Once again, Zane swore he was the only one with a sense of humor. Amara looked like she wanted to feed him a fist sandwich, and Moze rolled her eyes while tapping at her personal interface and determining Iron Bear's remaining arsenal.

By now, the hypo was definitely taking effect. He could feel it like he had polished off a bottle of good whiskey in record time. Or scotch. Or both. By that, he meant he was feeling more normal by the moment. He had no problem with requiring the aforementioned alcohol in order to feel like himself.

Very, _very _belatedly, he regarded his digi-clone with concentrated scrutiny. Immediately connecting the dots between his extremely unpleasant waking and its apologetic smile, he pointed an accusing forefinger at it.

"That hurt, ye handsome bastard!" he snapped at it, giving his blue lookalike a scowl. "I know I programmed ye to do it but _feck_, were ye try'na stop me heart? With somethin' besides yer damn gorgeous looks, I mean."

Pursing its lips, the digi-clone fluttered its eyelashes at him. It then flapped a nagging hand puppet at him before tilting its head in expectation. Tapping one booted foot, it waited impatiently.

"Fine, _fine,_" relented the operative before walking toward it and smooching one cobalt, mutton-chopped cheek. His clone was the closest thing to a spouse he had - and he knew it was best to stay on its good side. "Thanks, ye brat."

Placated, his digital doppelganger nodded before smiling. It regarded him expectantly, awaiting his next command, before he patted it on the ass. With that, the clone gave him a winking thumbs up and vanished in a shower of digital flakes.

Lifting one gloved hand to finally touch his swollen head, the operative hissed and quickly retracted. After a moment, he more tentatively palpated the area and gave a low whistle, impressed by the hardness of his own skull. Amara, now a more responsible distance away, continued scrutinizing him closely.

"Don't do that again," she said simply. Firmly. Non-negotiably. The corner of his mustached mouth twitched upward.

"Ain't lookin' to," he replied, waving his hand dismissively - and, to her death glare that resulted, he added a quick and lofty "honest!"

Truth be told, they all sustained their fair share of bumps and bruises. All things considered, he had fared damn well so far despite his bold maneuvers. It helped keep his ass intact that he knew how to best exploit his transposing abilities. Not only could he hopscotch around danger but it also spared his shield.

His maneuvers required strategy and definitely didn't make him a coward. It made him _creative. _He certainly didn't mind taking a beating, but unlike his human teammates, he didn't have their youth on his side. At his age, he refrained from using hypos as much as he could. For one, he wasn't fond of their side effects. It was also a known fact that one could develop a resistance against them and _that _definitely wasn't what he wanted or could safely afford.

Most mornings, he woke feeling every day his age and had no intention of risking a resistance to those vialed quick fixes when he was increasingly in need of them. He planned to spend at least a couple more decades kicking arse, fecking, and drinking. In fact, he figured he would keep at all three until his liver or langer stopped working - whichever came first.

That said, Zane didn't blame anyone for giving him the needle. Truth be told, he was a lot less stingy when it came to assisting his boyos. In fact, he had recently given their friendly neighborhood gunner an assist when she had twisted her ankle in the middle of battle, allowing his capable drone-clone duo to provide them cover fire as he inspected the damages.

A week prior, he had drawn from some of his ol' military training to staunch a bullet wound Moze had sustained before frisking himself for an injectable. On other occasions, he had disassembled various parts of FL4K that had taken damage or otherwise malfunctions. Every couple weeks, it seemed he was splicing wires or swapping worn components out for new ones. That was certainly preferable to watching the AI twitch or spark while shorting.

Amara fared the best among them because she generally beat the shite out of everybody before they could even think of attacking her. Honestly, with her extreme displays of siren strength, most gobshites ran from her, screaming and showing they had at least two brain cells to rub together.

His personal tendency was having stupid shite happen to him. He _still_ heard about the time he had transposed himself onto the ledge of an embankment, only to have the ground give way beneath him. He ended up toppling head over heels a couple hundred feet before sploshing into a mud pit. Not only had he missed out on a good deal of the fight when he had to slog to the edge of the swamp and climb the embankment, but he had also spent a good chunk of time spitting muck and knocking crud from his unoccupied ear.

Then there had been the time where an electric Maliwan rifle had backfired and zapped the bejesus out of him. Not only had it shocked his hair on-end and scorched its tips, but the muscles throughout his arm and shoulder had spasmed like crazy and continued to twitch for the remainder of that day. Fun one that had been, particularly when his optical implant had scrambled in the thick of a firefight.

All things considered, this wasn't all that bad. He had taken a brief nap, got one hell of an egg on his head that was fading now that the hypo cocktail was working its chemical magic, and he was still intact. Overall, he couldn't complain, even if he still felt a little off.

"Don't even remember throwin' up me shield," he admitted with no degree of wonder, though he had extensively experienced the miracle of his reflexes.

Digistructing the deployable base, Zane immediately pulled a face at the visibly tarnished device. At his insistent tapping, a spark spit from it, the odor of burnt electrical components and ozone causing him to fan a cooling hand at it. Like him, it had seen better days.

"Looks like I owe ye me nuts," he told it with an affectionate pat. It wouldn't have been the first time that it had saved him from a thorough scathing. He didn't lug the tech around for no reason.

Alas, it couldn't help him when Amara said to Moze, "One of us should take him back to Sanctuary. Tannis needs to take a look at him."

"Aye, she should," he snarkily agreed, only slightly dizzy when he nodded. "She's jealous she doesn't get ta see this all the time!"

The gunner, ignoring him like he had never spoken, crossed her arms. "I totally agree. Don't think hypos can fix a concussion."

"Concussion, consmushin!" he snorted with a dismissive sweep of his hand.

"It's a plan, then," determined the siren, also talking over him like he wasn't standing there.

Frowning, Zane knew he was _far _too old to feel like the child ignored by his parents. Still, there he was, opening his mouth to contest decisions being made for him, _regardless _of him.

"S'cuse me, ladies-"

"FL4K should do it," volunteered Moze, turning to regard the beast bot. "They can most easily carry his stubborn ass when he resists."

"I'm not _stubborn-_"

Amara gave a flex of her arms. "They can, but so can I."

Turning their hooded head toward Zane, the beastbot lingered on him. The green optic of their eye slitted in close scrutiny before adjusting to regard the others.

"I will see that the operative receives adequate repairs in return for those he has provided me, so that we can resume our hunt as a pack."

Huh. That was oddly sentimental for the bot. No matter how many times Zane has insisted he didn't need repayment, the beastbot persistently kept a goal of returning his favors. It was the closest FL4K came to being friendly.

"It's settled," Moze announced, smiling at Amara before giving her a thumbs up. "You and I can have some quality girl time and FL4K can wrangle Zane into the infirmary. Maybe they can collar him and make him obey!"

"That is a novel idea," responded the AI in a chilling tone. It reminded the operative to stay far, far away from their reach.

"As kinky as I am, I don't s'pose that'll be necessary," he promised the bot before giving him a wink. Unable to help himself, he added, "Unless ye _want_ it ta be."

In return, FL4K gave a mechanical hum that sounded mildly threatening. Beside them, Mr. Chew stepped into view, huffing from a good run and dripping blood-tinged saliva.

Thumbing her ECHO, Moze presumably went to contact Sanctuary - until Amara reached out to the sirentologist with her mind powers.

"Tannis, we're sending Zane your way. He has a concussion."

Damn clone. If it hadn't been for that blue arsehole, he might have been able to play it off and not get shipped off like an invalid.

The sirentologist's voice filtered through their minds, the lot of them seeing the luminous image of her analytical eyes. Only one of them grunted and palmed his head, cursing the unpleasant invasion.

Darn sirens - specifically, Tannis, who most utilized her mind tricks. She sounded incredulous in that pompous tone of hers. "You mean he is behaving more strangely than ordinary?"

"It's hard to tell," Moze admitted, earning his fondest scowl.

Tannis gave a sigh of inconvenience before reluctantly fulfilling her obligation. "If you must, though I insist someone accompany him if they aren't otherwise necessary to the mission."

"Trust me, lass, I ain't keen on watchin' ye climb up a cadaver's ass," he grumbled, forced to accept his fate.

Shite, he should have been a rapper. Likely he would escape the infirmary faster if he put that theory to the test! It was a plan.

Sounding perturbed, the vault hunters could see Tannis narrow her sable eyes. "I will have you know," she countered defensively, "that I do what I do for _science_. I do not expect you to understand, given that you intentionally subjected yourself to the path of an explosive projectile. Besides, I currently lack specimens to study."

Ah, that meant she had been watching - or had taken a gander at Amara's memories. Did that mean she cared? _Absolutely_ not! Still, he couldn't help himself for a second time. The opportunity was too golden. "That sounds like a proposition if I ever heard one!"

Tannis' sound of disgust was loud and clear and _well_ worth the collective roll of his teammates' eyes.

Recovering her tight-arsed composure, the sirentologist went on. "In all seriousness - which unfortunately goes beyond you, Zane - you do need to err on the side of caution and report to the infirmary. Particularly given your cybernetic implants, it is imperative that you be seen, as they pose a greater risk of undetected bleeding and ultimately an aneurysm."

_Sounds like a better time than kickin' back to me! _he thought to say, but then he didn't suspect his boyos would much appreciate that. Instead, the older man gave a wry snort and obstinately crossed his arms.

Sure, he knew that. He had received the lecture before his surgeries. That didn't mean he had to accept it - or that he was in any way worried despite how anticlimactic that ending would be. Beyond that, he hated vegetables and definitely didn't want to _become _one. Then again, his karma was likely that horrid.

More than ever, his gals looked wrought with concern. Amara, in particular, appeared even more determined to get his arse to the ship, even if she had to drag him there herself.

Christ. He supposed he oughta, albeit reluctantly, if just to prevent them from worrying themselves gray.

"Fine, _fine_," he huffed, agreeing because he was such a _considerate_ teammate. "I'll go ahead an' humor ye. Just so we're clear, though, it's so I can grab a pint an' rub it in yer pretty faces when my noggin ain't half bad as it seems! I sure fancy ye, girlies, but ye sure love overreactin'! It that time of the month fer ye?"

Any chance Zane had - which was none whatsoever - of circumventing his fate was promptly thrashed. After FL4K had encircled one arm beneath his buttocks and hoisted him as though he was no more than a pouty toddler, the operative found himself deposited in the bed of the technical. He made sure to cross his arms like the miffed child he felt he had been reduced to. He had then stacked one boot atop the other while glaring at the women, who waved, while FL4K manned the driver's seat.

From the back of the traveling vehicle, Zane decided that teamwork was bullshite. Actually, he had determined that the moment his opinion had been squashed underfoot. What jackarse came up with the concept of majority vote, anyway? More importantly, when had that become a thing among them?

The joke would be on them, though, if they thought he would follow Tannis' orders. As far as Zane was concerned, she only had authority as a sirentologist. Beyond that, she rocked a pixie cut and admittedly had one of the nicer arses aboard Sanctuary. For as much as their characters clashed, he might have taken a gander at her backside a time or two.

However, he wasn't making a plan of it now, soon, or ever again. The affair between his remaining eye and Tannis' bodacious posterior was _finished. _He sure as hell wasn't going to stay cooped up in the infirmary with her _lovely _personality. Nope.

Instead, he was set on taking a shower, grabbing a pint, and returning to Pandora in no time. After all, he had never skimped on a job and didn't intend to, head trauma notwithstanding.

Hell, he wasn't even _convinced _he had any worth worrying about. He was proficient at functioning at half-capacity and he was clearly above that.

…

Across their ECHOs, FL4K's mechanical voice was loud and clear.

"Tannis has put the operative under temporary medical observation. She has confirmed that he has sustained a concussion. As of now, she states that there is no detectable threat."

Frowning, Amara found herself unable to accept that proffered reassurance. Though Tannis having a doctorate didn't make her a doctor of medicine, she had enough technology to manage. The sirentologist certainly couldn't understand their concern for Zane, socially removed as she was. Possibly FL4K, despite being the death-fixated AI they were, could better detect the worried nuances of her expression.

"The operative is in capable hands," the AI reminded, "provided he allows for standard protocol. So far, he has been….testing Tannis' patience, but that is to be expected."

From beyond the ECHO's holographic image, Zane's could be heard. As though on cue, his brogue was impatiently persuasive.

"I'm fine, seriously!" he was arguing, sounding like he was walking into range from how his voice drifted in from a distance. Though FL4K remained the sole star of their transmission, Amara could practically envision the operative pacing around the infirmary. "Look at me! So I had a _wee bump_ in me noggin, but me brain's workin' jus' fine!"

"I beg to differ because if it was, you would remain on your cot as instructed," snapped Tannis in an attempt to convey discipline while simultaneously sounding irritated and indisposed. "You are the oldest human on this ship and yet you have evidently not learned to listen! Why must I force you to behave?"

Moze cut in, shaking her helmeted head. "Has anyone reminded him that she's a siren?"

"I'm _fine!_" contested the operative again, sounding more convinced of himself by the second. "Ye tell me, could I do _this_ if I was concu-"

An undeniable crashing sound flooded the transmission, causing Amara and Moze to lean back with a grimace - and FL4K to look behind themself, presumably watching the scene unfold before determining the result was not as disastrous as it sounded. At least Amara hoped that to be the case.

Someone was cussing. It sounded suspiciously and strangely like Tannis, which the Partalian couldn't wrap her mind around. Zane was apologizing profusely between bouts of crazed laughter. Somehow, Amara could still hear what seemed to be something metallic rolling until it circled on its rim, eventually settling. A bowl, maybe?

"I can fix it!" the operative was promising. At the same time, something was being rapidly scraped together.

Amara could easily envision the older man on his knees while brushing fallen instruments together, his immediate surroundings in disarray. As it turns out, her suspicions weren't inaccurate.

"One should not attempt to hop on one foot while concussed," uttered the beastbot while narrowing their luminous lens. With a mechanical shifting of gears, they turned to their ECHO again and gave a metallic sigh. "It appears I must provide assistance. Has your curiosity been satisfied by this update?"

Moze was leaning over Amara's sculpted shoulder now, draping herself across her blue tattoos. As close as she was, the siren could feel her helmet tip as it brushed against her. No doubt the gunner came within focus on FL4K's end, his optical sensor minutely shifting focus.

"Sure has!" she piped in, giving a thumbs up and a grin. "Tell our geezer to get better and behave his wrinkly ass - and I mean it. Say it just like that - and take a picture of his face when you do."

At her antics, the beastbot hummed in a way that neither agreed nor disagreed with the gunner's demand.

"The period of observation will last a minimum of twelve hours. Upon Tannis' dismissal, we will rendezvous with you and resume our mission," they said. After a pause, they directly addressed the more somber vault hunter. "I will ensure he adequately behaves. Is that reassurance sufficient, Amara?"

The woman in question nodded, feeling as though there was more she could say but instead settling on a more neutral composure. She couldn't go wrong with that.

"Yeah. Sounds good," she replied with a forced smile. With that, FL4K ended the transmission.

It didn't take long for Moze to begin rubbing her shoulders, her more slender body settling on the ground behind her. From there, she spoke up and continued kneading at the Partalian's tension.

"It's okay to worry," she assured her, accurately translating her unusual silence for what it was. The gunner knew her so well, after all. Like her, she was concerned for their teammate, even if her composure was lighter. "You know Zane is an ornery old fart and you can't _tell _me he hasn't taken a thousand hits to his head already. And Tannis doesn't _actually_ want to kill him, I don't think. She might main him, maybe, but not if he behaves."

Asking that of him was too much, unfortunately.

As the day progressed, Moze didn't exactly hover but she kept close. And when was she any other way? When the sun set and the remaining vault hunters built a fire, the gunner sat so closely that their knees brushed together. Soon enough, their fingers were interwoven together, the other woman holding her tightly.

Unnecessarily comforting as that caring contact was, neither of them could overlook the glaring absence of the others. Even before they settled down alongside each other, Amara didn't expect to achieve much sleep. Despite having her teammate snuggled up soundly beside her and Iron Bear maintaining watch, the siren found herself staring at the stars.

Zane wasn't there snoring at her other side or twitching and murmuring in slumber. Because of that, Amara felt a little colder. She found herself wishing she could steal his jacket like in the past, but that had been so long ago...and so much had changed since then.

It wasn't that she actually feared for Zane's health. She never wanted him to get hurt, same as any of their allies, but she also knew Sanctuary had capable resources. More than anything, witnessing him downed and as still as death had reminded her of the all-too-real dangers they faced on a consistent basis.

Nothing now was as intense as the war had been, but the violence they faced was still very real. Freak accidents happened and mistakes could be made. Amara was self-aware enough to know she had displaced disappointment in herself- because had she known Zane had been knocked out, she would have immediately rushed to assist. In fact, as soon as she had come to her senses, she had, same as she would have had she seen him in a far less precarious situation. Chances were, she had never been faster to spur into action.

Even then, to say she felt like a shit partner was the biggest understatement among the six galaxies. It hardly mattered that Moze had reached him so quickly - or that she had united with them immediately after. In fact, it didn't persuade her to feel any less guilty that Zane hadn't sustained further injury.

Amara found herself thinking back to when their team had first encountered Lilith. She had given them each a grenade, which Zane had promptly balanced and spun atop one poised index finger.

"A lil' boom never hurt anyone - 'cept me targets!" he had stated, jubilant as ever. And that had applied well enough - until now.

All things considered, he had been lucky.

Any enemy could have unloaded their gun on him, depleted his primary shield, and ended him. Unconscious as he had been, the operative had been utterly defenseless until his digi-clone had activated.

Truth be told, all of them were a well-aimed shot away from meeting their maker. Given all the success they had, that was often difficult to remember. There were _always _risks. All they could hope for the best and prepare for the worst. Not only did they have to trust their own abilities to see them through to the next day, but a significant part of their safe return depended on them protecting, and supporting, each other.

There really hadn't been many times that anyone among them had desperately required assistance. They had all fallen at one time or another, unable to stand on their own until someone else provided a hypo, but nothing had ever been perilous. Quite the opposite: they had been extremely fortunate to avoid major injuries, and that was due to their efficacy as a team.

Even now, Amara had to remind herself that she didn't _need_ to worry. There was no place for them safer than the aptly-named Sanctuary. It was friendly territory provided the vessel didn't get sucked into a black hole, experience a critical failure, collide with another ship or asteroid or sustain enemy gunfire… Okay, it was most certainly better to overlook the inherent threats of space travel than acknowledge them.

What mattered was that Zane would be fine. Their old man could use a rest anyway. She certainly didn't have to feel haunted by the lack of his, or FL4K's, presence nearby, particularly since their absence was temporary. In no time, the operative would be back to his flamboyant self and probably wiggling his booty while shooting something. From what she had seen, his symptoms hadn't been _too_ concerning…

Still, it was beyond awkward for their team to feel so incomplete. Amara found herself considering if the others noticed her glaring absence whenever Ava's training took precedence. Perhaps by now, they were somewhat accustomed to it. Beyond that, her presence wasn't as loud and in-their-faces as Zane's.

Lying there next to Moze as she was, Amara wished she could focus on appreciating her closeness. The gunner was warm and comfortable against her. Moze really could sleep soundly through everything, the siren was convinced. Allowing her gaze to take in the peaceful woman, Amara smiled.

With her short hair gently mussed and her makeup smudged, Moze really was adorable. She sort of resembled a grumpy raccoon. So much nicer than one, Amara truly did appreciate her nearness. For as awkward as the gunner could be, she was one of her closest friends. Had things happened differently, they could have very well become lovers.

Amara couldn't help but feel some degree of guilt when she considered how she and Moze had been warming up to something more when Ava began brainstorming Zane branching off on a solo venture. His subsequently distant behavior had convinced her that he had truly been considering - and _that _had triggered her to impulsively act on her attraction to him.

Truth be told, she had never expected herself to end up in bed with the operative more than a time or two. That wasn't to say she hadn't expected sex with him to be good - just maybe not as great as it had been. She definitely hadn't anticipated any more to come of it than them using each other to satisfy their physical needs.

Obviously, Zane had stuck around. Their affair had continued, lacking reason not to. Amara had noticed, then, that her romantic interest in Moze had faded. At the time, she had decided that her needs had been purely sexual. Entangling with her older partner had satisfied what she had needed, at the time - until their involvement began stirring emotions in her.

By then, it had basically been too late for her. She didn't give her heart easily, nevermind frequently. Had she and Moze been any closer, she wouldn't have done anything, ever, with Zane, nevermind desire them taking things further. The culmination of everything, unexpected as it had been, had followed a natural progression.

Needless to say, she wasn't blind to Moze's persisting interest. Only a fool would have missed it. Ever since becoming a siren and, subsequently, a hero, the Partalian had been inundated with swooning fans. The Vladof soldier had fit perfectly among them, especially early on...and that was why Amara never truly responded to her advances.

When it came to relationships, she just wasn't into the whole hero worship thing. Having someone place her on a pedestal because of that was bound for failure. Amara didn't want someone in love with her because she was a siren, awe-inspiring and powerful as she was.

"Hot _damn_, that's some kickarse magic!" was what Zane had hooted after first witnessing her powers. Instead of staring in starry admiration, the veteran operative had laughed like a delighted kid and clapped enthusiastically before pointing a bare finger at her.

"Yer one's those siren lasses, ain't ye?" he had giddily asked, practically grinning from ear to ear and proving he wasn't half as composed as he had initially seemed._ "Bah, _why am I askin'? I don't even know! Guess I can add this to me list, though I thought I'd encountered one of yer kind before. I was on a mission when I met a lass with one of those swirly blue arms but couldn't tell if she was inked or what. 'Er name was Steele. She didn't do anything cool, though, which was fine by me, since she was shootin' at me!"

Needless to say, Zane had regarded her more like an actual person capable of snazzy tricks than like some alluring war goddess. If anything, his obvious entertainment had further emphasized the gunner's

Certainly, Moze's draw to her had deepened over time and now, that romantic interest was definitely more authentic. Even then, Amara still suspected that the gunner wasn't quite prepared to handle who she was as a person. As a close friend, they were more than compatible. Beyond that, Moze was still haunted by the suicide mission that had stolen her military family.

Amara wasn't against being with someone who struggled with their mental health. She figured they all did to some extent. Still, she was convinced that Moze could better heal if she focused on herself and didn't use love as a distraction. Already, the soldier made it clear that she struggled with feelings of vulnerability and felt endangered by her bond with their team. In privacy, Moze admitted that if she lost any one of them, she might snap. And honestly, which of their found family wouldn't?

In contrast, Zane was confident. His mental stability was often questionable but unlike Moze, he was _established. _Right down to his immaculate styling and how he emblazoned his professional markings on damn near everything he had, the operative knew his identity. If how he flaunted it was any indication - despite having four dozen bounties after him - the older man was proud of who and what he was. He had some fifty-odd years to account for that.

Even before she had departed Partali, Amara hadn't been looking for a relationship with anyone_._ During the war, Moze had offered her far more than she had been prepared for. Instead, she had wanted to focus on vault hunting and derive what pleasure she could along her journey - and _that_ was why Zane had stood out to her. He was basically doing the same.

Along strutted the dashing rooster of a Flynt. Overflowing with charm and charisma, he was the gunner's counterbalance. He laughed loudly and found fun in everything. He flaunted himself and somehow made seeming self-absorbed attractive. Where Moze stumbled with flirting, Zane winked, flashed a cheesy grin, and shouldered close with a plethora of pick-up lines. Where Moze hesitated, Zane practically kicked off his pants and lassoed them overhead. Needless to say, Moze's cautious personality was easily lost under the operative's outgoing antics.

Like herself, Zane was always looking ahead. He aspired to be aggressively forward in everything he set out to accomplish and he didn't hesitate. And that feral edge to him strongly resonated with her. Between their relentless drives and endless ambitions, the siren and the operative were a lot alike. That was why they made such compatible partners - they both complimented each other and challenged the other.

In contrast, Moze seemed more content to establish a new normal for herself. She was fine with lying low, having experienced her close brush with death, and was determined in conserving herself emotionally. For that, Amara couldn't blame her. The soldier had given everything she had to the military and had nearly paid for her loyalty with her life. She was reasonably jaded and emotionally stunted because of it.

Zane - with some tasteful modification - was pretty much how Amara _hoped _Moze would be when she healed fully: comfortable, self-assured, and indestructible.

Maybe everything amounted to a mere matter of timing. Despite not planning for anything, Amara knew what she wanted in a lover. Aside from his promiscuous nature, Zane was pretty much it: someone with their own strong independence and untamed sense of adventure. Moze, though she might be that in time, represented guarded caution that didn't jive as much with the siren. She wanted more to hold and comfort the gunner more than anything - and as her best friend, that was exactly what she did.

She loved Moze. There was a mutual attraction there, but she was convinced the soldier, for how fierce she could be, needed more of a protector than a lover. Her strong bond to Iron Bear represented that. As willing as Moze was to conceal herself in a massive war machine, she still struggled with exposing her heart. And Amara, for how sympathetic and loving she was, didn't know if she could trust herself with holding that so closely.

For now, they were intimately involved without being lovers. They often sought each other for innocent comfort, laughed together, and gently teased the other. They both vented their problems to each other and gossiped. Without a doubt, they both needed and appreciated the outlet their bond provided. As far as Amara was convinced, there was no one else who knew her as well as Moze did.

Zane offered her a different sense of liberation. Like Moze, he was willing to listen whenever she needed it. He didn't, however, get as personal unless she forced it and even then, he maintained his personal reservations. Compared to the gunner, he was a closed book. While Moze stumbled through openness, she managed to make headway and give her honest effort. In contrast, the operative gave his very predictably unpredictable Zane responses.

Between her two teammates, Amara knew she had made the most reckless choice. Moze was safer for her emotions - but then again, the siren had always preferred a challenge. She never wanted anything handed to her on a golden platter.

Despite never intending to fall for the operative, Amara couldn't deny that she had. In fact, it had been some time since she first recognized that she had. Despite all the known risks and warning signs of being with him, she somehow didn't feel threatened by them. Maybe knowing he wouldn't tie her downplayed a part in that. In the event that she and Moze eventually decided on pursuing a romantic relationship, Zane would undoubtedly allow it. Not only would he be on board, but he would also be fully supportive, which made him that much more attractive.

Amara couldn't fathom a scenario where she would have to choose between her two teammates. Zane certainly wouldn't ask her to. Between the two of them, he would readily bow out and be on his merry way. So far, the siren didn't want that. Maybe had he not been so flexible, she wouldn't have given him so much leverage in her heart. As for whether or not Moze would share, she was uncertain. The gunner had so much more at stake, invested in her as she dared to be.

Shortly after the war, they had kissed a few times but never had they gone beyond that. Each time, Amara had been too concerned with Moze's emotional vulnerability to relax and enjoy it. _That_ even felt terrible to admit, but had the gunner not been so into her, they might have progressed further.

Who knew what the future held for them? The same could be said for what might happen between her and Zane. About the only certainty she knew was that neither Zane or Moze were physically interested in the other.

For one, Moze exclusively liked women. She had made that clear. And for how easy Zane was, he treated the gunner as she figured he would a younger brother. For as often as he joked with the gunner - often at her expense - he _never_ sincerely flirted with her. It was pretty clear, between how they ribbed one another, that no territory was safe, but even then Zane simply didn't go there. And _that _was significant, given how he even hit on FL4K.

Gender wasn't the problem for any of them. Amara had never felt particularly drawn to one or another. Instead, she had always kept her options open and had never thought to judge love_._

Amara didn't know what was worse - Zane wanting her for sex or Moze being attracted to her abilities. They had both bonded with her for her personality. Still, the gunner had initially wanted her because both her siren powers and muscular physique had instilled awe in her. And then there had been the operative, who had jumped into bed with her because...that was just what he did. Maybe she wasn't giving Zane enough credit, but she doubted his decision had been more complex than that.

Even then, over time, Zane had begun treating her like an exception. The woman Amara was, she couldn't help but regard that as an accomplishment. She never considered herself a person who set out to change _anyone_, nor had she ever had any promising expectations for them, but still, the operative had seemed to adjust his tune.

For as much as his reputation strongly suggested he didn't do _more_, Zane had gone some length to make himself available to her. Him staying overnight had even become routine. For as perceptive as the older man was, there was no way in hell he wasn't aware of his behavior. He had to know how often he initiated contact beyond their bedroom, whether he kissed her or brushed their hands together. Both were becoming more and more frequent as time went on.

Quite possibly, Zane simply filed his behavior under 'No Fucks Given' or 'Just Having Fun' - or he remained in denial about wanting more. Maybe even at his age, a man like him could still surprise himself, not that he would ever admit to it.

Often, Amara felt she was simply prone to exaggerating her own importance. After all, it wasn't like Zane was planning on dropping to one knee and proposing to her. Considering what he had let on about his former marriages, she figured that was a good thing. Either way, in somewhat committing to accommodate her, the surviving Flynt seemed willing to sacrifice his former playboy lifestyle. Maybe it was shallow of her, but Amara liked how special it made her feel.

Throughout her life, she had valued commitment and held herself to a high ethical standard. She had but two serious relationships, one of which stood out from the rest. Back when she had been a teenager, she had gotten married. She had been young, deeply in love, and because of that, impulsive. She had all but sacrificed her family and the life she had known for the young woman she had promised herself to.

For as much as she had adored Adya, Amara was now wise enough to recognize that her actions had also doubled as an act of rebellion. It wasn't that she hadn't loved her long-term girlfriend, because she most certainly had. She wouldn't have given up so much for her if she hadn't felt so strongly committed.

Even to that day, marriage on Partali was traditionally reserved for couples promising to begin families...and _that_ had been why her mother had banished her. Upon realizing her daughter hadn't arranged to produce grandchildren, her surviving parent had disowned her.

It was more complicated than that, but given how arduous her life had been, why would she have chosen to repeat the cycle? Spiritual as she was, Amara had chosen happiness instead. And she'd had it, until fate chose to interweave spirals of ethereal power through her flesh. After that, life had no hope of ever being the same.

Becoming a siren had given Amara a strong sense of purpose. Up until then, her relationship with Adya had been it. Her wife had struggled with the drastic transition she had made. She, as so many others had been, had grown intimidated by the sudden influence it had on her partner.

Within a year, Amara had grown to embrace her sirenhood more closely than she had her marriage. She learned what she could do with so much power and knew that crime-stricken Partali had been in great need. How could she remain in the slums when her gift allowed her to be a hero? Perhaps had she not been so young, her lust for attention and fame wouldn't have been so substantial. And even then, she had been hurt by Adya's lack of support.

Unlike her, Adya had been intimidated by her strength. Amara couldn't quite blame her - like so many others throughout Partalian culture, Adya had been raised by an abusive father. Women had never been as highly respected as men on their homeworld, and even her own attempts to proudly represent their gender had been overshadowed by her sirenhood. Everyone had only valued her gift - except her very own wife, who felt so threatened by it that their relationship crumbled.

After having become so divided by the altered course in her life, Amara hadn't honestly minded. More than anything, she had considered it ridiculous for her spouse to fear her when the only ones who should have were criminals. After dissolving their marriage, they had lost contact. Despite the experience, she hadn't been jaded enough to think those years of love hadn't been for nothing, because they had helped her survive at the time. However, after she had become a siren, she had discovered so much of her own strength. She had truly evolved as a person, so much that she could no longer recognize herself as the young woman she had been.

Now, her spirituality was founded in her gift. It drove her to seek challenge after challenge and fuel her achievements instead of merely accepting what was. _She_ wanted to be the cause of change - and on Partali, she had been. While on her own, her life had revolved around it.

Moze, in some ways, reminded her of Adya. The two women were survivors, albeit of two very different things. Both were vulnerable in their own ways but trusted her with their hearts. Still, there was one significant and monumental difference that set the gunner apart: Moze accepted her for the siren she was.

Even then, Amara found herself staring across the winking smolder of embers to the empty ground beyond. Zane should have been sitting while quietly tossing things into the fire. Had he been there, he would have either sat cross-legged and propped his chin on one hand, with his other arm draped across his thigh, or he would have leaned back against Roland's nearby memorial with one knee drawn up and the other stretched out before him. She would have even preferred him wandering some ways away and smoking to the condition he was in.

Best of all would have been them together, back in her room, safe and sound on their shared bed. She would have accepted Zane sprawled out, hogging the sheets, and deafeningly snoring to this. On his loudest nights, she wasn't convinced anything was more interruptive of her sleep. Now, she clearly knew better.

Mentally, Amara sighed at herself. She needed rest. Everything was fine. Come morning, both the operative and the beastbot would be back. Their team would be whole again. She could see for herself that he was alive and kicking and wild as ever. In fact, Zane would likely start spewing his nonsense the second he returned.

If she should be concerned for anyone, it would be Tannis. Had she a cadaver at her disposal, she would have intentionally trapped herself within it just to try to muffle his yammering. That, or she would stuff Zane in one both to quiet him and keep him in place. Depending on how aggravating he was, the sirentologist might honestly consider airlocking him out into space, but then that would defeat the purpose of him being there in the first place.

Try as she might, Amara didn't doze off for more than two hours that night. She couldn't manage to convince herself that her sense of duty kept her awake. Instead, she knew the truth and eventually accepted it. She trusted Iron Bear to keep watch, but even then, she struggled to disconnect her mind. Despite herself, she managed to nod off just as the sun began breaching the horizon.

When she woke, she immediately registered Zane's naughty laughter in the distance. She immediately pushed herself up and saw him tipping back his flask before gesturing to FL4K with it. The two were casually conversing and sitting alongside the Catch-A-Ride platform.

There were no other sounds on the wind save for the hungry squawking of rakks who had flocked, en masse, to the corpses sprawled from battle. A number of spiderants had surfaced throughout the night and dragged off a large portion of the bodies. Similarly, a number of the remaining carcasses had already been picked clean by unseen, and unknown, nocturnal scavengers.

In Pandora's merciless wasteland, wildlife wasted no time in satisfying their needs. Forever famished, they feasted whenever given the opportunity to fill their greedy gullets. Anything left would likely be snapped up by the Sun Smashers upon their return and used as decoration or for means Amara didn't care to think of. What little remained would be consumed by sandy breezes or scorched by the beating sun.

For now, that morbid disarray wasn't Amara's focus. Instead, she found herself relieved to be among their completed foursome. Life just wasn't the same without everyone sharing friendly banter and providing their unique companionship. As the most outgoing and expressive of their team, Zane's absence had been painfully obvious. With him back among them, everything felt right again.

The relief of both seeing and hearing him in full spirits was enough to improve her mood. The siren found herself smiling at him more than she would ordinarily allow, but why should she refrain? They were all glad to have him back, same as FL4K, and even Moze made more frequent jabs at their eldest member to make up for his absence.

It felt silly, really, for their foursome to be so close that having their team separated for twelve hours seemed so wrong. Then again, they had brushed shoulders for the better part of two years. To Amara, it seemed like the others had been friends of hers forever. She felt perfectly at home sitting among them and being herself.

Eventually, the operative excused himself. They were on a mission, after all, and he appeared somewhat fidgety after "sitting on the job". Certainly, they were more than capable of reacting the instant something went awry, meaning they didn't necessarily _need_ to stand guard. Then again, Zane often got an itch to do something, and clearly hunkering down wasn't scratching it. Assuming he had recently been confined to a bed, it made sense he would be restless.

"S'pose I should get back on me toes an' stop slackin' off," he commented offhandedly before pushing up to his feet, pausing only to brush off the sand clinging to his pants. "I don't suspect anyone else will try anything after yesterday's blood bath. Don't think there's anyone left 'round these parts to have a death wish!"

Of course, they could never be too certain, which was why Zane went off to scout the plains north of Roland's Rest. Chances were, he would kick back behind Vaughn's hut, wield his binoculars, and have a cigarette.

That wasn't why Amara eventually followed him. In fact, she made sure that when she excused herself from socializing with the others, she gave herself a solid fifteen minutes to wander the perimeter before heading in his direction. She didn't want to draw any suspicion, after all. Leaving Moze and FL4K to lavish Mr. Chew in attention, she ensured they would have a moment of privacy. As far as she knew, that was all they both needed and could afford.

It was Zane's bored whistling that gave him away and had her zeroing on his position. He appeared to be manipulating his inventory on his ECHO before glancing in her direction, no doubt detecting her on his cybernetics.

"Sight for sore eyes, ain't I?" he commented with a bob of his brows before fixing his device back on his belt.

Giving a sarky snort, she slowed to a stop beside him. Maintaining that foot of friendly distance between them, she leaned against the building much as he had before her arrival had brought him to attention.

A long period of silence stretched on between them, equally comforting and awaiting so much to be said. Casting a sideways glance at her older counterpart, who casually entertained himself with the barren landscape, she spoke up after a matter of minutes.

"I'm glad you're alright," she admitted, hearing her tangible relief as it translated through her soft expression. Zane did too, proven by the warm way he smiled at her.

"I know," he said. Simple and to the point. For a change, he wasn't joking or otherwise being lighthearted. It made Amara wonder if he didn't quite know how to respond to receiving such sincere care.

Another stretch of silence persisted before his deep chuckle permeated the air. "Worst part o' it was gettin' me hair back in order. Can't say slammin' head-first into rock is good fer styling!"

Rotating her gaze skyward, she appreciated his silliness. Even then, thinking back to that occurrence had her reverting to seriousness. Unlike him, she couldn't find humor in what had happened.

Furrowing his brows at her, Zane gave her a crooked smile. His voice was equal parts gentle and cheery, persuading her to lighten up.

"How many times have I told ye that ye don't hafta worry 'bout me?" he asked, and they both knew the answer. _Too many. _As if that could stop her.

The lopsided quality of his mustached smile became even more pronounced as she stepped closer. Even the furrow between his untidy eyebrows creased deeper. A rare hint of reluctance showed in his icy eye as she reached for him and eased her hands into the high collar of his jacket.

She didn't give Zane the chance to look around them - she lifted herself and drew him down in the same moment, pressing her lips to his. From then on, all hesitation was lost. He easily returned her kiss, the pistol in his grasp digitally flaking into nothingness so that he could caress her bare midriff, his other hand cupping the back of her neck.

There were many ways to prove to herself that Zane was tangible and _real_. Still, their kiss connected them in the way she needed most there, in that moment. He could have resisted her. Could have teased himself away. Instead, he obliged her, responsive and willing as ever. For as inviting as he was, she knew they didn't have forever to stand there, their warm mouths moving in that slow dance. Pandora was no place for affection.

How neither of them heard the scuff of sand, who knew? Amara certainly didn't. Their kiss wasn't _that_ heated, and yet that temporary distraction was more than they could afford. Her lashes fluttered as Zane pulled away, her arms immediately reacting to draw him back. He murmured gruffly as he spoke against her mouth, his facial hair a pleasant tickle against her skin.

"Ye know, it's been a couple days. Should'a been ye who escorted me back to Sanctuary," he said with that most suggestive smirk she knew so well. "Had ye, we could'a gotten busy."

If Amara hadn't been so determined to keep quiet, she would have snorted. Instead, she nuzzled her nose against the bristles of his mustache. Growling lowly, he went to kiss her again before pulling back, earning her sigh of disappointment. He looked at her with unexpected wonder before asking, with incredulous inflection, "We haven't hit it on Pandora, 'ave we?"

_Now_ she snorted, not particularly in the mood to play his game. "Oh yes," she agreed dryly, "because nothing says 'sexy' more than a head injury."

The sound of Zane's chuckle carried, deep and gruff as it was. It persisted into his voice as he said, "God_damn, _no wonder I'm so irresistible!"

From the sound she made behind them, it was obvious that Moze didn't find it as funny.

…

Moze couldn't have appeared more dumbfounded than she did at that moment. Any training she had in maintaining her composure had completely lapsed, forgotten in the face of her shock.

Though her sharp eyes darted erratically between them, they lingered on Amara most often. Even as the two red-handed teammates quietly cleared their throats and put some distance between themselves, the stupefied woman snapped, "It feels like I have head trauma now! What in the fuck is happening? You two are fucking?

Looking to Zane, Amara felt her lips pull into a tense line and encountered the same expression of inevitable resolve in his. He simply put his hands in his pockets, raised his brows, and gave a nonchalant shrug. _So what?_

If only Moze felt the same. Instead, she nearly sputtered, reaching to clasp both of her hands atop her helmet and pulled it down on herself as she let out an "Oh my god."

Her reaction had Zane quirking one eyebrow now, not quite seeing the purpose of her dramatic display. Them getting it on wasn't that inconceivable of a concept, was it? It shouldn't have been.

"What?" he replied finally, lifting his shoulders again. "Did ye think I was gay?"

"_Maybe_," Moze admitted, earning a snort from him before she set him firmly in her sights. "I mean, it's not like I can expect you to _behave-"_

He blinked before narrowing his eye, not so much defensive as challenging her audacity. "The feck does that mean?"

The operative's mouth was still open when the gunner turned to Amara and immediately disregarded him, causing him to scoff and glare unappreciatively in her direction.

"Isn't he a little, you know…" trailer the gunner, and though she pitched her voice low, it was obvious what she alluded to. Her message was practically audible, regardless, when she mouthed, "_old_ for you?"

Zane's frown was loud, but it wasn't like he hadn't considered the same thing on a few occasions - not that it was _true._ Why was it again that everyone assumed he was feckin' expired?

Amara was beginning to look flustered. Crossing her bold arms, she tipped her chin at the other woman and demanded, visibly daring the gunner to answer, "What does that matter?"

Evidently not having been far behind the gunner, FL4K stepped forth to make their appearance. With their nomadic garments fluttering in the breeze, they simultaneously admitted their awareness of the tense conversation and their detachment from the entirely human elements of it.

"I will not pretend to understand this situation," they said with detachment before asking, with flat curiosity, "Is time not a human construct?"

"Yer a smart lad, that's why," huffed the operative before using his poignant glare to successfully seize Moze's attention. "Sorry, am I missin' somethin'? Does Amara _need_ yer permission?"

The siren among them breathed his name as if damning him. "_Zane._"

"'M serious!" he responded, lightening his voice to a ridiculous degree. He wasn't being grouchy, but he was certainly befuddled by the situation. What in the feck was he hearing? "Moze, what we do ain't none o' yer business, far as I underst-"

"Like fuck it isn't!" she cut in.

_Now_ he was getting a touch frustrated. He didn't appreciate being led around the bush by any one of them, so he challenged: "An' why's that?"

"No, it's not," interjected Amara, glaring at the other woman. "Zane's right. I can't believe you're even arguing, Moserah."

Ohh, her actual name. That meant she was officially in trouble. Sensing this, the gunner clenched her hands, grit her teeth, and, aggressively toed the ground with one boot. She almost appeared like she wanted to retreat into Iron Bear.

"It's just- I _thought-_"

"-Were ye two…" Zane trailed off with a suggestive hand motion. It made Amara's face burn for multiple reasons, one being that he misunderstood and another that he would dare assume she could be promiscuous.

The Pandoran-Irishman recognized that he probably got himself in trouble with that one, but it was well worth it if his insinuation cut them to the chase. Both women were being confusing. It wasn't like he had expected them to be upfront and honest with him, given what they did also wasn't his damned business. Still, he would at least appreciate some _suggestions _with all the hinting going on - as if their shared embarrassment wasn't exposing enough.

Appearing as flustered as the siren and gunner did, he could only draw one conclusion. Him being wrong was all the more reason for them to answer some damn questions!

Amara's pinched expression clearly read: _Don't anyone think I make a point to sleep with my teammates! _She was getting pissed off at all of them - except FL4K, who announced to the trio:

"...I will remove myself and relocate to hunt with my beasts."

In tandem, the trio dismissively waved at them with overlapping _Go aheads, whatevers, sure_s. With Mr. Chew excitedly wriggling behind them, the AI promptly enacted their plan of action, trudging off and away from them. Now, the remaining vault hunters were quite literally a triangle.

Zane wasn't in any way intimidated by the unfolding situation, and he didn't have to be to envy the beastbot. Not only was the robotic entity void of opinion, but they were able to remove themself from a mess they had no involvement in. Hell, even _he_ didn't want to wade in it, neck-deep in it as he was.

When Moze finally managed to speak up, she cut him off again - even before he had the chance to further interrogate them.

"No," she admitted with a poignant frown. "I mean, not _exactly_."

"'_Not exactly', she says!_" came his incredulous outburst. He wanted to laugh despite everything but refrained - barely. "Well _there's_ a load off me bleedin' mind! That's _so_ convincin'!"

"Look," he threw out there before either woman could get a word in, loosely crossing his arms as he did. "I'm gonna give ye two a long while to talk this over 'tween ya. I'm outta this circus. I'll be over there 'til ye board the elephant."

And he damn well intended to leave it at that, turning on his heel to saunter on out of there and allow the gals their privacy. He even got a couple of steps into his retreat before a solid hand grabbed his wrist. He recognized the click of spherical beads embellishing it before he looked back.

"_Zane_," Amara breathed, her eyes positively pleading. She looked as close to being overwhelmed as he had ever seen her, and that was a bit startling.

Not wanting her to be in her position either, his expression softened. He certainly wasn't pissed off and he didn't want her to mistake him for it, so he relaxed his posture and waited for her to release him.

"What?" he asked, exasperated. "I don't care any. Jus' don't want to make this complicated." As if that could be avoided.

"It's not what you think it is," Amara further assured him. She didn't have to be a mind reader to detect what he assumed. What confused him was why she felt it bothered him.

Regardless, Zane had stated his truth. And he _had recently taken_ a hit to the head, but even then he was sure that the growing ache in his skull was as much from Moze's reaction as it was from him getting conked.

"Whatever ye say," he shrugged. Only then did Amara's softening hand drop from his wrist. At the same time, her eridium-graced gaze held his blue for a prolonged moment before she looked away.

Stuffing his hands back into his pants pockets, he sauntered away and literally left their mess behind him. As he had stated, he wouldn't go far. He would just allow them some space to figure themselves out while he sat his ass down on his arid planet of origin.

Probably what he _should_ have done was have a smoke and wonder what tomorrow might have in store for their team. Presumably, they would be stuck doing the same such and such while Vaughn and crew were busy getting their jollies off.

Just thinking of the pint-sized muscle man reminded Zane of his chipper personality. It was enough to have him scowling, which seemed contradictory given that they got along just swell. The bandit leader took to his jovial persona as one would expect: with equal, if not excessive, enthuse.

As one could imagine, their interactions became a bit much at times. The operative realized he could be a handful himself, but he sure as hell didn't share Vaughn's painful optimism. With how negatively he stared into the distance, that much was obvious. Particularly now, when he wasn't feeling his cheeriest, Zane was relieved that his bandit bro wasn't bouncing around and flaunting himself. Had he been, the operative couldn't have resisted hogtying and gagging him.

Well, at least he wasn't alone in his mood, whatever exactly it was. Even from where he settled at the edge of Roland's Rest, he could hear his female teammates tensely addressing each other. Had he been significantly younger, and therefore more tolerant of drama, he might have yearned for popcorn.

_Don't blame him, Moze. I initiated it._

_But why? I thought we were getting close._

_I really, _really_ don't think I need to defend myself._

_You're...you're right. I'm sorry. But seriously, were you ever going to tell me?_

_I don't know._

_What about everyone else?_

_I haven't decided yet. Look, Moze…_

Despite how he could have listened beyond that, Zane didn't. Things seemed to be getting too heavy for eavesdroppers.

Instead, he scrubbed his gloved fingers through his hair and knocked some of Pandora's persistent dust from it. Did the same with his mustache and beard, ensuring both were quite literally on-point. Watched FL4K walking off in the distance, climbing an elevated rock ledge that protruded from the wasteland. Mr. Chew was ahead of them, in eager pursuit of a rakk that would undoubtedly burst into flight the moment it felt threatened.

It wasn't the scenery Zane felt misplaced in. Instead, it still nagged at him that he had played a role in Amara and Moze's argument. He could count on one hand the number of disagreements their team had had since having fatefully met on that same shitehole of a planet.

For a moment, he felt like a tool Amara had hurt Moze with. If that had been the case, well, he _was_ far too feckin' old for that. But with how tightly the siren had kept their affair under wraps, he knew his split second of suspicion was utterly foolish and a total testament to his former experiences. The tone of Amara's velvet voice was laden with equal parts sadness and sympathy for the shaken soldier. How she tried to comfort her proved she cared for her.

Time would help everything blow over and allow the initial shock of it to sink in. If not? Who knew. Zane couldn't consider his past experiences to be all that relatable. The only times he had gotten between two women had been very literal and physically enjoyable.

As for dealing with jealous folks, there had been plenty. At the bidding of whatever partner he'd had at the time, he had killed a few nutjob exes who refused to let go and instilled the fear of death into other competitors who wouldn't lay off. In hindsight, it had all been silly, as shortly thereafter, he would head off on his own way without so much as a backward glance.

He bounced around a lot, he always said. Bounced right into and out of beds. Bounced right into and out of people's lives. Bounced himself into messes and out of them. That was just what he did.

Clearly that didn't apply to their team of vault hunters, which made things with Moze slightly more complicated. He trusted the gunner to have a level enough head on her shoulders. She was just upset, was all, but he was certain she wouldn't take her shock out on anyone. He didn't think her harping at Amara would last since she had already tried to collect herself and apologize.

Really, what could Moze expect - that Amara would be indefinitely off-limits to everyone, or was that limitation only enforced among teammates? That would be a real bit of bullshite if that was indeed the case. Not only that, but it would be hypocritical as hell of her if she judged their fraternizing while wanting to do the same damn thing.

Zane could confidently read Moze enough to suspect that was one reason for her adverse reaction. Could he put himself in her shoes and envision what it would be like if the tables had been turned and _he _had wanted Amara, only to have her swept out from right under him?

Nope, he couldn't. He didn't work that way, and honestly, he hadn't taken Amara from anyone. She had approached him willingly and of her own volition. Prior to that, he had never suspected that she had held any sort of flame for him. That she did still managed to feck with his head sometimes. So what if he and Amara had chemistry and she was likely the only Raider he would have banged? Evidently the siren appealed to at least two of them.

The man he was, Zane identified as too fickle to attach to any expectations or notions of flings. He fantasized freely but never really invested himself in anything so personal.

Currently, he found himself most irritated by Moze insinuating that he was _misbehaving._ It wasn't that he didn't agree with her, particularly given that his background in black ops shared fundamental roots with hers. Soldiers fulfilled their objections, never asked questions, and weren't allowed to fraternize. Sure, it wasn't like he had followed such stringent protocols since serving Dahl and those placed by his benefactors weren't _military_ strict. Never had any of his contracts had to spell out rules of _not_ fucking his targets.

Generally, women were wired differently than men. Moze likely felt lead-on by Amara, and he couldn't say he blamed her. He had certainly witnessed the siren returning the gunner's flirtations, but that didn't mean she _owed_ her anything or was in any way obligated to return her affections. Flirtation could be a fun game and nothing more. Quite possibly Moze had read too far into that coy teasing or boundary testing. Then again, maybe she hadn't.

Zane didn't claim to know everything that went on behind closed doors or when he was otherwise preoccupied. Amara could have just as well been fooling around with Moze, same as she had been doing with him. However, she didn't strike him as that sort of person, and he considered himself proficient in reading others - particularly given his own proclivities.

Some people who played the field felt excessive insecurity like Amara had back when she had thought of him with other bed partners. Still, given Moze's honest surprise, she had been convinced that whatever she shared with the siren - emotional or otherwise - had been monogamous.

From what he was hearing, Moze still hadn't suggested anything to the tone of them having banged each other. No "_You're fucking him too?" _or "_So our sex meant nothing to you?_" All things considered, that was kind of a shame.

Zane had heard those lines at length before but definitely not from Moze and certainly not now. If he had, he would feel more like reaching into a bucket of butter and salt-laden popcorn than the flask he pulled out.

He drank...just a little bit. Sure, his standards of measurement were more generous than the average feller's, but he was feeling dry and hoarse. He returned his stash back to his pocket _before_ it ran empty, which was progress, wasn't it?

Nah. He just wanted to ensure it was tucked away before Amara returned so that she didn't make the mistake of thinking he was drinking over _this. _While she should have known him better by now - evidently _far_ better than Moze had suspected - she should recognize that drinking was just what he did.

From what he gathered, it didn't sound like Amara was going to march the gunner out and demand that the two of them kiss and make up. Though the siren acted like that stern sort of do-gooder, she should also know that such a forced gesture would be insincere. Zane would make sure to initiate _some_ sort of lighthearted talk with Moze when the dust had settled. He would give her an affectionate smooch on the cheek, knowing she would playfully bat at him. Hell, it was already happening in his head.

Had he been watching his teammate's interactions, he would have seen the siren grab the gunner's arm and lead her into the building where Vaughn had gathered them a day before. As though anticipating their verbal escalation, Amara had attempted to muster what privacy she could for them.

Truth be told, the three of them had too much history together to be any other way and far too much success and trust at stake to fall short of that. If the Calypsos and their massive army of zealots hadn't divided their team, how could one siren unintentionally manage? And not that Zane gave half as much of a shite about the Crimson Raiders, but they needed their current vault hunters to be more secure, and unified, than that.

He might have been the one screwing Amara but somehow, Zane ended up feeling like the third wheel. While he wasn't sure if he particularly cared for that, he understood there wasn't much he could do about it short of subtracting himself from the equation. It seemed damn unfair of him to do that because _Moze _wanted him to. Only Amara could decide if she deserved any involvement. If this whole argument proved the two women couldn't handle things, then they would have to figure something out.

As adept at reading people as he was, Zane sincerely doubted it would come to that. Moze was hurt. She could nurse her wounds for a while. Time would heal. It wasn't like he and Amara would flaunt their fling in her face. They hadn't intended to in the first place. And while it really wasn't his place to speak up, he wondered if it would be more reassuring for Moze to know that their attraction was physical. Emotionally, Amara was all hers.

_That_, he had encountered. He had been a cock for a few same-sex couples before - there for a good time, a fun ride, and nothing more. Sometimes he screwed only one individual, and sometimes he satisfied the needs of both. However, it only worked if everyone was on the same page. If anything, his ability to compartmentalize everything had made those arrangements ideal.

It was Amara's place to suggest that if it was indeed what she wanted. Maybe he would mention it to her, assuming she hadn't considered the option before, and then again maybe he wouldn't. He certainly wasn't against it, even if that would enmesh their team even more than he would ordinarily encourage.

If Amara decided things with him needed to end, well...they'd had a good one. A _damn _good one. In fact, he would be lucky to ever find such a great lay again. Fortunately, his standards weren't terribly high. With how confidently he felt he had made the most of their times together, he had nothing to regret - except, of course, going there in the first place.

As it was, Zane didn't allow himself to have an actual opinion. Absolutely not. As far as he was concerned, this wasn't about him - and it never should have been. Truth be told, he was just some chap interested in getting his dick wet. That was the life he lived. Men like him didn't care for more.

Scratch that - he cared for his teammates plenty. Hell, it wasn't like he felt the same abrasion for Moze that he had for Axton. He was _all_ for her picking up where he would inevitably leave off. At least then, he could ensure that Amara would be well taken care of.

It was becoming more and more impossible for him not to hear the two women raising their voices in argument but the operative did well enough to tune them out. He felt bad for his favorite lasses, truly. It hardly seemed fair that he was seated there absently watching a dust cloud kick up in the distance before dissipating.

Under what circumstance would he be any other way? That was just how he was. The way he figured it, he was never due to change, ever, or make the same mistakes his teammates were making among themselves.

Detecting motion, Zane's blue eye flicked up to witness Amara step out from the shack looking a little worse for wear. She made quick work of following the tracks his boots had made, effectively leaving the other woman behind her. Ordinarily, he didn't mind showing his concern but felt it was better, right then and there, to maintain an air of neutrality. That was his view on the matter, after all. There was no reason to mislead anyone.

The siren huffed as she dropped to the ground beside him, nearly close enough that their knees brushed. There was certainly nothing unordinary about that - at least not until she got a particularly determined look to her. He really didn't expect her to lean into him, grab him by the beard, and kiss him.

All things considered, it wasn't much - just a brush of mouths and a moment of stroking of tongues that he obliged, cautiously, until she pulled away. Settling back on criss-cross legs, Amara sighed as though in relief and said, "It's nice to be able to do that, finally."

Arching a skeptical brow, Zane spared a glance at the place he had last seen Moze and chose his words with some consideration.

"Ah, so...not that ye gotta tell me, but how'd it go?" Like he didn't already know. Still, he hoped he had misinterpreted the mostly negative aftermath.

"Not as well as I hoped," admitted the siren with another hefty sigh. Then, with resolve, she added, "but we'll work through it, me and her."

Yeah, he was the third wheel as expected. That confirmed it was best for him to sit pretty than have to endure fighting between women. Personal experience had extensively proven that they could be the worst.

"Zane," she said, drawing his attention. Her voice was quieter than he figured he had ever heard before. "Are you...okay with this?"

Such an ambiguous statement. It had him quietly snorting in his chest. "Honestly? Not sure what 'this' is. Don't like the two of ye bein' at odds, ever."

"I know. I guess I meant to ask how you feel about this."

"_Well,_" began the operative, wishing he had formulated more of an opinion in advance, but him having done so wouldn't have given Amara the honest answer she deserved from him. "I dunno. The two o' us have some good times, an' I appreciate 'em, but responsibility dictates that the team comes first. That's how we started, aye? The rest o' this is just…"

It wasn't like him to leave anything open-ended, but he supposed it couldn't be helped. After all, he didn't care to explain himself.

"'S your decision," he recovered promptly. "You want to involve Moze in it, it's yer call. I'm fine either way. I don't like things bein' more complicated than they gotta be. What _I'm_ gonna do is support ye, alright?"

That was all he could do, really. Honestly, it was the best thing he _could_ do. But just in case she had any doubts…

"I'll be fine with whatever ye choose, 'Mara. Don't go thinkin' I won't. Ye wanna use this as an ice breakin' thing with Moze, have at it. I'll be glad for ye. Never been clearer she's interested. I mean, even _I _thought ye two were hookin' up or workin' up to it."

Something crossed Amara's expression. Despite all his perceptiveness, he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Maybe she was considering his suggestion? Or regretted disregarding the gunner's interest in the first place? Chances were, she might have regretted resorting to him in the first place.

Heck, if he had to be some sort of stepping stone for the two young women to figure themselves out, he would feel like he was doing them a service.

The way Amara sighed was forlorn, and finally, Zane allowed himself to frown. He put one hand on her shoulder, giving her a gentle squeeze, before leveling with her.

"Look, I'm a whole lotta amazing things," he tried lightly, "but I'm absolute _shite_ at these kinda talks. That doesn't mean I can't listen. Guess the only advice I can give ye - an' I know ye ain't askin' fer it - is to jus' do you. Worry 'bout Amara. Do what's good for her an' not Moze or this charmin' bastard. Can't go wrong with that can ye?"

Amara never answered him. Instead, she braced her chin on her hands and stared off into the distance, the horizon reflecting in the eridium shade of her eyes. Perceptive as Zane prided himself in being, he couldn't decide whether she was deep in thought or waiting for something.


	19. Until We Breathe Air Again [The Inevitable Divide]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the days where I have a nagging feeling that I've disappointed former reviewers, I consider leaving the story off here. It would make a pretty bad ending. Countcuntula, you make my day tho. I could always use more of you. *Internet hugs*
> 
> \- The first chapter of this story takes place a year after the game. More vault hunting must have happened since, which is mentioned here, but I ain't writing that.  
\- I'm personally amused at Zane's sock choices for teenagers.  
\- Y'all knew this needed to happen.

In all his years, Zane couldn't recall having found himself cut off from a partner. He had always been the one to end affairs. He had certainly never had to continue encountering the people he had fecked on a daily basis, nevermind work closely alongside them as he did with Amara.

Days passed and she never gave him a sign of interest or any signal that they were still on sexual terms. Sure, they'd had their dry spells due to external factors before, but they had at least messaged each other, stolen secret glances, or snuck in touches - anything to keep that fire alive. Now there was only radio silence.

Despite the functions of his augmented eye, the operative found himself checking his ECHO more frequently with each passing night. Early-on, he had been borderline obsessive with it. He had hoped to encounter a message from Amara that had somehow bypassed his attention and gone missed - but there were none. He didn't discover a single [Can we talk?] or any attempt to arrange a meet-up. Unless he encountered Amara in the halls, on the bridge, or during social meals, neither of them said a word to each other.

Confusing as feck as it was, he decided it was fine - or that it should have been. Of all things, he shouldn't have let it gnaw at him any. It wasn't like he expected Amara to get her personal challenges in order in such a short period of time. Beyond that, it wasn't his place to suggest they address anything until she initiated it.

He had, however, gone so far as to hit up his barber and flaunt his gloriously fly hair when back aboard Sanctuary, vividly recalling how Amara had basically jumped his dick for two days straight after his last cut. It was almost pathetic how hard he had tried to turn up the charm.

Now, nothing. The siren all but stared through him and his antics. It almost left his ego heartbroken. How could she not appreciate how damn attractive he was? Fortunately, he wasn't half as superficial as he behaved, but still.

While he wished she would speak up to him, he hadn't been lying when he had admitted he was shite at such intimate discussions. He was a badarse at a lot of things - a proud renaissance man, as it were - but he had never gotten a hang of _that. _He had never had a reason to, as he kept everyone at a distance.

In one stint, he had posed as a therapist in order to do a more humane shakedown of intel from a target. His benefactor at the time had been unusually moral and hadn't wanted to exterminate the lad until they determined he had indeed earned it. Apparently, such specialists were difficult to come by. The pay had been generous, and the job had been something new for a change. It didn't mean he was any good at working that angle, but with the right attitude and proper mindset, he managed to make a successful mission of it.

Even then, _that_ particular situation didn't quite apply here. This time, he had more personally invested in the outcome of Amara's troubles. It wasn't even like he wanted to acknowledge that, but he sure as shite didn't have a payment riding on it. If anything, he was due to pay _for_ what had happened.

And he did, in taking Amara's quiet behavior to heart. She had numerous chances to give him some direction and she hadn't. That was telling enough for him. They were back to square one: appropriate partners again, with no semblance to the friends with benefits they had formerly been.

Truth be told, Zane had expected someone to figure them out...but not for his own teammates to ruin it. In fact, he had figured they would laugh it off, only for things to continue.

A time or two, he couldn't help but catch himself thinking,_ Damnit, Moze, what'd I ever do to ye?_

Well for one, he seemed to have helped himself to her woman - the one Amara had insisted she wasn't.

At least Moze hadn't held a grudge against him. In fact, she came around rather quickly. It seemed she knew he was left in the dark in a lot of ways and was rightfully convinced that his intentions weren't malicious. He was far from morally decent, but he wasn't much into the homewrecking business. He hadn't even needed to further assure her of that. In fact, they never discussed what had happened beyond some basic apologies and a pint.

They both knew it was better to let things be said and done. Nicer to continue ribbing each other and backing one another like they always had. It wasn't like they could blame each other for having an interest in the same woman - one who quite possibly could have spared them all the trouble had she been more mindful. But that was easy for them to say.

Regardless, Zane was glad to tease the short soldier again. He enjoyed their playful shoving and mockingly stooping to her level whenever he hugged her around the shoulders. Returning to that chumminess was far better than having her stomp him flat with Iron Bear, and besides, good relations enabled him to shred through their enemies with its turret.

The same ease of working alongside one woman couldn't be said for the other. In effect, Zane had to partner with the siren he still had an unsatisfied and intense sexual attraction to - precisely the one he had to stop screwing because of a decision that hadn't been his own. In no way had he voluntarily thrown in the towel or otherwise had his fill of her. And short of going on a solo venture, he couldn't avoid having Amara practically dangled in front of him like some untouchable temptation.

Determined as he was, for a change, to behave himself, he didn't watch Amara's plump lips when she talked, nor did he think about kissing the words out of her. Or remember how they parted when she came, allowing sounds of euphoria to escape her. Or worse, imagine his dick sucked between them. He didn't. _He didn't._

Alright, so he had on more than one occasion. He was a hot-blooded boyo, after all, with extremely tempting experiences. At least he had enough diligence to refuse such distractions whenever his arse was on the line.

Sometimes, when his concentration slipped, he was hit with moments of disappointment. He had to remind himself that Amara could very well have enjoyed what they'd had. As a lass, however, she likely favored emotional satisfaction over physical gratification. Chances were, it didn't matter how hard he could make her come...or even if she appreciated the closeness they had shared...if she felt for Moze, then no amount of pleasure he gave her would compare.

_That_ was how normal folks functioned, Zane supposed. He sure as hell wouldn't know - he was merely an observer. As it was, he had no business dissecting Amara's mentality. Since she wasn't a target, he didn't need to predict her next actions or identify her vulnerabilities. He definitely wasn't going to capture Moze and use her as leverage to do his dirty work.

Just thinking of his former profession had him inwardly cursing his retirement again. Had it not been for that, he would have never found himself in his current predicament.

All things considered, he was grateful that Amara was still his boyo...even if she stopped sharing those covert glances with him. Their friendship remained intact, even if he felt inclined to tread with foreign caution. He figured hinting at his lingering interest, provided it wasn't wanted or invited, would be a surefire way to sour her mood. He certainly didn't need her thinking he viewed her like some piece of arse, because he didn't. Them sleeping together had never overshadowed his respect for her, and it would remain that way.

So no, he didn't try to catch the siren in any suggestive glances or private little moments. Instead, he walked the straight and narrow like he had never stopped. If not for his vivid memories and his other evidence of their flings, they might have all seemed like a dream.

So what if things went back to how they were before things got naughty? All things told, life had been pretty damn good. He could do as he had before and kick back with a pint, enjoy hanging with his boyos, and make opportunities to get laid along the way. So long as he had a drink nearby, kept his full head of hair, and didn't have too many fresh bullet holes in him, he could resume being his outwardly happy-go-lucky self. At least then, he wouldn't have to deal with anyone's shite - except Ava's, but he had signed up for that and, honestly, the old man in him liked doing it.

Really, Zane asked himself, did he have any right to complain about _anything_? He couldn't have asked for them to have a cleaner break. Maybe he would have preferred to have some say in whatever affected him, but he couldn't do shite about it. It had never been like him to feel despondent. More than anything, he would have appreciated actually knowing their stance. Despite being an operative who worked in smoke and mirrors, he preferred having solid answers.

Well, it wasn't like he could go any grayer. That ship had sailed ages ago.

The fact that Amara hadn't returned his responder could have seemed promising if it hadn't been for everything else. He wasn't sure if he could derive hope from that or assume she simply didn't know how to give it back. If she was _that_ awkward about it, and that apprehensive about where a conversation between them might lead, then...he didn't know what to think. He could straight-up request it back, but even then, he didn't want to force her hand. It wasn't like he needed it anyway nor did he want to invade her space.

The Flynt he fecking was, Zane hated having filters. Despite hating having restrictions, they had been a necessity when they had hidden their affair from their fellow vault hunters. Now, _everything_ was off-limits, and he was left trapped in his own head. Given a choice, he didn't keep his tongue or his behaviors on leashes. Keeping them on such strict, short tethers only added to his internal duress.

Granted, he _had_ suggested that Amara do what was best for herself, and he still firmly stood by that. God knew she had enough time with him to know if what he provided her wasn't worth returning to. Hell, it wasn't like he wanted her to settle for something that didn't work for her. Her happiness was worth far more than him emptying his balls. He wasn't _that_ selfish of a bastard, and he wasn't on the market to prove himself wrong.

Not everyone derived happiness from pounding back pints and getting off, however superficial and short-lived it was. That was _his _song and dance. Given how it had gotten him through fifty-three long years, Zane figured he had no reason to quit. He certainly hadn't intended to, and that left him a little grumpy - but he sure as shite wasn't going to show it.

So yeah, he found himself frequenting planetside bars again. _Alone._ He appreciated the relief and change in scenery. Putting Sanctuary behind him helped remove him from the environment that invariably reminded him of a certain siren.

Only when he was truly shitefaced was he bitter, and even then, he knew he had no reason to be. But damnit, he was kind of lonely. He was tired of pining. Fed up with wanting the amazing woman he'd had - and what in the feck was with that anyhow? That gave him _more _reason to feel scorned. Of course, when he sobered up, he refused to acknowledge any of it. Even if he managed to, he simply brushed it off as him having any other reason to be in a foul mood.

Inevitably, when he began binge drinking, it was only a matter of time before he went too far. He didn't remember much of the latest occasion - only that he had been so hammered, he had begun airing out his dirty laundry and worst miseries to the barkeep who, fortunately, wasn't Moxxi. He vaguely remembered two brawny lads hoisting his pissfaced self off his barstool and then a whole lotta nada. Blackout drinking was exciting like that.

It hadn't been the persistent chirping of an alarm in his earpiece that had dragged Zane out of his drunken sleep. Instead, after ten minutes of absent response, his ECHOeye automatically booted up. Particularly when hungover, having light directly forced into one's unprepared brain was one of the most miserable ways to wake up. It made him spit a skull-splitting string of curses and slap a hand over the device to cover it. Had his eye patch been less complicated to remove, he would have flung the offending device away.

After an unknown duration of cowering from his groggy headache and slumping atop black bags of trash - where he belonged, he would later decide - Zane discovered himself in a littered alleyway reeking of vomit, piss, and blood...only to belatedly notice three shot-up men nearby.

Recognizing the handiwork of his clone, the operative deployed it for an explanation. With its hands on its hips, the digital entity had dictated the detailed events across his ECHOeye. According to it, he had been face-down and unresponsive when the trio of thugs had attempted to mug him. The digi-struct had promptly dispatched them.

Fine by him. His only problem had been hauling ass to return to Sanctuary and attend the mandatory meeting his alarm had been set for.

By the time he had regained functionality, he'd had twenty minutes to reach a fast track, throw his clothes in the expedited laundry so he _didn't _smell like trash, and take the universe's quickest shower. He skipped shaving entirely, left his unstyled hair fallen across his forehead, and had still managed to be late.

Stealthily as he could manage, Zane had squeezed himself into the back of the crowd. He did his damndest to both behave as though he had been in attendance since the beginning and like he hadn't been thoroughly hungover.

It definitely hadn't been his best showing, but feck it, it didn't have to be. He was the first body out of the room when the event was adjourned. He wasn't a people person in the morning anyway. Proving it, he had promptly returned to his cabin, thrown himself atop his cot, and scraped up a couple additional hours of sleep. Upon waking, he had tamed his mane and hit up his usual haunt.

The instant his arse touched down on his preferred barstool, Moxxi was sliding a generous drink by his elbow. "For the hangover, sugar."

"That bad, 'ey?" he rhetorically muttered before lifting it to his lips and giving it a taste. Whatever it was, it was _horrid. _He could practically feel it curl his mustache and scorch his stubble. No doubt it would do the trick.

Massive and plush as they were, Moxxi's offered tits weren't the ones he _wanted_ his aching head pillowed by but he gladly took what he could get. She pet the back of his hair for that matter of moments before he reluctantly drew away and went about knocking back whatever concoction she had given him. For now, it would have to do. He had two before he had left the bar.

Because life went on, he kept being his usual outward self. He hung out with his team and ate meals alongside them. He made friendly and strange conversations. He kicked his boots up in the commons and managed not to look as sexually constipated as he felt. Had he seemed off his stride, surely someone would have ribbed him for it. That was what their group did, after all. Fortunately, everyone gave him his distance when he kept to himself, aware that he had always been somewhat private.

Even _that _was a game of balance because he couldn't overdo his introversion without raising brows. It wasn't much like him to stay in the shadows unless he was on official business. Besides, in casually interacting with Amara and exposing himself to temptation, he grew accustomed to it. Gradually, the operative began feeling more like himself.

Curious soul he was, though, Zane decidedly refrained from noticing if Moze and Amara spent any amount of time among themselves. For one, it wasn't any of his damn business. Beyond that, he wasn't particularly in the mood to watch someone enjoy what he no longer had.

As far as he was concerned, he was on the receiving end of cosmic justice. He had slipped up, fecked up, and now he was paying for it. No wonder he hated that shite.

Likely he committed yet another mistake when admitting to himself, during one particular intoxicated night, that he missed more than just sex. He woke up wishing Amara's warm body was smooth and inviting beside his. He missed feeling the divine fullness of her lips and sharing bouts of lazy kisses when they were both sated and settled in. He missed spooning against her and tucking his nose into her rich hair, where he could best inhale her comforting scent. He missed holding her hand and sharing those brief, and unfairly pleasant, moments of forbidden contact.

Yeah, so, he could be a soft man sometimes. _That_ was new. Undoubtedly it came with age. Just because he enjoyed spending less time chasing tail and more time cuddling a certain woman didn't mean he was ruined...it just meant he was tired and disenchanted with the rest. Even he could enjoy the simpler things in life, and besides, with all the sex he'd experienced, no wonder he had developed a taste for something new and different.

He most certainly wasn't going soft. He _definitely _wasn't. Clearly he couldn't forget what his dick was for, despite often wishing he would. Even then, he had never given any attention to how lovely nonsexual contact could be. Focusing on feeling a partner stroke their hands down his chest or back...savoring the sensations of their fingers carding through his hair or combing across his scalp...soaking in the way Amara's full lips had pressed to his forehead…

Yeah...those were very enjoyable things. Maybe he had simply reached a stage in his life where a little affection went further than he had ever expected.

To think he used to look forward to waking at some god awful hour in the morning when sleeping with her. Even when they had stayed up far too late, the results had always been the same. Now, he found himself jonesing for those private visits. He missed them facing each other and sharing that intimacy together. He missed being slap happy with her and hearing all her velvety giggles. The things they had done to him had been _unfair_, same as seeing her beguiling eyes glitter with flirtatious amusement. Moments spent like those, with her lazily smiling and toying with his beard or chest hair, convinced him that he would do any number of crazy things just to keep her looking like that.

Even sweeter was seeing the universe's buff and badarse siren looking positively cozy beside him as she made soft sounds in her sleep. With the faintest touch of his hand, she would shuffle closer and breathe pleasantly against his neck. _Those_ were the moments that truly did him in and proved that he was a sappy old bastard for a certain siren - and that terrified him.

In all years, Zane had never given an authentic shite about making anyone happy - except himself. More than anything, his ego had been his primary motivation for satisfying his employers. Still, there was no denying how making Amara feel good had made him feel _amazing._

If he needed proof that he had been in it too deep, that was irrefutably it. He didn't care to wear that particular noose around his neck, which meant that if it hadn't already, their affair needed to end.

Evidently, it was time for him to hang up his gear and join a retirement community. There, he could break out the black knee-high socks, open-toed sandals, and trade his jacket for a tropical button-down. And when he was feeling _really _randy, he could invite an equally geezer lady to BINGO night or drive her wild with a game of pinochle. He could pull on a tweed coat and tasseled loafers then and _really_ be dripping in wrinkly babes. Was there a sexy way to remove one's soiled diapers? If he was _really_ lucky, maybe he would have a busty nurse feed him jello. He could live the rest of his life collecting porcelain figurines and watching infomercials!

Phew, he really needed to die long before that. That entire scenario was easily the most believable, and therefore horrifying, circle of Hell. Already, he wasted hours of his life consuming cheesy and mind-numbing advertisements. He had never really disliked his hair having gone gray so damn early but now, he recognized how it qualified him that much more for that role.

Goddamn melanin, why did it have to ditch him like that? He practically had gone from a few metallic roots to geriatric overnight. Not that he had any intention of altering his _distinguished_ appearance, but he could only imagine how loud it would scream mid-life crisis if he walked out of his room one day with dyed hair.

_Nothin' ta see here! Jus' rememberin' the hair color I used to have!_

Entertaining himself with humor was significantly better, and more his style, than recalling the amazing lay he used to have. Already, he did that too damn often despite resisting. Particularly when he was a few bottles deep into inebriation, he found his mind lingering on all the memories he was cursed with.

Like the way Amara fingered him. There weren't enough women around who were open to fecking a lad's arse, particularly not how into it she had been. Feck, to think of all the huge loads he had shot over himself or pulsed down her throat from that. He was pretty sure he had gone cross-eyed, if not temporarily blind, from it more than a few times. Don't get him wrong, he_ absolutely _valued her for far more than that and had been just as glad to share a friendly meal with her, but he also couldn't deny how much he had needed that. He _loved _feeling her fingers in him. _Loved it._ There were no two ways about that.

God, and having her milk his prostate while riding him had nearly killed him, he swore it. After the first time, they had done it again and again. Versatile manslut he proudly was, he had been in between two men more than once, but the absolute mindfuck of having Amara and all her hands have their way with him _really _did him in. It made him wish she really had fecked him. He couldn't fathom what that would do to him, but he was pretty sure he could be struck dead just from his longing.

Zane didn't care to torture himself more on that. In fact, he was a far more complex lad than anyone peeking in his head would suspect. He just _preferred_ to spend his spare time watching his brain bob in the gutter, even if it made him consider hiring a capable whore. He certainly had nothing against them, and he had the money, so why the feck shouldn't he? He could really use the relief.

If only things were that easy - as they damn well should have been.

Given Amara's insecurities, he knew the worst thing for him to do was to turn around and feck someone else. She wouldn't understand that his reason for screwing around wouldn't be personal or proof that she hadn't been good enough. After all, he hadn't been biting at the bit to have a taste of anyone else when they had been banging. He had even assured her as much, so it would be a particularly arsehole move of his to behave in a contradicting manner - not that she should have cared since they hadn't had any strings attached. Beyond that, it wasn't that she would _know._

It wasn't like he could go bending anyone over in Sanctuary, as much as some men at the bar practically begged for it. Zane didn't need cybernetics to detect interest. His accuracy was flawless - and given the shortage of available women aboard, there were plenty of men present who were willing to have a throw-down with the likes of him.

At any time, anywhere, he could go out and seduce damn near anyone he fancied. One night stands certainly didn't have to require effort or be memorable in any way. Aside from finding partners who he actually _wanted _to get off, he could be a selfish bastard. He had far more Slam-Bam-Thank-You-Ma'am flings than anything. Sometimes, he was guilty of investing more effort in wanking than he did in his trysts.

In general, the more sweet talking he did before enjoying a Get-Off-and-Get-Out lay directly correlated with the number of objects women threw at his head. In contrast, men were more likely to relate and ask to exchange comm details. In other words, rarely had he given himself any reason to nakedly lounge around in self-satisfaction or go for seconds - and that was nearly exclusively how he preferred it. With Amara, what he wanted had been consistently different. Of course, it didn't help him any to think of that, now did it?

So he didn't. Instead, he recognized that being so handsome and charming was a curse at times - particularly when he couldn't do a damn thing about it. If he had truly known Amara was through with him, he would have grabbed his lube and gone to town...or so he liked to think. In reality, he knew he shouldn't.

Instead, the operative acknowledged that he needed to detox. Throughout his long life, he had forced himself through a number of them. It was his understanding, and personal experience, that enduring withdrawal was well worth the results it reaped. Given his addictive tendencies, he knew that his sanity often hinged on it.

Detox of any kind was hell, and was certainly intended to be, but it did the trick. Soon enough, he would be as sexually sane as he had been during his last celibacy stint - back when retirement had taken him to Pandora. His determination to see that through was what prevented him from breaking in Moxxi's bed in _Zane Flynt_ fashion - or so he preferred to believe. She was, after all, openly willing.

Still, he wanted to get his head back in the game. More than that, he didn't want to piss Amara off, regardless of whether or not she would have the right to judge him. How could his teammates notice his good side - which was _every _side - if he was on their bad one? He had spent enough time sweating Moze's adverse reaction to discovering them. Now, everything was back to relatively normal, and he was glad for it.

Really, there hadn't been but that brief hiccup before the four of them had reclaimed their rhythm and fought as fiercely in sync as they ever had. Trusting his boyos as he did, Zane expected nothing less of his fellow vault hunters. They never disappointed. He even surprised himself with how much he refrained from staring at Amara like a dirty old man.

Keeping himself in check was no small feat, given how her hips swayed and tight waist beckoned him. During missions, he didn't dare let her get ahead of him unless some opponent diverted his attention. Despite how deeply acquainted he was with her sinful body, the operative could still draw upon his technical training to maintain discipline. Determined as he was, he intended to persist until all of his lingering yearning faded.

The siren he _did_ focus on was a spunky little punk who tried running circles around him and made old jokes despite him keeping up. He invested more time than ever in showing Ava the ropes and escorting her planetside. Similarly, he had resumed tinkering with his virtual reality projects and used them to engage his favorite teenager. Together, they logged numerous hours reinforcing her weapon handling and kicking all sorts of simulated arse. As always, he gave her what knowledge he could and watched her absorb it like the whiz kid she proved she was.

His reputation and professional longevity proved that he probably had _some _wisdom worth passing on. Regardless of whether or not that was true, it sure as hell didn't stop him from trying!

"Ye get experienced as me - which I hope to heck ye don't 'cause I want ye to have a life that ain't all fightin' - ye get this six sense fer guns," he told her with sincerity. "Ye end up with a handle on knowin' what ta expect from most firearms jus' by the feel of 'em - an' that's even_ before _ye shoot 'em. It ain't jus' the components an' weight of 'em that kinda gives 'em away. There's some visceral sorta balance.

"'Course, any weapon is like a partner," he went on, noting how intensely invested she was in his explanations. "Ye gotta learn how ta best adapt to 'em. In fact, many change. Ye put enough rounds through 'em an' elements of their firin' can change. Some guns feel smooth as butter when they break in. Sometimes, they get downright _sexy _\- ah, heh. Jus' take me word fer it," he chuckled and then abruptly, and enthusiastically, added: "Or don't!"

Appearing too scared to, Ava had pulled a face that was more than capable of earning his boisterous laughter. He had smooshed her into a one-sided hug and affectionately ruffled her hair for that.

He could be a boot camp instructor when he _had _to, and Ava knew that. In fact, she surprised him with her determination and diligence. She wanted to go, go, _go_ all day, all night, which was a drive he appreciated. He was always the one to disengage the program and cause it to dissipate around them, causing the girl to regress into her whining and immature ways.

At least she was cute, even if she always accused _him_ of being tired. Accustomed to it, he ignored her while they returned to the bridge with a meal in tow. Truth be told, she was the best company he could have since she just _loved _to frequently and extensively remind him of his age.

"Ye can either call me '_dad' _or '_gramps'," _he informed her with a snort. "Pick one, 'cause lass, the two clash."

"Doesn't '_old man' _cover them both?" she countered with her most accomplished grin.

"...Eh," he grunted, giving a forfeiting shrug. "S'pose ye got me there."

After everything was said and done, Zane decided he couldn't return to his former self soon enough. He hated being sexually frustrated and could only continue cursing his addictive personality. There were times where their vault hunting team was neck-deep in their missions, and running in pursuit of _something_, when he used each hoarse pant to remind himself, _you're fifty, you're fifty, you're fifty._

His lungs were convinced but his libido was not. It made it all the more aggravating to know he hadn't lusted after Amara as badly when they had been fecking - but of course, why would he have? He'd had an outlet then.

And naturally, it was just like his damn personality to crave something _more_ when he wasn't supposed to have it. Tell him or otherwise insinuate what he couldn't have and what did he end up wanting with the burn of a thousand suns? _That very thing._

Now, when he was agitated, he noticed himself on the cusp of running into battle like a madman far worse than usual. _That_ was the most dangerous element of it: the bloodlust from pent up testosterone. Thanks to it, he resorted less to his tech and, instead, physically pulverized bandits to a bloody mess. He viciously _needed _to act on that physical manifestation of his sexual frustration, often at the expense of his own fists.

Usually, it took a few thorough maulings for him to come to his senses and resort to his usual combat methods, engaging more of his brains, his sentinel, and his clone than his penis.

The worst of it was knowing he couldn't jerk off, lest it exacerbate his condition. Unfortunately, it was best for him to suffer and leave his goddamn langer to rot off. _Eventually,_ his tiddly bits would get the memo that the shop was closed for business and realize that they needed to shut the feck up. Until then, he chain-smoked. At his worst, he sucked down a half pack in one session when ordinarily, a single cig every blue moon tied him over.

He ended up making his supplier of the antiquated commodity one rich wanker when he bought out his stash - at no small cost even to him, thanks to supply and demand. That meant his tobacco-related expenditures exceeded his consumption of alcohol for once. There were indeed firsts for everything!

Zane wasn't sure why his chosen smuggler went by the name Cutlass but he didn't ask questions. Instead, he reckoned it has some shite to do with pirating. If either of them fit the role, it would be himself, given his eye patch and accent, but who was keeping score? The only thing he cared about was that the feller spat up his smokes. That grinning bastard was always more than glad to take massive amounts of his money.

Could he have tracked them down himself? Sure, but then he had to spend his wealth on _something._ Besides, he often used the opportunity to offload some of the harvested organs he had accumulated over the years. Aside from those he kept in storage for himself, he didn't have a need for those slimy puppies. In fact, he found it morbidly funny as feck to trade a set of lungs for a suitcase of smokes.

Giving him a thorough eyeballing when they made their trade, Cutlass happily flashed his teeth. "With how much of these you've been burning through, I'd say you're either not gettin' laid or you're suffering from unrequited love!"

If Zane could have killed his favorite smuggler, that comment would have deserved it. Instead, he shot the man a scorching glare paired with a tight-lipped smirk. He remained tempted to deposit it through his teeth - with his fist, in case that wasn't clear. Instead, he broke into a fresh carton of cigarettes and lit up, thoroughly enjoying that first long drag.

Only when finished did he filter the smoke out through his nostrils and jab a mock threatening digit at the other man.

"Stick to yer job, ye giddy wanker, an' keep 'em comin'. I ain't payin' ye ta talk!"

Ah, well, at least he could still crack a joke like his usual self and not act like the hot mess he was internally. He definitely didn't come across as on-edge as he was. The others didn't react to him like the arsehole he felt he was a hair away from being. He used _that_ aggression when he snuck trips planetside and stirred up a number of good ol' bar fights.

Drunken donnybrooks guaranteed fun times. There was nothing quite like getting shitfaced and busting skulls open - _plus, _it proved he still had it. He was the meanest sonofacunt that side of the galaxy when he felt like being one. His knuckles split more lips and splintered more cheekbones than they had in quite some time. Ah, how he missed plowing faces through tables - just not so much taking a chair to the back of his own head, even if he liked all the pretty colors.

Given enough arseholes, _someone _could get the jump on him. That never really amounted to more than a few bruises. Once he had resorted to a hypo to avoid returning to Sanctuary with one hell of a shiner, but beyond that, Zane had no qualms with the pain that remained.

Of course, he had to knock that shite off too, because it wasn't very _becoming._ Plus, he didn't want anyone riding his arse again for heading off on his lonesome. He never cared to draw any critical attention to himself anyhow, nor did he ever appreciate anyone trying to dictate his activities during his downtime. He was a grown man, goddamnit, and a capable operative. He could handle himfeckingself and the bounties on his head.

Sure, it sometimes didn't feel like it. Agitated as he was, he was prone to impulsive decisions. Sometimes, he had alarming lapses of fecks to give, his flippancy so severe that he amused himself at times. No doubt, had laughter escaped him, he would have sounded crazy.

According to Ava, he sounded different. In the middle of some casual conversation with the pint-sized lass, she had stopped, looked at him with a curious tilt of her head, and said, "You're talking funnier than usual. Is your voice deeper?" Then, dangerously narrowing her eyes in scrutiny, she demanded, "You haven't been smoking again, have you?"

His response of "Eh?" didn't give her much to work on, but the rest of their conversation did.

The young siren swore his voice was indeed how she described. That wasn't the worst effect of his condition but still, he damned his testosterone again. It was a real pain in the arse.

"Y'know, ye hit puberty again in yer fifties," he muttered, smirking when the commander did.

"Oh yeah," she snickered, "that _totally _explains the stick you've had up your ass recently."

_Perceptive lil' lass, ain't she? Maybe Maya was onto somethin'._

"Ye got it wrong - 's me new holster," he countered, watching her expression brighten with enhanced amusement. "I can fit a mighty long gun up there. Bad part is wearin' me sniper diaper."

Yep, that was exactly the kind of comment that both diffused awkward subjects and moved the conversation swiftly along. Ava was more than happy to oblige.

On his more sexually frustrated days, Zane wondered if he should have pressed further for his personal interests. Possibly had he done more to appeal to Amara, they could have maintained their affair. Had he, life could have resumed being dandy and he wouldn't have had to suffer being so hard-up.

In hindsight, that kind of persuasion had never been an option. He was a lot of negative things but what he _wasn't_ was that breed of rat bastard. Only pathetic men used coercion to get the sex they wanted - one of which Zane had proudly never been. And he sure as feck wasn't going to start.

Instead, he managed to maintain his usual jovial appearances while sending some colorful mental curses to his dick whenever it acted up. As fond and attached to it as he was, the damn thing knew he would make good on his threats to punch it or freeze it with a cryo round. The whole annoyance of it made him wish again he had never gotten his dick wet with the siren - or with anyone, for that matter.

Every time he went to Moxxxi's, he found himself hitting on the vixen _hard_, even before he registered his own intentions. Fortunately, the sex bomb was accustomed to such blatant propositions and was probably as good at reading Zane as he was himself. Even she knew he was smoother than he seemed capable of recently demonstrating.

"It's alright, sugar," the barkeep purred when he meekly apologized and tipped her even more generously than ever.

He was sure he shouldn't have felt nearly as shitty as he did for it, because it wasn't like Moxxi ever complained. For whatever reason, he was a mess and he didn't even _need_ to be drunk to be disorderly - at least in his own skin.

Zane figured himself for truly fecked now that he could more readily see the benefit of having a more consistent lover. Both he and Amara, in their time together, had memorized each other's bodies inside-out. They learned every way to get each other off, and the results had been explosive. So comfortable and tuned in to one another as they had been, they were practically a force of nature together. In the bedroom and on the battlefield, they were unstoppable.

Or had been. Clearly he had been proven wrong. And what a terrible shame that was. With Amara, he had no reservations about surrendering every semblance of control and fully submitting himself to unadulterated, filthy pleasure. Losing that, and all the opportunities it presented...it nearly triggered a visceral reaction in him. Even by his standards, that was fecking _ridiculous_.

Pent up as he was, his mind tended to linger on his most satisfying orgasms. God knew he could use one. And why _wouldn't_ he think back to Amara if the two of them had made most of them? He always got her off good and hard before submitting to her whims, whatever they happened to be.

In fact, the last time she had fucked him with her siren fingers, she had done it while riding his face. He had obediently and passionately devoured her pussy despite his own distracting pleasure. He had wetly sucked her clit and tightly circled it with his clever tongue. Had traced her lips and plunged into her hole, all while she rocked against his mustache and painstakingly edged him toward his finish.

By the time she had gone weak from all the orgasms he had happily give her, she dismounted his face and left him delightfully soaked. Zane had _no _intention of protesting as those blue hands lifted behind his knees and bent him at the waist.

His pleasure had simply been too great for him to care, not that he ever could. Her summoned fingers had been too damn perfect at relentlessly nailing his prostate, while her true and dominant hand aggressively jerked his engorged cock. With the position she held him in, it was obvious what she wanted - and he had no qualms, when he groaned and came, about painting his own face.

In fact, having their sexual juices intermingle on his facial hair, chin, and lips got him off that much harder. Even arranged as it was, his body wracked with sensations while his payload boiled up from his swollen prostate and balls. What didn't hit its mark roped along his chest and neck. The rest landed across his face in thick, wet stripes.

Open-mouthed as he had been, he caught a few warm ribbons on his tongue and held it there until he was able to kiss Amara with semen-glossed lips.

Later, with a roguish grin, Zane realized he hadn't expected his first facial in damn near forever to be his own. More than anything, he had his partner at the time to thank for that. And he certainly had.

Given experiences like theirs, it was no wonder he missed Amara. He convinced himself that he wasn't reducing _anything _to just sex. He decided that that was all there had been, and it had been _fun. _There was nothing wrong with him having so deeply enjoyed it. Men like himself were _made_ to.

Christ, she had even given him multiple prostate orgasms. Restraining him and working his arse with her lovely fingers, she had driven him to delirium and made him spill three times across his stomach. By the end of it, he had been reduced to a nonsense-babbling, profusely sweating, semen-drenched mess. At its most intense, he was pretty sure he had been keening and sobbing. It had been _glorious. _Not only had he been too exhausted to function afterward, but every muscle throughout his body had burned deliciously for days from all his thrashing.

Feck fragile masculinity - he sure as feck didn't have it. If he had a woman capable of doing that to him, he was going to ride the everliving _shite_ out of that pleasure rollercoaster. Life was too short to spend it _not _jizzing himself brain dead. As far as he was concerned, fellers too stupid to admit they had a love button worth smashing in their holes were missing out.

Among all his partners, he had only encountered a few tops who had given him back to back hands-free orgasms. Rare as those gifted individuals were, there was nothing more precious. He was usually a one-and-done prostate kinda guy. To have a woman's pretty, slender fingers take him there - _christ_, how could he let her go? Losing that was almost enough to make a grown man cry.

It was certainly enough to drive him to the verge of depression, if not beyond it. He would never admit it, though, especially to himself. Instead, the operative decided that he clearly needed to invest primarily in men again. For as much as he loved everything about them, women were trouble. Most men simply wanted sex. The only downside to many he gandered at was that most ended up being bottoms. Did he _really_ seem like that much of a top?

Huh. Zane supposed he did. He figured both his age and appearance stereotyped him that way. Truth be told, he was versatile with the best of them, but he wasn't reckless or trusting enough to give it up easily. With practically everyone out to kill him, he couldn't afford the vulnerability of receiving. And evidently, if his experience was anything to go by, he had been shelved as a _daddy_ after his mid-thirties. It wasn't like he had anything against turning willing twinks, because a hole was a hole and they were all pink inside, but what in the hell was an older guy to do if he wanted his arse boned?

Funny, if that was what he desired, then why was he thinking so much about Amara?

_New old habit, I s'pose._

It was stupid, really. He hadn't lied to the siren when he had assured her not to worry about him - that he would be fine without their trysts. Truth be told, he still kept a number of contacts at his disposal that would be interested in a booty call, provided he felt so inclined. How would that be any different than his fooling around with a teammate?

For whatever reason, Zane supposed his interest didn't amount to anything sufficient. He didn't really feel like objectifying himself with an answer. Meeting up with former partners wasn't a matter of distance, as many were within fast travel limits - and he had a damn ship. It wasn't like he couldn't afford some time for personal travel since the missions currently occupying the Crimson Raiders weren't particularly demanding. Probably he could seduce half their current galaxy before his assistance was truly needed.

Despite frequently turning over the options in his head, Zane consistently rejected them. Instead, it took him two solid weeks of stringent discipline until he could begin to relax his mind and another before he started to mellow out in earnest. That meant he didn't have to actively redirect his libidinous thoughts or refrain from enjoying a little self-indulgence.

For him, things weren't _quite_ the same as they had been before he and Amara had begun bumping uglies, but they were coming close to it. He unexpectedly reached the point where he felt a hint of guilt at having prioritized his own satisfaction over taking a more _responsible_ approach aboard Sanctuary, which was strange as feck.

Still, it made him feel more useful to invest more of his time in Ava. Not only did he enjoy the lass' company, but being the commander she was, she could use all the help she could get in learning the ropes. Who better to help her than the experienced ol' feck he was? As he always said, he had done damn near _everything_ throughout his career and he meant it.

At least Hermes had taken a particular liking to him. He had always given the little feller a good scritch whenever he crossed paths with it in the commons, but after visiting Ava's quarters more often, her pet had developed a fondness for climbing him. He was, after all, tall.

Most often it sprang atop his shoulders and walked from one to the other, weaving behind his head in an impressive balancing act. When not doing that, the mini-beast liked curling itself in figure eights around his feet. It often hugged him with its leaf-like tail while trying to take love bites out of his boots.

"Oooo, aren't ye jus' the cutest thing!" he had cooed that first time while bending down and stroking it repeatedly from head to whippy tail.

Opening its toothy mouth to gnaw at one of his fingers, Zane was glad Hermes nabbed a gloved one. What needly chompers it had.

"Yeah I am!" immediately announced Ava, enthusiastically flouncing over with her ECHO in hand.

Yep, she was turning into him. Maybe he needed to lay off the Zane charisma a bit in her presence. There wasn't enough room aboard Sanctuary for _two _egos as sizable as his.

Chuckling at that, he had assigned Ava the task of sorting the weapons she was rapidly accumulating and having her comparatively analyze their specs like a heavy dose of ol' fashioned homework. Keeping himself available to both ensure she actually did it and offer his guidance if needed, he kicked back on her bunk. Almost immediately, Hermes had leaped up on his chest and began lavishing him in purring attention.

If only women threw themselves at him as that critter did. Hermes rolled on his chest and batted at his beard for some time before, as Ava put it, "kneading biscuits" out of him. Those were not the claw marks he _preferred_ to have snagging his shirt, but then there _had_ been something flattering about receiving all that ardent, four-legged attention.

Eventually, Hermes had tiptoed a few tight circles before bundling up against his throat like a strange scarf. It had flattened its big ears and tucked itself past his beard, hugging to the warmth of his skin beyond. There, the strange purring sounds it made escalated to a degree that had Ava snorting and him feeling like someone was positioning a chainsaw for his inevitable decapitation.

"I think he likes you," she commented with amusement, glad to be momentarily distracted.

"Who doesn't?" he teased before promptly reconsidering "Actually, it kinda seems like he's try'na suffocate me."

"With looooovvve~" she said with singsong, grinning at her two best pets.

Not much more about the arrangement had been said. He had been too busy soaking up the relaxing warmth of that vibrating, cuddly critter. Perhaps noticing him fighting the urge to drift off - which was funny because he hadn't been tired when he had arrived - Ava spoke up with intrigue.

"Have you ever had a pet, old man?"

The veteran operative didn't even have to wrack his mind, though he did have to give it a good kick start before he spoke up.

"Gosh no. _Me_? Nahhh, in all me years, I never stayed in one place."

_Hardly remembered to feed most of me wives!_ was the thought that automatically came to mind, but Zane didn't dare say it aloud - same as he didn't admit remembering Ava's upcoming birthday.

As it turned out, her eighteenth was coming up that following month. He knew because her hints weren't remotely subtle, and yet he couldn't miss his chance to play the senile old man card. Truth be told, he still had to put some final touches to the sentinel drone he had spent a solid month developing for her. He had invested many sleepless nights to upgrading specs and giving it a few unique tweaks.

Not only was her model more sleek and streamlined than his own, but he did what he could to adapt it to her. He spent a lot of intensive time fine-tuning and downsizing the sentinel module as compact as his dexterity could stand. Unlike his shoulder-mounted unit, hers would fit on a leather band unlike the one she wore on her forearm

From a purely aesthetic standpoint, the drone had blue stabilizers and luminous siren-esque accents running along its sides like racing stripes. He had even installed a couple of bitchin' speakers in it so that it could hover around her and play music. That way, no one would have to yell over her damn headphones to get her attention..._ideally. _Then again, she was still very much a teenager. He just hoped she didn't make him regret it.

Was the gift a little much? _Nah_. Not only did the project give him something to occupy himself with, but he had trusted his own life to the technology a few times. He saw nothing remotely wrong with reinforcing her security.

As far as he was convinced, he had coded enough fail-safes into the system to stop her from blowing herself up. At any time, he could override her commands and seize control, and she was gonna know it. As it was, she would have to exhibit a hell of a lot of responsibility before he unlocked its rocket capabilities. Maybe someday, she would use it to help save his sorry hide.

As far as he saw it, the drone was the gift that would keep on giving because he fully intended on Ava performing her own maintenance. Initially, it would be a learning curve for the inexperienced teenager, but he was committed to instilling his vast technical knowledge in her - _potentially. _Why in the feck wouldn't he?

He certainly knew that nothing could be forced, but that didn't deter him from trying. If they were truly lucky, Ava would take to it like she did everything else and shine as brightly as she was. And _maybe_, when she realized how _cool_ it made her, she would decide she actually enjoyed it. If she truly recognized all the advantages such skills could grant her and took his specialty to heart, he could officially die a proud - albeit only sort of adoptive - father.

Thinking of passing on his torch that way made Zane feel surprisingly sentimental. In fact, every one of his teammates was influencing the aspiring vault hunter and leaving their marks. They all had their unique ways of building her up to be a young woman that _no one _would want to feck with. Needless to say, when he checked out of life, he would go without concern for her future.

Like any completed project, he was sad to see that one wrap up, but he was even more eager to witness her reaction to it. She had enough fun playing with Zoomer and besides, it wasn't like he had kids of his own to spoil. With how often he fed her, repaired her abused headphones, and endured her relentless whining for things, the operative figured he was practically her parent. Hell, he had more than caught on to her poorly concealed suggestions that he should get her a personal spaceship of her own.

No. _No._ _Hell no._ He hadn't even subjected himself to the driving lessons she had manipulated him into agreeing to.

For shites and giggles, he _had_ also bought her a few pairs of socks to play off as his only gift - one with plasma-breathing unicorns, because they were cool, another with sparkly kittens, because they were kinda girly, and another covered in rainbow pizza slices, because why the feck not? The two of them consumed a lot of cheesy pies for lunch, albeit ones that weren't so colorful.

The purpose of _that _specific gift was so he could say to her, "Ye'll understand when yer older." Because she would. He had so totally rehearsed that in advance.

Time went on. Contrary to how his langer was convinced, life went on without sex. His bed only knew his body heat. His hand kept him frequent company. He watched too much porn. His ventures to the vessel bays were work-based. Their missions were monotonous.

In fact, he had just completed one. Upon reconstructing aboard Sanctuary, he had grabbed two pints from Moxxxi's and escorted them to his quarters. He proceeded to settle in as he often did following a mission - particularly ones that left him covered in sediment and drying sweat: he showered, grabbed a quick bite to eat from his personal refrigerator, and parked his ale-swigging self in front of his computer.

Compared to all the hoofing on foot he had done, sitting in his desk chair was a welcome relief. Besides, it gave him the opportunity to check the various news feeds he frequented, tap through his progress notes, and - for the sake of pure curiosity - access his assassin databases.

For a seasoned veteran like himself, it was always intriguing to see what new contracts had come out of the woodwork. As one would imagine, the hit list among the six galaxies was extensive. All in all, lots of people wanted lots more killed. Some individuals had truly impressive prices on their heads, his own name emblazoned near the top of the list.

Funny to think that extensive interface was but a small piece of the intergalactic mercenary pie. It only exposed a glimpse of all the black market shite going down. There were innumerate listings for assassinations, espionage, smuggling, and security detailings, among other offers. The assignments in his feed were exclusively top tier and even then, if given an entire day, he didn't think he would have time to skim them all. And to think, even more dealings existed off the grid.

Even despite being listed as _Inactive, _he had over a hundred unanswered requests for his specific services. Some folks never gave up on wanting the best, obviously. As tempted as he was to comb through those, he knew he shouldn't, lest he give in to some immensely lucrative temptation.

Absently yet merrily, Zane finished his two pints while he skimmed through a few particularly interesting dossiers, tabbed five for later review, and chuckled at some familiar faces. He also looked to see what bounties had been collected by who and wasn't by any means surprised to see some prolific agents cashing in on the majority.

Zane knew for a fact that one listed individual was a goner. Shortly before becoming a Crimson Raider, he had personally seen to it. Being tracked by that particularly ruthless bastard had been the second to last nail in the coffin of his career - when he had _really_ begun contemplating retirement. Barnabus' attempt on him, while the hitman comparatively a novice, had been that final push he had needed to lay low.

There were three particular operatives Zane knew had to be permanently handled if things ever got messy - no questions asked. Dangerous lot they were, his survival would hinge on killing them before they ended him. Fortunately, none of them were hurting for money or looking to collect on his bounty. Even better, they were all perfectly aware of each other and remained in a calculated stalemate. None of them were insane or greedy enough to try and climb higher on the assassin food chain. In other words, they were too satisfied with their success to risk such a high rate of failure.

Crazy as the lot of them were, none of them could resist taking a shot at any of the others whenever their paths intersected. It was never a coincidence when mercenaries of their aptitudes landed in each other's crosshairs, though never had their competition been direct. If nothing else, close calls served as entertainment and a means of keeping each of them on their toes, as never did they know when another would make an appearance. Often, whatever high-stakes objectives they had at the time demanded their total focus and compliance.

The assassin scene would undoubtedly change if any one of them actually challenged the balance. The worst-case scenario would be if one of them truly developed a death wish. _That _would truly make them dangerous but had yet to happen. Zane sure as hell didn't have any aspirations of handling that severity of fallout.

Instead, he sighed while recalling the days where his name was actively listed among the collective. While many members on the assassin docket maintained anonymity, there were others like himself who had never bothered. By one means or another, successful identities always surfaced, and the lot of them were so rightfully pompous that they all but _dared_ people to come and feck with them.

Ignoring the stars that swept past the window to his left, the operative polished off the last of his ale and continued about his business - until a sudden knock seized his attention. So focused on his reading, he second-guessed if he had even heard it. That uncertainty had him sitting back in his chair, the screen of his laptop automatically flooding with the familiar, shifting graphic of its screensaver. Security protocol initiated lockdown when his cybernetic eye wasn't aligned with it.

By design, the spider-emblazoned interface didn't exhibit fields for access. That would be too easy, given how ridiculously easy for a fella like him to hack even the most random, jibberish passwords. Biological signatures _only._ He could access the interface with a retinal scan, but that was assuming he still had his organic eye and besides, it was simpler for his tech to do the work for him. There wasn't any point in scanning his fingerprints with how frequently new scars altered their surfaces.

Said fingers tapped at the desk surface as Zane waited to see if his ears were deceiving him. Not only was it a habit for him to refrain from immediately addressing such a situation but he could swear the percussion had originated from his bathroom door instead of the main entrance. For all he knew, the shitter was probably on the fritz again or had developed sentience. Neither possibility fit his forte.

Zane blinked as another series of knocks indeed originated from the bathroom floor, his prominent brows furrowing at the unexpected situation. Less likely possibilities aside, no one except Moze or maintenance staff had access to the facility...unless something _had _actually slithered up the plumbing. Bah, that certainly wouldn't be the oddest thing to have happened to him in all his many years. Maybe he was being visited by a gun with legs!

Chuckling to himself, the operative grunted as he pushed to his feet and transversed the short distance to that narrower door. Without verbally addressing the person beyond, who was undoubtedly the gunner wanting his opinions on upgrading Iron Bear as always, he armed himself with a witty quip before disengaging.

It turned out the woman on the other side was not who he had expected. His words promptly died on his tongue.

Immediately, Zane's features screwed up in disarmed confusion. His eyebrows had to be in his hairline by now. _Women_, was all he could think of that particularly surprising turn of events. How in the feck was he supposed to predict _that_?

"Fancy meetin' ye here," he said before clearing his throat. "Are ye lost?"

Amara gave him her trademark sly smirk, those violet eyes of hers glittering not unlike the crystal around her neck. "Mind if I come in?"

Once upon a time, he would have been excited by that request. Now, he lacked reason to be. His reflexive response was to shrug before taking a sidestep, opening the path for her. As she walked past, he was more able to see into Moze's open room and witness the gunner's enthusiastic wave.

Much to his elevating suspicion, she was smiling widely. He shot her a look that conveyed his befuddlement. Before she could respond, her hydraulic door shut, followed by his own as Amara addressed its control panel.

He didn't need reminding of how long it had been since he had last occupied a room alone with Amara. That was a scenario lesser men would best be intimidated by, given her strength. He wasn't, convinced that if she wanted to paint the walls with him, she would have already started cleaning his clock. In fact, in the brief moments he had already spent with her, he found himself wishing she would. He could better roll with literal punches than stand around like a jackarse who was clueless about the purpose of her visit. Maybe it was time she gave his responder back.

Whether Amara would relieve him of that burden or further perplex him, he would soon find out. He didn't have time to ask questions before she walked forward to press her lips to his - _annnd_ back into his hairline his brows went. At that rate, the shocked operative was convinced that they would soon be stuck there. In that instant, he was vividly taken back to the first time Amara had kissed him, leaving him equally startled as he had been so many months ago.

Touch starved as he had been, that abrupt contact had half of his blood rushing to his pants, bringing him to half-mast. The full suppleness of her lips felt like heaven and the eager flick of her tongue was as sweet as he remembered - while at the same time, feeling her knotted his heartstrings.

To think he had been standing there like some doofus, convinced more than anything that she had a problem with him. Kicking in, his hunger bluntly erased all of that. He found his hands grasping her hips of their own accord, while at the same time his jaw finally relaxed to take her in.

That moment felt like a dream but was far too vivid. The woman pressing into him was so solidly tangible and not some desperate mirage. She wasn't some fantasy conjured up by a night of heavy drinking. For Zane, there was no mistaking the palms cupping his face or the fingers brushing his sideburns. Or the graze of her rounded nose as he tilted his head to the side and slanted his mouth more fully against hers, feeling her body shiver with need.

Having witnessed the two women together, he had fully expected to be subjected to a much mess pleasant tongue-lashing than he ended up receiving

But damn, if he didn't drink up the moment, rumbling into that beautiful mouth as Amara tangled tongues with him. She tasted just as he knew she would and smelled even better, his mind hazing with it. He couldn't deny how much he wanted to feck her right then and there, utterly neglected as he had been, but even then, he couldn't forget the complications that had resulted from that very same rashness.

And so did Amara, who eventually pulled back enough to both breathe and address it.

"She's fine with it," assured the siren between eager, encouraging kisses before softly biting his lower lip between smiling teeth. After releasing him, she breathed, "She can vouch for us, so come on and take me."

As if he could argue with _that._ After all, it wasn't every day that a bathroom door became one of opportunity. And goddamn, if hearing Amara talk in such a way didn't have his cock breaking the zipper of his pants, nothing would. He was more sure of that than anything.

_Nothing_ could have betrayed his need for her more than the passion he used to ensnare her. Everything about the way his mouth consumed hers proved how badly he had missed her. It made him wish that he had been satisfying his needs before this moment, worried he couldn't make the most of it. Determined as he was and so deeply craving their union, he would do everything in his power to make damn sure he would.

Like a man lost at sea finally finding shore, he fought for purchase. He fixed himself in finger holds and clung to his salvation. He found it in Amara's luxurious hair and silken skin. In her seductive heat and the sensation of her strength yielding to him, their bodies all but melting together to fill every hint of space separating them.

Between kisses, her name spilled from him, his voice gruff with reverence. The way her hands cupped his cheekbones and grazed through his mutton chops made it impossible to register anything but her. There was only her inviting touch and the heavenly feel of her mouth moving with his in perfect harmony. Her warmth, combined with the euphoric hugging of her tongue, felt like home.

Pressing against her was more relieving than returning from the most treacherous, close-call missions he had ever survived. She felt like solace, where the reward of satisfaction and peace exceeded all the riches in the universe.

He wanted more of it. _Craved_ Amara like an addict. After suffering such severe withdrawal, he needed to get his fix _now._ The logical part of him, try as it did to slam on the brakes and remind him of all that was at stake, had no chance of gaining traction. Instead, he was hopelessly and pathetically in need of the woman he pushed against his workbench. Feeling her lift one thigh atop his hip, and the press of her sensual physique, sent his senses careening. In all his decades, he swore he had never wanted anyone, or anything, more than her.

There would be time for sobering and returning to his senses later. He could agonize over having thrown his cards out there and admitting the defeat of his composure. There would be ample opportunity for him to regret his mistakes and adapt, or worse _flee_, for totally failing himself. For now, he only wanted to indulge himself with the siren in his arms.

Kissing her as desperately as he was, he was all but bending her backward across that hard surface. He heard the slap of his own hand as he nearly spilled forward atop her - only to stumble back as she shoved at his chest. He had only a split second to think he had fecked up before she seized him by the front of his jacket and practically threw him toward the bed.

Only then did Zane laugh - and then again as she braced her hands atop his shoulders to pounce him. That was all the encouragement he needed to fill his palms with her arse and maneuver her exactly where he wanted her.

The next thing he knew, they were tumbling onto the bunk and moaning into each other with humid anticipation. One of his hands was collecting all that glorious hair and possessively winding its length around his width so he could extend her neck to his hungry lips. The satin gasp Amara gave, combined with how willingly she submitted to him, did nothing to stifle his hunger.

He would have her, that much was certain. Already, she was arching herself flush against him while drawing him into a demanding embrace. The pounding of her heart and the baitedness of her breathing was just as envigorated as his was, and more and more by the moment, he could taste that erotic tang on her skin.

When he spoke, it was in an attempt to retrieve part of himself. To try and play off their reunion as something far simpler than it was. To assign basic reason to why he needed her so badly, even the rasp of his voice betrayed his strife.

"Christ, s'been a while," was all he could manage and dare to say when he couldn't bear to part his mouth from her.

Laughing breathlessly, Amara could barely bring herself to acknowledge it. Instead, she clutched at the leather separating him from her and gave a poignant tug, thoroughly testing the resilience of the material against her determination.

In return, his own touch was all over her seemingly at once, cupping her breasts, grazing her navel, brushing her hips, her thighs, her ass. His mouth resumed lavishing her neck, wonderfully marking her with teeth and suction and tongue. Grazing against her, his facial hair sent shockwaves of sensation through her goosebumping skin, the scrape of his stubble further tantalizing her nerves.

Not for the first time, she damned Zane's outfit, finding it far too difficult to get her hands on bare skin. His shirt was deceptively easy enough to glide her hands under, but beneath it, the black rubber of his bodysuit had her clawing at him in frustration.

His aroused chuckle was husky in her mouth, her lips hugging around his tongue to give it a deep and languid suck. At the lewd sensation, his amusement was easily overtaken by the hungry growl reverberating throughout him. She felt it as she braced her hands against his chest and put just enough space between them to force the front of his jacket past broad shoulders. At the same time, she drank in the dark musk of his cologne accentuated by the familiar scent of hot leather.

For Zane, the intense need inundating them took him back to that Promethean hotel room they had christened. Then again _this, _so unexpected for him, made him that much greedier whole stripping his partner of her clothing. He felt convinced that if he didn't get her out of them immediately, he would wake up from a dream or worse - that Amara would change her mind at the last moment and leave him suffering. Though he couldn't deny that that would be within her rights, he didn't think he could gracefully handle it. After everything that had gone down with Moze, he half expected to be the ass-end of some joke.

That idea was enough to have _him_ faltering, for a change, as caution managed to catch up with him. It was Amara's eager grip that went for his boots and tugged them off, nearly yanking him off the bunk in the process. He hardly toed the metal floor before she began wrestling his pants down, the siren growling as the leather bunched at his calves. She all but shoved him onto his back as she divested him of them - and immediately yanked at the stretchier material beneath.

"Why do you always have to wear this?" she snapped, forced to deliberately roll his bodysuit down his slender hips. Sparing only the necessary care to ensure his manhood safely sprang from it, she damn near slingshotted the rest of it down his legs.

"Why do ye have to wear anything?" he countered while aggressively dragging the top half overhead in a single, albeit wiggling, motion. That earned her sultry, breathless laugh.

A hot shiver rocketed down his spine when her hand possessively seized his manhood, that gentle friction a stark reminder of how much smaller and smoother her hands were compared to his own. He could appreciate the practiced, firm way her grip rode down his shaft and tightly squeezed at his base before easing beneath to roll his balls - and all but used them to drag him closer. Crazy as he was, he sure as hell wasn't going to resist her.

From there, their kisses only grew hotter and headier, their lips crushing and teeth nipping, their hands greedily pawing. The way his hands raced to caress every inch of her skin and squeeze her breasts had her grinding against him, sucking on the whole of his lower lip. The gasp she gave, as he pinched and tugged at her dark nipples, caused his damp release.

Knowing himself best, Zane had to rush. Even hard-up as he was, he didn't want to risk his damn sense of logic stopping them. God knew he would miss out if he managed to give two whites about Amara's intentions or find himself critically questioning her ulterior motives. What good would that do him to have a taste of her and end up back at square one, his hunger for her flaring like fuel in a fire?

The reality of that threat was almost sobering, causing him to falter as he moved atop her, the mattress sighing beneath them. Even despite the physical elation of registering the friction of his coarser, hairier skin against her smooth curves, he couldn't resist that split instant of hesitation. Whether or not Amara sensed it, he couldn't say, because she was busy spreading her legs and using the fierce strength in her muscular thighs to draw him closer.

"Can't wait," she groaned, her voice positively laden with velvet. She personified lust, her voluptuous lips darkened by wanton and her eridium gaze intensely aflame with it. Even now, there was nothing as exhilarating as seeing her scrawling, electric henna amplified so brightly by her arousal.

Just from the sight and scent of her, he knew she was perfectly ready. The earthy sweetness of her juices tantalized his senses and rendered him lightheaded with need. Reaching between them, he found her dripping obscenely and couldn't resist driving two fingers to the knuckle inside her. Snug as a glove, her cunt squeezed at him, her nectar both smeared across her inner thighs and pooling beneath her to the linens below. By then, she had locked him between her impressive legs and used them for leverage to lift herself, physically begging to be taken.

Capturing him in a kiss, he instinctively met her with equal hunger. He felt himself nod and nuzzle deeper as she scraped her nails at him. Even as he pressed himself to her scalding entrance and pushed, she grasped his girth and drew him in.

There, delighting in the stretch and lost in the moment, their bodies tensed with sensation. Their enervated gasps parted their mouths and even then, their foreheads pressed together. Their eyes, having shut in bliss, slowly eased open to meet the others.

Amara gave a deep moan as those first inches claimed her, her body trembling from it. She was _tight_, so much so that his mustering patience demanded a small miracle. Instead of shoving to the hilt as he ached to, he gradually worked his way in, withdrawing slightly before sinking deeper into that fluttering, silken embrace until she had taken the whole of him.

Feeling her silken walls clench wetly around him, he couldn't muster much self-restraint beyond that. With how eager she was to accept him, she was quick to adjust, the permissive gyrating of her hips enticing him to pull out nearly to the tip before shoving back in. Her breath hitching in grateful pleasure, her hands caught his hips and encouraged his motions, holding him closely even as he lifted his torso to angle the force of his thrusts.

His body feckin' _rejoiced_ at having her again, fulfilling desires that had gone unsatisfied in her absence but even then, felt insatiable. No matter how he thrust into her, he couldn't get enough. As though convinced he would never be inside her again, he savored every carnal pass.

More than he wanted to fuck his frustration out on her, he wanted to make her come. Wanted to remind her what she had been missing by denying them that. Wanted to reduce her to little glowing pieces and make a trembling mess of her. And he was well on his way - could feel the tension already building rapidly inside her, a flush breaking bright and hot across the dark canvas on her skin.

He craved to taste her neck, her clavicles, her tight and sensitive nipples, but his hands were anchored too steadfast on her bucking hips. Instead, he drank in the sight of her - the firm jostling of her breasts, the pulse visible under her skin, the clenching ripple of her abdomen. Watched her hands as one braced flat against his chest, purple varnish and tawny skin stark against the silver hair she tangled into. Her other palmed at her left breast, kneading and stimulating herself, before she hugged both under her forearm, their shape enticingly bunching beneath.

That sight alone was enough to have a moan filter through his heavy breathing. At the same time, his right hand shifted higher along her waist, palming the impossibly tight muscle there. It had him more deliberately rocking his hips on every downstroke, applying precise pressure to the hood of her clit and coaxing whimpers from her.

Experienced and determined, he knew just how to make her come unraveled. He could read every sign as that telltale pressure built inside her and reached its breaking point. Even the cords of her neck jerked from the force of her elated panting as euphoria cascaded throughout her. The sound of her sharp inhale and strangled groaned made his ears burn.

The intensity of Amara's climax had her thrashing beneath him and biting her lip while a fresh flood of wetness escaped the fisting ripple of her core. It sent her into such a frenzy that she all but fought him, her hands slapping haphazardly at his chest. Still, he hilted inside her, awash in the arrhythmic contractions around him.

Sanctuary could have been under siege and even that couldn't have distracted him from enjoying the pulse of her womb as it kissed his tip and begged for what he couldn't yet give it. Not even with Amara so perfect and blissed out before him, her body relaxing into that warm, rosy haze clearly portrayed on her face.

The inviting tilt of her chin had the operative leaning in to press a nearly chaste kiss to her lips, their mouths lingering against each other before she nuzzled into the tickle of his mustache.

"Good one?" he half-rumbled, half-chuckled while gazing into her utterly beguiling eyes.

"Mmm," was all the siren purred, her gratified body taking a long, toe-curling stretch before she tilted her hips in invitation. He shivered as the motion rubbed his engorged glans against her cervix. "Another."

"Saucy girl," he growled, his mouth crooking into a haughty grin as he drew back, only to plunge forward again.

Damn, if that wasn't what he enjoyed about her. He loved a woman who thoroughly appreciated what her body could do for her, especially one so sinful and expressive. Watching her impressive body react to everything he did to her made sex that much better. Muscular as she was, he could see every little tremor that wracked her sinew. Every hitch of her breath visible in the serratus of her ribs. Every shift in the divots throughout her hips, depicting the wanton demands of her motions.

Don't get him wrong - he loved women with padding too. Plus lovers were pleasant to hold and had more softness to sink into. Still, there wasn't a single thing he would change about Amara. She was stunning in all her exotic, siren glory, particularly when she so shamelessly took his cock.

Kneeling again, Zane drove himself though the renewed slickness that bathed his shaft. With each slippery pass, he could feel it coat his sac, her ambrosia audibly stretching and gliding between them.

It wasn't long until he was picking up his pace and working deep inside her again, the rolling tilt of his motions keeping her pussy guessing and subjecting her to a spectrum of blissful sensations. The sight of Amara's mouth falling open and her eyes shutting tightly was all the reward he needed, his breathing growing increasingly ragged while he resisted his own satisfaction.

With how much he had missed her, it wasn't easy. His own hand could never compare to the tender, molten feel of her. As far as he was convinced, her body was made for him, and it took an immense dedication for him to resist being consumed by temptation.

He remained above her, his labored exhalations gusting out now, his face screwed in that fierce concentration that had her tightening, had her whimpering, as she sensed the pleasure he was fighting. The way her body responded to him, it was her nature to make demands of him. And feck, did he enjoy being bossed around by her in the best of ways. His molars grit from how much, his member rock hard and aching, his brows furrowing severely as he felt his willpower beginning to fray.

Against his will, he almost came when she cried out and clenched around him again in climax. He even shuddered out a vicious curse as he tried to withstand the swallowing motions of her cunt, his slapping thrusts growing more erratic by the enjoyable second. It took all he had to give one last, harsh rock into the soaking embrace of her core before he hit the brakes_ hard, _even as the heady scent of sex further tested his limits.

Amara's immediate reaction, when he hastily pulled out, was a sharp and desperate protest - one he hushed with his hoarse voice, even as he aggressively squeezed the rim of his cockhead.

"Just - gimme a second," he grit, crow's feet aching with it. "Not done yet." He then gusted out a breath, failing to restrain the buck of his hips as he applied pressure right where he needed it, glans flaring purple in his firm grip.

He cock _hurt_ as he stifled its throbbing, his eye fluttering in a grimace as he rejected his orgasm. That was a method he hadn't used in practically forever but one that was useful nevertheless. Using it_ really_ wasn't his preference unless his lover was worth it. Her eyes glossed over as she watched him with intense curiosity, Amara had proven she was.

He panted as he came down from that high, feeling his balls relax and descend. Only then did he let go of his member, feeling it twitch before it bobbed heavily, surely hating him but no longer on the verge of climaxing.

Leaning down for an open-mouthed kiss, Zane used one hand to encourage Amara to scoot aside before settling himself in her sweaty place. Then, gripping her hips and inviting her to mount him, she readily straddled him in all her fierce siren glory.

The sight of her had the operative swallowing in anticipation, the pronounced ridges of his stomach tightening with it amidst the spread of white hair. Admiration had him brushing one callus, caressing hand down the chiseled contours of her abdomen.

"Gonna need ta come on top, got it?" he husked at her, earning a plum-shaded smirk.

Then, parting her lips to expose a challenging glint of teeth, she purred, "Is that's a fact, old man?"

It was, but he wasn't going to answer her rhetoric. Sometimes, a man _needed_ to dominate when he came. At least that was how he felt before Amara unexpectedly turned her back to him and lifted herself until she hovered over the leaking head of his cock.

It took him one luridly distracted moment to reach for the erection stiff against his stomach and take aim. Between his haste and Amara's coating wetness, it slipped out of his grip once and slapped meatily against his abdomen. Breathlessly laughing at himself, he regained his wits about him and thumbed the tip, aligning it with her pink, juicy slit. He could only shudder as she balanced tirelessly on her knees and rubbed herself against him until his slippery glans spread her folds and pressed insistently at her hole.

Sensitive as he was, Zane held his breath tightly - then released it in a throaty groan as she finally took him inside her, her opening swallowing him greedily. Awash in sensation, he leaned further back into his pillow while watching her back muscles flex in the blue light of his room. Amara was all sinew and power, from the shift of her shoulder blades to the arch of her spine, that mystical scrollwork glowing brightly and beautifully within her bronze skin.

Goddamn, watching her slope her spine like that treated him to the perfect view of her deliciously round cheeks. Had there been an ass in the universe capable of making him jizz like an inexperienced teenager, hers would have been it. That marvelous sight alone had his breath catching as she rocked back and forth along him, her sweet little pucker on display above the pink stretch of her cunt.

_Holy shite._

He couldn't feckin' breathe, he was so enamored with watching her sweltering entrance greedily swallow him. He did anyway, even though he knew nothing but the feel of her tightness and the taut stretch of her perineum, that thin skin conforming around every prominent vein and contour decorating his member.

Scarred hands rose to seize the broad flare of her hips _hard_ \- enough to dimple, to hold her firm, as he began rutting into her. In a display of her strength, Amara effortlessly braced herself back on one capable arm while reaching to align her fingers with his right hand, locking among them as she moved in time with his deep-seated thrusts.

She whined as she slammed herself down onto his cock, her juices smearing messy and slick over their thighs. Zane growled at the pleasure inundating him, pistoning his hips so hard, they lifted off the bed with each sharp, ass-spanking thrust. He could hear his hoarse grunts punctuating each lewd collision. Given a chance, even that could get him off.

Damn, how he had missed this - feeling her sweet cunt snug around him, so soaking wet, and beautifully responsive. The thought of not having her ever again was a painful torment but here they were, her feminine groans playing in his ears, the delicious scent of her sweat flaring his nostrils, and him losing his mind to the deliciously obscene, slippery sounds of her milking him. It was more than enough to sent him right over the edge but somehow, he held steadfast. He had meant when he said about needing her beneath him, his hunger driven by an irrevocably animal need to claim her while she buckled beneath him.

Amara was on the cusp of climaxing now, he could feel it. She was choking on her whimpers, the muscles throughout her thighs trembling as she continued lifting and slamming herself back down. Practiced palms assisted in angling her pelvis, drawing her onto his cock where it strained and stroked that place inside that had her frantically rubbing her clit. His name never sounded better than it did while she keened.

"Come, baby. Feckin' come on me," he rasped, knowing what his words would do to her.

Amara threw her head back, her rippling walls contracting around him in a whiplash, creamy orgasm. She swore as she writhed, the crests of shimmering bliss breaking over her, her body bowing forward as her hands grasped his calves for purchase. Feeling her throbbing shiver had him growling and pistoning faster between her legs, her copious come spilling along the ridges of his engorged girth.

Watching her reach that pinnacle made him want to chase his end and fill her with every last drop built up inside of him - and he very well could have. He was teetering precariously on the verge, not knowing quite why he was resisting so damn much, _knowing _he could get it back up and feck her again with all the pent up lust he had for her. It wasn't like he hadn't filled her repeatedly before.

They hadn't yet indulged in foreplay, but there was no reason he couldn't continue getting her off with his fingers and tongue until he was raring to go again, provided he didn't stay hard. He needed her so badly that he doubted his chances of ever stopping. He _loved _pounding her semen slick cunt until he filled her with sloppy seconds. Just the thought of it made his gut burn with lurid desire and his eye roll halfway behind his lids, a guttural groan escaping him.

Spurred faster by his carnal sounds, Amara purred his name. She impaled herself harder on him, begging with her body for every drop he had to give. Already, she was breathing like she did when he pulsed and unloaded inside of her, her respirations elevated in anticipation.

What a perfect fecking woman she was. She loved taking his load nearly as much as he enjoyed giving it to her. The act was so undeniably primal and their instincts were wired for it, convinced it was reckless. After all, it wasn't like his body gave a shite that he shot blanks - it only knew the consummate gratification of flooding her womb.

Clearly, he was a masochist for not submitting to the urge even as deep lust jolted through his cock and balls. From the way Amara's fingers tightened were interwoven with his, they both felt his erection twitch with greed. Still, he kept going like it was his last time in her heavenly body and he was determined to feck her until it hurt him to come.

Her arse, oh _god_, there were no words among men to adequately describe it. Feck, he had lusted for it enough whenever he had taken her on all fours. He had fantasized about sinking his fingers into it more times than he could count, and the only downside to eating it out was being unable to watch it happen. Now, he had the best vantage to admire the way her muscles bunched while she tirelessly worked the whole of him.

In fact, he was certain he had married people for having arses only half as nice as hers. It was no wonder he found himself so damn enamored with it - it was so fecking hot, it was _ridiculous._

That blatant lust was quickly catching up with him, Zane realized, as he snapped his jaw shut from where it hung in envy. Instead, he gritted his teeth as he again tried to seize the reins on his impending ejaculation. He said a stumbling prayer as he tilted his head to stare at the ceiling and avoid the sight of Amara fucking herself with his cock.

He didn't think much of her withdrawing from their connected hands - he only grunted as she moved it to tease him, the sudden glide of her palm on his balls almost making him a goner. He had to bite his inner cheek to focus himself, subjecting himself to the familiar tang of copper. He swallowed it before he managed to find his tongue, his voice thoroughly hoarse as he made a request of her.

"Pull 'em, would ye?"

A small laugh escaping her, Amara glanced at him over one tattooed shoulder with her piercing, purple eyes. He couldn't prevent his attention from immediately flicking to her. That brief connection sent heat pooling heavily in his belly, the muscles throughout his face visibly jumping with how tightly it made him clench his teeth.

Quirking one sultry brow, she pleasantly rolled her handful, causing him to reflexively buck and grimace. That was _not_ what he wanted and she damn well knew it. Her cockiness had his mouth opening in protest before she finally obliged him. The way she gently tugged his balls and held them from hugging along the base of his shaft provided some temporary relief from the pressure building there.

That didn't mean he was out of the woods yet. God no, he immediately went back to staring a hole in the metal above them. If he didn't, even the sight of her damp and bouncing tresses would test his resilience, its azure ends performing its own surreal light show.

He had to give himself a mission - had to redirect his focus. He needed to make her come again. His determination sobered him just enough to have him pistoning up into her roughly, his right arm reaching around her flexing torso to palm her firm breasts, one after the other, and carefully twist her nipples as he pumped up into her. The way she held herself upright, even despite the onslaught of his attention, had a growl rising from his chest.

"Not done with ye yet," he all but snarled, verbally reinforcing his own resolve. "Y'got another in ye."

And Amara did. She _always _did. He would see to it, adamant as he was about bucking his rider and making her lose hold of her reins. The more he kneaded her breasts and palmed her ass, the more he could taste it. He squeezed handfuls of her every seductive curve while rutting into all the sweet spots that made her whine, her pelvis reflexively backing up against his wet hammering.

As desperately as she tried, Amara couldn't swallow her wail as he thrust deep and pounded himself there. Only by reflex did the operative clamp a muffling hand over her mouth, even as she thrashed and spasmed, a thick gush of her cream seeping around where his cock split her wide open.

Only then did Amara waver on weakened knees, her head falling back from his humid palm, her oversensitive body weakly fighting his hold as he roughly forced her hips flush against his. The sight of his silver pubic hair brushing against the rich darkness of her skin had him moaning at the erotic contrast.

Beneath them, the sheets were soaking with the fluids that dripped from her spread lips and trickled along his scrotum before pooling under him. There was no mistaking the cling of fabric as he sat up behind her, his abdomen bunching to tickle against his partner's glistening back, so he could kiss the salty-sweet perspiration collected on her shoulders.

Zane chuckled, deeply, as she leaned into him, eagerly submitting to the bristly brush of his lips. At the contact, she shivered from her head down to her toes, enticing his lurid murmur. She tensed and sharply _gasped_ as his right hand dipped down between her thighs, finding her hot and swollen and outrageously sensitive. With his other arm braced behind him, he worked his cock inside her as best he could and played her clit with skillful, purposeful fingers.

Amara's immediate reaction was to resist his stroking of her oversensitive pearl - to try and pull away, and yet he stayed with her. He wanted the sensations inundating her to walk that line of sharp pleasure - and clearly succeeded. In a matter of minutes, curses began filtering through her shuddering breaths, the siren convinced she couldn't stand to go again. He only hushed her and kissed the back of her neck while feverish ecstasy thundered through her, her clit pulsing against his fingers in time with the wetness rushing down around his shaft

Driven by the need to deliberately lay his claim, he bit down on her salty skin, dimpling it while her inner walls fisted furiously around him. This time, instead of smothering her rising keens of gratification, he stifled them, slipping the hand he had pleasured her into her open mouth.

"Good girl," he husked, both feeling and hearing her moan lewdly around his fingers. Felt her full lips embrace them as she sucked the taste of herself eagerly off him, earning his most wolfish grin.

It felt only right, after she had polished them clean and obediently released them, to glide his hand down to where their bodies met and play in that glossy heat - all so he could stroke his dripping fingers over her hip and smear it over her burning tattoos. Only after spreading it along her tight waist could he mark the muscular ripple of her abdomen, that erotic dew accentuating her powerful contours.

With her so thickly wet and fully engulfing him, he was in heaven. He was _right there_ and her irresistible cunt was going to make a liar of him. Now, he couldn't bring himself to change positions. Feck, he didn't care to dictate how he came - not with how her rapacious pounding and deliciously needy cunt overwhelmed him.

Between the greedy pace of her riding, the glowing bounce of her dark hair, and the sight of her shimmering, flexing body, Zane forfeited his fight. One more glance at that glorious ass bunching against the upward slap of his hips and he was officially a goner. The contracting of his balls was _divine, _causing him to experience colors he swore he had never seen before.

"Ohhh _gods!_" he gasped, his voice awash in intensity. He was ejaculating, _finally, _nearly brutal in the way he drove his hips upward and pounded himself against her womb. He knew only the music of Amara's encouraging moans and the sensation of his cock rapidly jerking as semen violently pulsed from him. Though he couldn't make sense of them, sounds escaped him throughout, hoarse and primal.

By the end of it, he felt suspended in the best sort of daze. The warmth illuminating his chest was elated. He wanted nothing more to settle back on the bed and bask in that mix of utter relief and total euphoria. Still, he was reluctant to withdraw from where his partner was so molten, her core clenching around him and demanding that he stay.

Even then, with one last sound of satisfaction, Amara eased herself off him. Feeling the damp drop of his softening member, Zane released his own mollified sigh. Before he knew it, she was aligning herself half atop him, adopting the post-coital arrangement she had preferred since the beginning. The kiss she gave him was like an apology, graceful and tender and honest.

That skimming of mouths was so saccharine, he didn't know what to do with it. As if sensing his reluctance, she gently carded her fingers through one of his sideburns and turned him more fully toward her, her tongue ghosting along his lower lip and asking again for permission.

Despite himself, he granted it, tilting his head to further accept her. Felt the bristles of his mustache brush softly against her upper lip. Sensed relief blooming through her as she opened to him like a flower, that same comforting heat spreading throughout the pit of his stomach.

Zane knew he was pretty much fecked allowing an intimate kiss like that. He sensed the moment Amara's eyes fluttered open, a tender adoration in that unique purple as he dared to gaze back at her. In that moment, he felt _every_ reason behind every mistake with her he had made.

Without a doubt, he was a fecking fool - and despite knowing it, he only drew her closer. Willingly caving to the silent demand of her hands pressing against his back, he rolled atop her and nestled himself between the inviting hug of her thighs. Between their melding mouths, their gentle moans mingled, their hips rolling together in fluid practice before she was able to draw him back inside. He could only shudder with wonder and oblige with how swollen and slick she still was from him.

Together, they rocked languidly, savoring the sexual friction and sharing that fluent rhythm. Their mouths parted, if only for Amara to invite his ministrations along the graceful extension of her neck. It was only natural for him to kiss and mouth at everything within reach using that same languorous pace.

Flush as their bodies were, he could feel the heat rising up her chest against the press of his own. Could feel their hearts hammering with sensation born from the rhythmic grind of their bodies. Feeling so slick, so sensitive, he panted gently into her skin and sighed as her thighs more tightly embraced his waist. At the same time, she clutched at his shoulders and buried her visage in his damp neck, ever so eager to indulge in that intimacy.

God, he needed her. Had missed the feel of her far more than he could allow himself to acknowledge. In the here and now, with Amara, after feeling that he had lost her...he couldn't deny that desire. Her fingers were gliding up his scarred and sculpted shoulders, carding through the silver-white of his hair, doing everything she could to consume him.

Such sweet little sounds she made, answered by his gruff gusts. Hearing her, like that, caused one of his weathered palms to smooth up her right thigh and hitch her knee into the crook of his elbow, adjusting to penetrate her even deeper. She could only gasp out her approval, while at the same time his other hand tucked beneath the round of her ass and gripped, guiding the encouraging stir of her hips.

He ground her like that until another urge got the best of him, finally enticing him to separate the intimate press of their bodies. He reared back and guided Amara's legs with him, aligning them together so that her crossed ankles were beside his head. At the same time, he used one arm to hug her knees against his collarbone.

Immediately, Amara drew in a sharp gasp and threw her head back, her back abruptly bridging from the change in angle. Her vivid hair turned to a churning sea beneath her. The pressure of her thighs squeezing together narrowed her passage and increased that tight friction. It felt so fecking amazing, just as he knew it would, the elevated sensation causing the siren to groan at the stretch while he repeatedly filled her, his cock drenched in their combined come and his balls slapping firmly against her ass.

Zane chuckled as he adjusted her slightly - just enough to brace the soles of her feet against his pecs. He watched Amara as she curled her pretty toes into his chest hair and twisted the sheets in her fists, her expression one of raw desire.

_That _was one hell of a way to see the majority of her siren markings swirling bright and surreal across her skin. The allure of her beauty had him slowing his motions enough to cup her right ankle and draw her foot up, allowing his tongue to trace that ornate calligraphy

The twitching laugh Amara gave was musical, the muscles throughout her entire leg jumping as she tried to stifle her reflexes. Braving the risks, it wasn't until he began lightly nursing her toes that her lips parted to moan. She all but melted as he varied between sucking and gently setting his teeth into their pads, rendering her surprised by the erotic sensations it gave her.

Even despite the tickle of his mustache and beard along her pronounced arch, she settled heavily atop the bed and purred in satisfaction. She grinned with feline contentment as he devoted himself to her, suggestively sucking and affectionately tonguing her tantalizing skin. He swore, even if based on her expression alone, that he could have spent all day pampering that pretty foot in adoring attention, forever determined in his resolve to pleasure her unlike she had ever felt before.

After all, it wasn't like _he_ had any reservations. In proving it, not a single inch of her foot went untouched. He teased and massaged every part of it with practiced lips and loving tongue. When he moved his oral ministrations away from one foot to bestow the same attention on the other, he made equally sure to thoroughly spoil every surface within reach. He wanted to prove that her every nerve could be milked for pleasure, a truth that parted Amara's plum lips and had her gratefully caressing his hips.

Most blokes never learned to appreciate _every_ part of a woman, and that was a sad truth. Few men discovered that the key to one's satisfaction was to seduce their mind the same as every other element of their body. As for him, he made a point of it, even if he was still easing Amara into the practice. From the way her half-lidded eyes glazed over and her breathing grew heavy, he knew she approved. The way she rolled her hips into his lazy thrusts and curled her toes within his devout mouth complimented her enraptured moans.

Understanding Amara as he did, Zane knew she craved that gesture of submission despite the dominant position he was in. She, more than most lovers, desired his dedication. In that sense, he gave it to her. He worked his member into every blessed nerve inside her, rolling his hips in ways that made her quiver. Because of his skillful penetration, her voice hitched and her decolletage flushed, shimmering again with sweat. Her breasts began heaving and she mewled heavily while her nails caught his thighs for purchase.

When she came, she gasped his name so sweetly that the powerful, squeezing contractions of her orgasm were nearly an afterthought. Her spine arching high, she dropped back her head and gave herself completely to the starburst of bliss that consumed her.

Her walls were still massaging him as he reached his peak, a moan born from deep in his chest rising through his raspy throat. He thrust throughout his finish, drawing out his own high as he unloaded in pulses within her quivering heat.

Zane was still sunk to the hilt inside her when he returned to his senses, discovering himself holding her knees to her shoulders, their foreheads touching as they both worked to catch their breaths. Even then, their exhausted state didn't prevent Amara from brushing her swollen lips against his and drawing him into a deep, passionate kiss. He could only accept the amorous sweep of her tongue and respond with his own. They didn't break apart until their lungs burned. Finally, then, he carefully lowered her legs to the bed.

With their bodies still connected and damp with well-earned sweat, he belatedly noticed the significance of Amara's attentions. Up to that moment, he had been savoring the wonderful afterglow, his member still sensitive and awash in their mingling fluids. Now, with her softly cupping her hand along his scruffy cheek, she reached up to trace the outer edge of his eye patch, her fingertips lingering on the fissures of age etched there. The sentiment behind it startled him even before it began to sink in.

The operative pulled away then, the abrupt way he diverted himself from Amara's attention not escaping her notice. Her eyes scintillated with concern as he exhaled a tense breath and absently grazed his hand along her backside, focused instead on the constriction of his innards. Despite all the times he had stared down the barrels of cocked firearms, he had never experienced the tight sensation that simultaneously weighed in his chest and made his gut uncomfortably heavy.

Anxiety? Was that what it was? That would certainly be a first for him.

_Well then._

For what felt like the first time in his entire fecking life, Zane Flynt felt clueless about what to do. It seemed like his mind was one extensive mess of knots. Only one hour ago, he had been convinced that he had been ditched and replaced by his former friend with benefits. Then Amara had arrived out of nowhere, backed by the woman who had presumably replaced him, and demanded sex.

Maybe the worst of it was that he had gone and screwed her. Whether or not that was true, he didn't know.

Particularly after getting off, he wasn't accustomed to internal conflict. It kind of ruined the post-coital glow for him...while Amara was still mostly awash in it. That was clear with how relaxed she was, her fingers idly playing in his chest hair. Apparently she didn't know what was in store for them…

It was unlike him to be in his condition. Ordinarily, he would absorb her attention and enjoy how pleasant it was. Maybe he would crack a joke or initiate another round of foreplay. Instead, he felt fixed in place, unable to appreciate the moment. He felt convinced that if he did anything, he would risk fecking things up - and he wasn't a man who ever _worried_. Where in the hell was his confidence?

For once, it seemed it had died off after sex. What a hell of a foreign concept, but then again he wasn't in the position to punt his partner out of his bed and give her a farewell slap on the ass. Maybe if he had, he would have felt more like his tried and true self - at least enough to figure out where his head was. He at least needed to get a stiff drink, for feckssake, so he could establish his equilibrium again.

In reality, he wasn't quite ready to face the consequences of his inevitable actions. Despite being convinced more now than ever that their affair needed to end, he was filled with dreaded acceptance. Just the toll their separation had taken on his sanity had made that perfectly clear.

He shouldn't have needed her as much as he did, damnit. He _never_ wanted to rely on anyone for anything...and having it dawn on him just how attached to her he had become sobered him in every terrible way. In other words, he had fecked up _beyond _bad, and it had taken Amara leaving him in the dark to truly realize the hell out of it.

Needless to say, he would rather get blindly wrecked on the most bitter, poison moonshine than subject himself to that lucid, and self-defeating, reality.

However much he preferred to blame his visceral reaction on Moze's complications, he damn well realized he was accountable for his own actions. It didn't matter what reasons he used to rationalize his decision - Amara would take the brunt of it, regardless.

Against him, the siren shifted to see his face. Despite his efforts, it was clear she could both detect and sense his tension. The hand she used to pet his furry chest had drifted lower to brush soothingly along his abdomen. Even with the distraction, his eye flicked far away from her uniquely colored irises. He had to look away, unable to bear the weight of her faith in him.

"What are you thinking?" she asked quietly, shifting up on one elbow to better look at him.

For Zane, the direction things were taking felt a lot like the first time they had screwed. Back then, he hadn't been quite sure what had happened or where it would lead.

"I, ah…'m not sure," he admitted, his adam's apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

Amara's deep voice, just as much as her expression, showed concern. "What aren't you sure about?"

"...I dunno."

"Zane."

A pause. He was looking at her now, trying to get a read on her and determine how avoidant she would allow him to be.

He filtered a sigh from between his teeth before bowing under the weight of her stare. "This whole thing with Moze is feckin' confusin'."

Now, she was outright frowning. "I said she's fine with it. What, do you want to hear it from her?"

...Okay, so maybe the mental scenario of the gunner walking in on them having recently had sex was very much had some appeal to his testicles, but logically it was not as inviting in reality.

"Nah," he gruffed dismissively and then felt around his words, trying to get a taste for them. He didn't like what he found, but wanting to avoid feeling more cornered by the siren, Zane defaulted on a shrug. "Just don't get where I stand in all this."

"Seeing as I'm laying with you and _not_ with Moze, that should be pretty obvious," she pointed out, very much looking like she wanted to roll her eyes at him.

"Ain't like she's far," he grunted - and knew that wasn't exactly what he meant to say. Or was it? The truth couldn't really be argued. Even then, Amara was on the verge of glaring at him.

"No, she's not," replied the siren before staring him squarely in his remaining eye. "Let me guess - you think I'm using you. For your dick."

The crooked smile he managed had Amara releasing a deeply frustrated sigh, her eyes finally favoring her upper lids in exasperation.

Zane didn't miss the flaring of her blue markings or the way she clenched her fists - or how she tried to reach for the sheets beneath them, presumably intending to cover herself before realizing the fabric was pinned beneath them.

"C'mon now - why wouldn't I think that?" he tried reasoning with her, gesturing with a sweep of his hand between them. "Pretty sure that's what this's been, hasn't it? All the sneakin' 'round? Seems like ye were hidin' it from yer girlfriend."

"I'm not like that, you old Irish jackass," she snapped, and promptly moved to leave the bed before he caught her wrist. _That_ didn't stop her from rounding on him and jabbing her available index finger at him, adopting a position of self-defense.

"I'm not like the other trash you've screwed, Zane," she growled. "My bad, I thought you fucking knew that."

Her mouth was opening with further insult before he let go of her and used both upturned hands to try and appeal to her. "I know, I _know. _Ye just -"

_Baaack up, lad. Wee bit of honesty'll an' brain activity might go a long way._

Zane huffed before he tried again, hesitantly patting the bed beside him. Appealed to the siren with his one blue eye - and then reconsidered, lifting his hips to yank on the bedsheets and conceal himself up to his navel. Being a little more decent seems appropriate, even if she was still dripping with his semen.

_Hnngh- stop it._

"This wasn't what I expected, 'Mara," he admitted, diving in with both feet before his cock could instead get the jump on him. "Truth be told, I didn't think we'd have more than a few good times an' be done with it. But then we kept goin' - an' that ain't like me. And _I'm _not the type I'd peg ye havin'.

"That's why I'm so confused 'bout this thing ye got goin' - or could have - with Moze," he said with a sigh, feeling the weight of his age and the toll this disaster was taking. "She ain't jus' lookin' to do ye. I ain't a pro but it sounds like she wants the whole nine yards, an' ye know that better than I do. It doesn't make sense to me why ye'd keep botherin' with a bastard like me, handsome as I am. I can't offer ye any more than I have. If that's what ye want-"

The Tiger of Partali verbally pounced, impatiently intercepting her prey. "Why is that? And wait, why do you think I want _anything_ to change?"

As if that, from her, wasn't revealing enough. The order that she addressed what he had mentioned was quite telling. She could have _started_ with being upset about him misinterpreting her intentions, but instead, she challenged why he couldn't give her more. If she hadn't wanted exactly that, she wouldn't have made that demand.

Christ. It might have come across as it, maybe, but he was _not _being spiteful. He wasn't working up to finally ending their affair as a means of getting back at her for leaving him in suspense the last number of weeks. He _wasn't_. Had he not made that mistake of falling into bed with her one last time, their brewing fight could have been avoided.

Goddamn, he really hated his dick for it. He had _known_ better but often the indecent meat between his legs tended to yell louder.

"Not sure why I'm thinkin' anything, honestly," admitted the operative, openly avoiding further explaining himself. In reality, he never expected any answer he could willingly give to be enough. He sure as shite didn't share her perspective on deeper communication and never would. "Seems like we jus' got caught up in this. Means we outta step back an' see things straight. I, ah...I'm good at what I do an' absolute shite at what I don't. Got no plans o' changin' that."

And that was the truth, even if the hurt in Amara's eyes proved that what he said wasn't what she wanted to hear. Unfortunately, it wasn't his job to spare her. The best he could do was be honest with her. Chances were he should have done it sooner - _certainly_ when their affair had gone well beyond what he usually did. It wouldn't be the first time he had been a fool for pleasure and had enough lapses in judgment to be influenced by it, but his vices were no more selfish than any hope Amara had at changing him.

He couldn't even claim to think she actually wanted to persuade him. Every woman, particularly ones who valued their own importance as the siren did, wanted to be some exception. Probably knowing what he was, she had never expected to desire more from him than sexual fulfillment.

Sometimes people couldn't prevent themselves from forming an attachment, particularly when enough pleasure entered the equation. Amara was a young woman and...well, with no better way to put it, he was a charming and very sexually talented bastard. All someone like him had to do was make a lover come themselves stupid and they tended to lose their sense of reason.

If anyone could be responsible for setting - and, more importantly_, enforcing_ \- boundaries, it should have been him. He had the experience and the years beneath his belt to know better, even his methods favored outright abandonment. Amara was far from the only bed partner he inadvertently seduced into thinking she might actually want to keep him. Once she allowed her hormones to clear and actually saw him for what he was, she would thank him. She would _thank_ him, damnit - just as he should silently thank Moze for the opportunity he hadn't been able to make for himself.

Giving Amara a thoughtful frown, he kept his tone light and told her what needed to be said. He didn't want anything being misinterpreted or left up to interpretation. He wanted, and needed, a clean sweep of this mess.

"Ye had it right the first time, when ye backed off," he informed her with a shrug. "This thing between us has gotta end. We had our bit of fun but that's all it was and all it was ever gonna be, and honestly, I've been lookin' fer a way to let ye down easy."

Ah, _that _almost made him wince to both say and hear. Good thing he had one hell of a poker face. He could tell a lie with the best of them and besides, there was plenty of truth to his claim too. He _had_ been looking for an out...for reasons of his own - ones he had become more and more convinced of during their separation.

_Ye fucknut_, his mind sneered at him, and it didn't alter the curse in it._ How can ye do this? How can ye look her in the face and hurt her?_

Because by birth, he was an arsehole. By trade, he was a liar. He was a professional falsifier. His survival hinged on wearing any face and taking on any role demanded of him. More than he ever had to deceive anyone, he had to lie to _himself. _One couldn't be thoroughly convincing of anything without committing to the fabrication. His survival and reputation had routinely depended on it.

So yeah, he could look his partner directly in her eyes while he sank a blade into both of their hearts. Even worse, he could do it with a straight, remorseless face.

Watching the edges of Amara's expression twist with hints of contempt, her words held an underlying growl. "I don't _need _you to 'let me down easy', Zane," she pointed out, the offendedness in her tone hardly overshadowing her pain. "Instead of suffering through things, you could have addressed them like a _man. _Novel concept."

Ah, there it was - a perfectly natural and understandable response. She wasn't wrong about that either. He certainly wasn't in denial of his own screw-ups, though this one topped the charts.

"Aye, I'm aware," Zane sighed, moving to stand from where he had perched at the edge of the bunk. He swore he felt every vertebra in his back creak. If her hating him, as she should have, made it easier for her to digest this, then he was all for it. If needed, he could help her despise his guts.

With that said, he walked to his discarded clothing and bent over to retrieve it. Reclaiming some of his tarnished dignity began with pulling on his boxer briefs, followed shortly after by his pants. Reaching down for his belt, he went about shifting it into position and fixing it, along with its buckle and those of his holster, in place.

Minus their discussion, _this _was the arrangement he was most accustomed to: leaving a naked lass in bed while he got himself back in order and went on his way. Casually drawing the torso of his under armor overhead, he forced himself through the constricting neckline and felt its comforting drag on his skin. Working his arms through it was always a bit of a task even with all his practice, but the ease of pulling his looser shirt over it made up for it.

Behind himself, Zane could hear the soft whisper of sheets as Amara presumably pulled them up herself, feeling underdressed given the circumstances. Restoring some order to his hair by smoothing his fingers through the sides and sharpening some spikes, he offered a flippant shrug. In reality, all he wanted to go was backtrack to his partner, put his arms around her, and apologize for being so...himself. Instead, he impassively crossed his arms over his chest.

"You knew this would happen," he confidently told her, as if that made it any easier. "I've never claimed to be any different, sweetheart."

Damn, another grimace-worthy moment. It was probably best that he was facing away, as he couldn't be entirely sure he had prevented that one from surfacing. Shite, he really was falling back on his normal ways. Ordinarily, he wouldn't give a shite - but he had never been that way with her _ever. _There was no place for that man among respected friends.

Still, he could hear his own obstinance. Could feel the physical manifestation of it in the stern draw of his features. Amara was staring at him like she couldn't believe his sudden coldness - and it _had_ to be that way. She needed to regard him like he was a heartless bastard - because even if he wasn't, he _needed_ to be.

It wouldn't be the first time he had taken such severe measures, but he hoped, with her, that it would be the last. Already, he was convinced he would forever look back on this moment and want to cut his own throat as much as he did then, if just to end himself and never face that predicament again.

At least he hadn't spouted some nonsense about their affair not doing it for him. Shite, there couldn't have been a bigger lie. If he was honest with himself, the opposite was, in fact, true and it was guilty of doing _too much. _Considering every way he had ever touched her, there was no way in hell he could have defended that drastic of a fabrication. Unlike his mind, his body was a poor liar.

Still, there had to be a better way of doing this. If there was, the operative certainly hadn't thought of it. In fact, he wasn't thinking much of anything now. All he knew was what needed to be done and default to nonchalance to see it through. To him, the best way to end everything was to treat it as though nothing was out of the ordinary. Like he had walked away from her every time and resumed his life as though nothing had ever happened.

And in some ways, he had - but not like this, donning his gear with Amara behind him. Throwing an offer over his shoulder that she was guaranteed not to take up, just to excuse himself with a task.

"I'm going to run some maintenance on the ol' shiperoo. I know it ain't yer thing, but do ye wanna tag along an' assist?"

Amara was wordless in his bed, staring at him in silence. She barely shifted as he drew on his coat and leaned over to collect her clothes. He wasn't an _arsehole_, after all - he just didn't dare meet her gaze while he set the small pile by her feet and shook the items out, all so he could lay them flat atop the bunk. He didn't want to see the inevitable affliction reflecting in her eyes because maybe, if he did, he would do something like fumble.

Instead, he kept his own conduct calm and friendly. He maintained the same qualities in his voice...like he wasn't actually planning to ditch her there. Like he wasn't treating her only slightly better than a senseless fling. Like he wasn't basically telling her to clean up herself and get out of his damn space.

That didn't stop him from hating himself, but the time for that wasn't now. Instead, he looked at his handiwork and arranged his arms akimbo before finally, _finally _glancing at her and said, with a tense smirk, "S'pose ye know the way out."

Christ, he was a filthy rotten bastard. Of all the evidence he had to be sure of it, _that_ took the cake. It was one confection that looked pretty but was poison inside. He must have already taken a bite considering all the bile determined to rise up the back of his throat.

Zane's swallow wasn't audible, just as he didn't release any indication of his discomfort when Amara refused to look at him. From behind the fallen veil of her hair, her smoked-out lids remained lowered as she focused on her presented garments.

All things considered, he expected her to slap him and leave his nose bloody while she hastily pulled on her clothes and stomped out of his room. That scenario would have followed the precedence in countless others. He even braced his feet for it, damn well knowing her strength and even then, he was willing to take the hit.

Instead, the siren had always been intent on throwing him for a loop. The purpose of her deliberately rising to her feet and lashing out at him was no different. Expecting the sharp flat of her palm, if not the collision her balled fist, the operative grunted as she grabbed him by his beard and yanked him down into the crushing press of her lips.

Clearly he was _not_ learning from his mistakes - not when he ended up kissing Amara instead. It wasn't that he initiated, but his willing participation, desperate and greedy, was just as damning. His hands were equally as hasty hers in divesting him of the garments he had only just put on.

What fecking good that had done him.

Amara was miraculously, and always, willing. And his body, despite his age, was still able. His hunger for her and the pleasure they made together was too freshly intense on their minds to deny, even as his partner aggressively threw him down and forced herself atop him. The thought of resisting didn't even cross his mind when instead, he submitted instantly, his adrenaline skyrocketing.

One last load for the road. One final feck to remember her by, not that he could forget a single one they'd had.

Who could blame him? _Everyone_. But no one he gave a damn about. There were only Amara's lips. Her hot skin. Her possessive hands. Their desperate motions when she took him, the rush of everything nearly blinding. She should have hated him but instead, _that _was how she chose to destroy him. It was a good move, he had to admit.

Because, if it ended, they both wanted it to be like this - intense and desperate. Another battle to be fought and won, and to bask in the spoils of it. Sometimes, in their universe, the biggest challenge was to _live - _and what better way, without bleeding, was there to feel so goddamn alive than with sex?

With her, 'No' just didn't seem to be in his vocabulary.

...

At the end, it was Amara who left. She dismounted, tucked a tissue between her legs, and reached for her clothing. With her back turned to him, she pulled each garment on. The sight of her shimmying her clingy panties and jeans up her curvaceous hips would have captivated him, had he not been staring at the metal ceiling.

"See you around, I guess," she muttered without a backward glance. Her voice was quiet. And just like that, she left - same as she should have all along. Had they both handled their affair like such a business-like transaction, lines would have never been crossed.

When all was said and done, Zane was left with plenty of time to reflect on everything. Too much, perhaps, but then it truly didn't take him long to reach a final firm decision on how he would proceed.

Now, he somewhat knew how it felt to be the one ditched. Granted, being the emotionally unavailable man he was, he didn't carry the damage with him. He shed that bullshite off like an old skin.

Sex wasn't all there was to life, as much as his testosterone tried to convince him to believe. And while there were few other things that elicited such intense sensations, survival didn't require any of it.

Just as he hadn't ever drank himself to a toxic demise, he wouldn't fuck himself to death. Had he been foolish enough to truly let his hedonistic pursuit of sexual gratification dictate his actions, he would have decomposed forever ago.

There were always other partners to be had. Other priorities to demand something from him. Particularly now, semi-retiring as a Crimson Raider, he had plenty of strange opportunities beckoning him - among them, the promise of things that were both alien and exciting. For a man who had both done and seen virtually everything, what more could he ask for? Beyond that, he was well-aware that he could better ignore his libidinous urges when he could invest his recklessness elsewhere.

A time or two, he might have to remind himself that by letting Amara go, he had prioritized her best interest before his own. The strong woman that she was, she undoubtedly downplayed her emotional needs and desires for sincere affection - which he had given her, just not as deeply as she seemed wired to want.

He certainly didn't reflect on the discrepancies of his own defense - specifically, how he adapted his own opinions to his benefit. When their affair had begun, he had convinced himself that his playing along with Amara was all about _her..._only to turn around now and choose to believe that ending what they had was ultimately best for her. He intentionally overlooked the fact that both stances weren't only entirely contradictory, but that his actions were also blatantly conflicting.

Regardless, he refused to accept that he had any personal stake to lose in all this. He sure as feck hadn't signed up for or otherwise agreed to having anything of the sort. In fact, he rejected the possibility that he was invested beyond having temporarily put his dick on hold for her. Intentionally, he ignored how his discarding former exhilarating lovers had been effortless. He hadn't experienced even a hint of remorse after skedaddling away from his many marriages.

He had acknowledged it in regards to Amara once already and he would time and time again: he didn't _do _regrets.

Rarely was responsibility enjoyable. He didn't often give a shite about it, but in his professional experiences, it usually resulted in some form of payoff. Regardless of reward, many sacrifices just had to be made. More than most, he was proficient at making them or otherwise cutting his losses.

It would be best, for both of them, to pursue satisfying their needs elsewhere. Particularly for Amara, it would be better for her to find a suitable partner rather than have him disappoint her. There was a degree of neglect that he simply couldn't accept imposing on his partner. He _knew _she had been so much more than a fling, but he just wouldn't feel right continuing that ruse even for his own selfish benefit.

In most ways, at fifty-three, he was older and wiser than he had ever been. More than ever, he figured he knew himself and what he was capable of. He had accumulated payloads of practice at challenging his limits, at any rate. Even if he _wanted_ to be a better man for Amara, he couldn't accept failing at her expense. As much as he knew he was a stubborn and hard-working bastard, the potential for disappointing his close friends got under his skin like nothing else could. He blatantly didn't care if he fecked over anyone else.

If nothing else, Amara could use the experience as an unfortunate, albeit important lesson. She would never begin to understand him. Even if she did, she would refuse to. Nothing he could ever say would make it make any sense to her. As it was, he refused to explain himself. He didn't _do _that. Already, he had gone far enough beyond his limits and it had brought them to this point. _That _was bad enough.

His biggest damn mistake had been allowing them to ever reach this point. Like an arse, he had let his dick override his common sense and make decisions for him. In the past, it hadn't mattered how amazing the sex had been, as he had always bounced elsewhere and continued his professional pursuits. Even the women he had courted and married hadn't ever tied him down.

His biggest damn mistake was falling into bed with someone he had allowed closer than the rest. Not just that, but a woman he had been real friends _and _trusted partners with, allowing them to use those bonds like a springboard to propel them toward more.

He had gone on to make a _worse _mistake by making a habit of staying overnight with her. _That_ had resulted in him taking a downhill tumble_, far_ from his higher ground, and landing with his head in the sand. Instead of pulling himself free, he had chosen to keep pulling his cock out of the siren.

No more, he vowed. He had to ensure that he never tripped up again. _Ever _again. If he wanted to knock someone's hole off, he had infinite other options.

Shite, the galaxy was _full _of people worth fecking. He just needed to give the ol' wheel-o-potential a spin and see which pretty face landed under the needle. In fact, he should appreciate a bit of sampling instead of always having the same meal. He usually preferred a bit of give on his ladies anyway. A soft tummy and some gravity on plush titties made for fun times. Otherwise, his preference was usually whatever, and _whoever_, he had to play with at the time.

Besides, having a misguided sense of obligation to _anyone_ was a ridiculous mistake if there ever was one. It was bad enough that he experienced such strong loyalty to his teammates, and _that_ wasn't at all like him. If, before Amara had approached him, he had agreed to leave Sanctuary on a solo venture, he would have never stepped out of professional bounds. Instead, he had been struck by an odd sense of protectiveness and remained aboard to stand by his boyos.

His own decisions made little sense to him. He had survived half a century being one way, so why in the hell would he change? Who in the feck would Zane Flynt even _be _if he became domesticated?

Crazy bastard he was, there was always one voice in his chaotic head prepared to challenge him.

_Ye realize ye've practically settled down already, aye? Look at the state o' ye, _still_ hangin' with the Raiders an' callin' Sanctuary home…_

_Not helpin' me crisis any!_ normal him snapped, not that assisting was the other side's intention. _Jus' 'cause I've made some strategic exceptions doesn't mean I gotta make personal ones!_

_Ohhh lad,_ it laughed cruelly, _ye've more than done that._

Vehemently disregarding that agitating argument, Zane resumed reflecting right where he had been _before _that bullshite interruption.

If he settled down, he wouldn't be himself. _That_ was for damn certain. To guard his handsome arse, he'd had to abandon enough of his hard-earned reputation via some half-ass retirement. By becoming a vault hunter, he had managed to scrape up some semblance of a rollercoaster venture - but even then, _that_ had been diluted by working with the Crimson Raiders. By his standards, the lot was kinda tame. That came with them being decent folks.

Christ, he wasn't even allowed to go out and be himself without his teammates harping on him. It seemed he always had _someone_ breathing down his neck, and officially hooking up with Amara sure as feck wouldn't get her off his back. In fact, that would be a surefire way of having the opposite effect. Signing up for that wasn't remotely an option because then any freedom he still had would be thoroughly shot to shite.

Why was he distantly thinking about it? Ah, right, to prove that the concept amounted to utter nonsense. Maybe he _wanted_ to go out and get fecked up. Maybe he _wanted_ to test his luck and dodge bullets. Maybe he _wanted_ to smoke a carton of cigarettes and say sayonara to his vital organs. Maybe he _wanted_ to keep kicking arse and taking names until his body gave out on him _without_ someone bitching at him.

Damnit, he had never even _wanted_ to like anyone, nevermind stick with the group he had swaggered into. Friendship, he guessed, he could manage. He was a decent and bubbly guy on the outside. Anything more than that was beyond his capacity, however much he...ah…was all sorts of confused over Amara.

He couldn't even acknowledge what he...kinda maybe sorta felt for Amara. What in the hell was that, anyway?

He knew that if he gave it a name, he would panic. If he admitted what it was, well, he was as good as dead. He had no intention of digging his own grave yet, despite his crazy methods convincing everyone otherwise.

Commitment meant accountability. It meant _predictability. _It meant laying with the same person indefinitely. It meant shackling himself by the ankles and balls and only going wherever she did. How in the hell could he live life by the seat of his pants that way? Had he agreed to that, would it have been any less cruel to Amara for him to dump her after deciding it was all too much for him? No.

As it was, Zane hated enough that he had upset her already. His trusting her to gather herself and take charge of her recovery didn't assuage his guilt any. The fact that he had been capable of sacrificing her emotions for his own motives only further convinced him that he wasn't the person she hoped he would be. Unfortunately, that truth had never been brought into question, nor had it been any surprise.

Amara would heal in time, he was sure. In order to do that, she needed to be cut loose so she could find someone right for her, whether it was Moze or someone else. Already, the thought of losing Amara to someone else hurt him like bad tooth - when it damn well shouldn't have. He had never been the jealous type, even if everyone inevitably encountered the green-eyed monster a time or two. He knew that. However, even the thought of seeing the siren with someone else made his stomach churn with anger whenever he ran the theoretical - and inevitable - scenario through his head, and that was some fecked up shite.

It made him taste shame in the back of his throat like bitter bile...just as he had experienced when discovering her with Axton. Though there was no saying who she would eventually end up with, he would need to ensure that he was a supportive friend whenever the time came. He needed not only to respect her but also to allow her the space she might require to add someone else to her life if that was what she truly wanted.

Amara absolutely deserved better than someone who only had ten to fifteen good years left in him. At the rate he was going, and without any intention of slowing down, he was confident he had that - provided his luck lasted that long. Still, for as much as he rejected the physical limitations of his age, he couldn't deny them entirely. He definitely didn't want her caring for his rundown carcass. Particularly being the intense siren she was, she needed someone with more mileage. Besides, she didn't truly know how much of an insufferable bastard he was. She needed someone who wouldn't do stupid shite and cause her to prematurely gray as he had himself.

Professionally, he might have been one hell of a problem solver, but when it came to relationships, he had _no_ damn experience and he didn't plan to use Amara as an experiment. He had always dodged interpersonal involvements and circumvented arguments. The bigger they were, the faster and further he ran.

Overall, he was a man who preferred living with as few avoidable complications as possible. He didn't have an acquired taste for headaches and he sure as hell wasn't planning on developing one. And despite his behavior, he was logical enough to know that sex didn't actually fix anything. It was just a fun distraction. Oh, and he was absolute _shite_ at compromising because he had constructed a life for himself where he never had to.

Amara, on the other hand, was a relatively traditional woman. Beyond having a plethora of positive attributes, she was undeniably mature and resourceful. If he had to take a guess as to how she would handle herself after all this, he expected she would take part in some self-reflective meditation and rediscover herself or some shite.

Surely, by the time she did, he would be well on his way to feeling like himself again.


	20. Cicatrizing Circuitry [Zane Solos the Maliwan Takedown]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Is this fic starting up again? It seems so.  
-Am I rusty and off-kilter from life being crazy? You betcha.  
-Is this story also at an awkward point? Yessir. It gets worse.
> 
> Stay safe and healthy, everyone!

Like many missions Zane Flynt had performed throughout his career, his current wasn't exactly going to plan. Even two months in, he discovered he wasn't as past anything as he wanted to be...and for the first time, he found himself struggling to improvise.

To say Amara hadn't been particularly happy with him since their split was an understatement...But was it? All things considered, and for as far as he could tell, she had done pretty well to put their differences behind them. He only sensed she was irritated with him because...well, she was. There weren't two ways about it. Her eyes, more than anything, tipped him off - provided he was allowed to see them.

Necessary as it had been, he had hurt Amara. He had done it for _both_ of them, and together, they had paid some price. It was a hard lesson learned for her and a reminder of all his mistakes that had led up to that point. Leave it to him to give it a positive spin.

In the meantime, he did what he did best and kept his distance, in hopes that doing precisely that would bring him some reprieve. Maintaining that formality was far safer than facing the lingering attraction he had for her. The last thing he needed was to risk doing something stupid like act on it again. After all, he had done some pretty reckless shite in his day.

How he managed _not _to plant his fist in the nearest wall whenever their affected partnership came to head, who knew? As intense as the urge was, he resisted. That would be _too _revealing, and besides, he had no right. After all, he was responsible for the awkward moments and Amara's unusual silence...and unlike everything else he set out to repair, there was no way for him to fix it.

Things between them had been precarious, to say the least. Over the past number of weeks, they had settled into an uneasy detente; she had been more reserved and less prone to smiling at his jokes, and he had done his best to not pester her with them. In fact, their interactions were virtually limited to team missions, group meals, and whatever other nonsense their foursome got leashed into. Throughout, her disappointment in him remained palpable.

It, quite honestly, sucked. For Zane Flynt, that was a rare understatement.

Gone were the days of them sparring, grabbing some random bite to eat by themselves, or double-teaming Marcus in a haggling match. They didn't even resume their routine of comparing and trading weapons. Unless one of them arrived to take Ava off the other's hands or found themselves simultaneously waiting on the unprepared teenager, Amara outright avoided being alone in his company.

That, he could understand, even if it stung like a bitch. Not everyone could roll with the punches as he did. Amara's talents were far more literal. If anything, she seemed to struggle with casually playing off everything that had happened. Until she chose to look ahead and stopped lingering in the past, she would be hindered. Her inexperience at brushing off the dust of their sort of-breakup wasn't all that surprising.

What could he say for himself? Naturally, he was proficient at it - because he both wanted and needed to be. If anything, he had expected his projected nonchalance to make the transition for her easier. Instead, he had assumed wrong. It only made her avoid and scrutinize him. No doubt she was critical as to how he could be so unaffected.

If that didn't drive the knife further home in her chest, what did? It didn't matter if that hadn't been his intention. He just hoped, given time, that the undercurrent of tension between them would dissipate. It wasn't something he was particularly patient in tolerating, but he figured he owed it to her to manage. At least, until he decided otherwise.

And if his patience decided it wasn't worth it? Well, then he would have to reconsider his options. He didn't care to hang around if things remained indefinitely awkward. He preferred for their team to be happy together and significantly much more carefree - just as they had been. Undoubtedly that would be better for Amara...and Moze, because _of course_ she was pissed off at him too.

He at least wanted to give things a chance to normalize, even if he had to dial himself back a bit and...well, subject Amara to less of his antics. That included keeping his voice down because it damn near cut through the entire ship. If he wasn't penetrating the corridors with his crass laughter and Irish squawking, it was assumed he was either sleeping or occupying his mouth with a pint.

It was a shitty situation to be in. If he wasn't cracking tame jokes, he could barely communicate with her directly. As a proactive fixer of things, he didn't dare trust his tongue in the off-chance when they were alone for a second. And damn, those moments spent waiting for Ava to arrive with a pep in her step seemed to stretch on forever. He practically spent them with his hands jammed in his back pockets while rocking to and fro on his heels. How the teenager didn't seem to notice the change between them went beyond him.

Even as a master of charisma and trigger-quick wit, Zane didn't care to try his luck. All it took was one wrong word to slip and the siren might decipher how much he still wanted her. _That_ was a secret he was determined to take to his grave. As it was, he couldn't subject her further to himself for fear of unintentionally sabotaging any chance they had at returning to their former friendship. He needed her too much to risk that.

Now, the chances of restoring that were further complicated by his muddled headspace. It was impossible for him to be unguarded now that he acknowledged feeling certain forbidden ways about her. Missing their days of easy banter like a phantom limb, he knew he had to find some way to get over all of it. Even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew it was a futile one. Unless she tried to put a bullet between his eyes, there was no easy way out for him. He was well and truly fecked.

Every time he was reminded of that truth, he experienced a flare of anger toward himself. While he wasted no time in tamping it down, he still carried the weight of it atop his shoulders. Mentally hunched as he found himself, he decided that he might end up a bitter and jaded old man after all. Maybe he already was one and he just forgot to act like it.

As much as it tormented him, Zane was starting to think that the loud buzz of tension between them may just be their new normal and that he would have to get used to it. Persisting as it did day in and day out, he wanted to be wrong in his assumptions...but wasn't optimistic enough to otherwise convince himself.

Without a doubt, Amara held him more accountable for their loss of closeness than anything else. Sex was nice and provided physical relief, but there was no satisfying substitute for the chaste intimacy they had shared. Even he could relate to feeling that absence despite how much determined he was to admit it.

Had he been brave enough to be honest with himself, he might have admitted particularly missing the lingering kisses they had shared over her shoulder while he spooned behind her...and how her hair smelled of warm jasmine whenever he nestled his face into it.

Satisfaction, during those lazy nights, had been all about winding down another long day alongside the only person he could stand at the time...and connecting with her in ways that comforted. He had enjoyed drifting off to sleep with his last memory being the sound of his partner's restful breathing. He was particularly fond of her warmth being the first thing he registered during the otherwise unpleasant process of waking.

Simply being able to be a man and woman together had been an underrated novelty. They hadn't had to uphold any expectations or crow their own praises. Like that, they weren't vault hunters or an operative or a siren. They were just...themselves without all the other complications, free to do as they pleased while having their partner's acceptance.

During those personal times, Zane discovered that he preferred Amara, the woman, to Amara, the siren. Clearly, they were one in the same, but she was far more engaging when she wasn't intent on being some muscle-bound hero who only thought with her fists. No...he more appreciated the relaxed woman who trusted him and because of that, dropped her guard. In privacy, she had given them both permission to make the most of what her body could do for her. Her indulgence served to remind her that not everything relied on strength and magic.

Vulnerable as she had allowed herself to be with him, nothing about her had been for show. Everything about her was authentic, and he always found himself swept up in it. Possibly the only sense of importance and influence Amara felt she ever had completely relied on her sirenhood, and discovering the tender woman she was behind it all had been a potent aphrodisiac.

Falling asleep pressed to a warm body, gently brushing hands, sharing tender kisses...those proved to be terribly wonderful things. Their absence was starkly felt on that cold, metal ship. Its hollow, frigid interior was a grim reminder of what he had relinquished every damn day that passed.

It wouldn't be the first time in his long life that he had made a sacrifice, and inevitably, it wouldn't be the last. Still, his self-preservation took priority over all else, the same as it always had. His missteps had merely, and importantly, reminded him, and Amara, that he wasn't worthy of her trust.

...Or was he? He was certainly biased as feck but in his mind, he hadn't done anything to betray her. He had no intention of revealing what they had done, nevermind blurt out that she could be soft and feminine. Those weren't even blackmail-worthy materials, had he been so inclined to obtain any. The private lad he was, their intimate and cushier moments were theirs and theirs alone.

As much as it grated on him, Amara had fully resurrected the tough gal act since then. If he noticed her smiling and letting down her guard, it was for Moze and he just happened to enter the area. When he stepped in, she reverted back to the same persona she had when they had first crossed paths: stern and quiet. It was a damn shame how years of progress and forged friendship were lost, but that hadn't been by his design.

Unfortunately, it was up to Amara whether or not she ever warmed up to him again. Surely, there could be no harm in dropping her defenses again after she already had...right? He was _always_ himself with her, he felt. He just didn't change much. Life was too short to fret over that shite.

Selfish as it was for him, he wished she felt the same. It was always a bummer when fallout occurred after a quality affair - at least during the rare times he cared to keep contact with former bedpartners. Given that most folks he fooled around with were like-minded, there were few, if any, complications. Then again, none of them had ever caught feelings for each other. _That_ was the kicker.

Amara, as he had always known, wasn't anything like them. She had convinced herself, somehow, that she wanted more than he could give. Her believing he was even _capable_ was the real problem. It amounted to denial, if he ever saw it, and meant she was just as responsible for their predicament as he had been. After all, she could have ended their affair when she realized she had too much on the line. To him, that wasn't so much assigning blame as stating a fact.

Now, it didn't matter how things could have changed. Possibilities and what-ifs didn't account for the present and Zane knew better than to let them trouble him. He shouldn't have allowed the underlying discourse between them to bother him.

Except a few times, it did.

More than once, he had nearly ended up on Amara's doorstep in his civvie attire and agreed, finally, to exercise with her. He would have been pouting like a little bitch too. She had only pestered him about it since she had caught him wheezing a time or two_. _After that, she treated him like he did it all the time - which was feckin' ridiculous, if anyone asked him. Strained as things had become, he might have considered suffering through eating another salad if it succeeded in uplifting her spirits. In _theory_, he was that nice of a man.

Ultimately, he had decided that getting hot and sweaty with Amara had brought on their troubles in the first place. Not only was he convinced that he might drop dead from her rigorous training, but she might also ensure that he did. All things considered, it probably wasn't the wisest decision to entrust his health to someone who was both physically intense on her own and wanted to rightfully kick his arse...so he refrained. He just wasn't that altruistic.

As much as he knew he deserved such harsh punishment, he couldn't make himself endure that torturous death sentence. Besides, he didn't need to subject himself to boot camp in order to do right by her. The last thing he needed was to seem _desperate_, and he definitely wasn't going to go out of his way to do it.

Truth be told, it was better to let Amara maintain her safe distance and decide when she felt inclined to approach him. Until then, all he could do was keep himself available enough to approach. The sucker he was for her, he didn't want to subject her to himself - for many of the same reasons he had refused an ongoing arrangement with her.

Zane knew who he was damn well better than anyone else. An actual relationship was the last thing Amara needed with him. He had only sabotaged or otherwise ruined every attempt he had ever made at one. Every partner he thought he could commit to, he grew disinterested in. Every lover he had been convinced would do it for him, he screwed over whether he wanted to or not.

The results were always the same: the second he made something official, he grew disenchanted with it. He always, _always, _ran or cheated. Either the temptation of someone else suddenly became irresistible or reclaiming his total freedom did. Regardless, the results were always the same. Amara simply didn't know what she would be destined for if they committed because she hadn't seen him at his worst, and he had no intention of giving her the opportunity.

Amara might have refused to accept it, but he had spared her by ending their affair - she just didn't want to realize it. Regardless, it was one thing to end their arrangement as he had and something entirely else to agree to more, only to inevitably destroy it. Some might consider him a prime example of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He couldn't do that to her. Already, he had fecked up enough. Why would things between them be any different? He knew he couldn't prevent himself from being _himself. _Inevitably, Amara would just end up as another scorned ex. She would despise him more than she already did. More importantly, she would be even more upset with him, and that was unacceptable. Instead, it was better to cut their losses and put an end to everything before he did more damage. He had done more than enough of that already.

Set on everything as Zane was, it didn't mean he truly accepted the fate of things. It also meant he couldn't allow himself to linger on the fact that their affair had ended just as it had begun: with Amara using him for her pleasure.

The more he thought about it, the less he second-guessed their last hurrah. In effect, him allowing it had granted Amara her chance to get her last word in. More than anything, he was glad he had given her that. From it, she had taken back the control she likely felt his decision had taken from her and reclaim some of her ever-so-important dignity.

It didn't do wonders for his own to sacrifice having sex on tap, accustomed as he had grown to it. That, for his addictive personality, was tough. One would figure he would be used to it by fifty-three but assuming that was wrong. Very, very wrong. Painfully wrong.

And it wasn't even _that_, because he could have gotten laid at any, he could have swung by Moxxi's and screwed her or charmed the clothes off one of the patrons. He could have gone planetside and swaggered his way into someone's bed or called up one of his hundred contacts intended for _that exact purpose. _He was skilled at getting laid, damnit. He was tall, snark, and handsome. He hadn't been voted the Universe's Sexiest Assassin for three years for nothing!

Currently, he just couldn't - not because he didn't want to but because he couldn't stand to. And that pissed him off _real_ bad, because Jesus fecking Christ, he had it so hard for only one woman that he couldn't be sure who he was anymore.

Despite his attempts, pornography was not cutting it. Not even close, and that just made him more frustrated. It reached the point where he, the difficult sonofacunt he was, resorted to accessing the optical files he had recorded of his and Amara's liaisons...because he was a motherfecking masochist, clearly.

_That_ had done it for him. Repeatedly. So many times, in fact, that he chafed even _with_ lubricant. When that had gotten tiring, he resorted to using his clone, and that was trouble. He couldn't help it - he needed something to pound into before he went crazier than he ordinarily was or else he swore he would break right through Amara's door and make a total fool of himself.

It wasn't even that he couldn't physically get off, because that was not - and had never been - the problem. Oh no, it was the effect seeing Amara's face had on him. And he didn't even need to watch her features contort in orgasm to have his heart punch right out of his chest.

Goddamn, she was gorgeous and it wasn't just his cock insisting on it. ECHOnet was _full_ of beautiful faces, but hers, in particular, did something for him that the others couldn't. It was a curse if he ever knew one.

Looking at her, how could he help himself? There was no other woman like her. Her skin was richly exotic and flawless despite her scars. Her lips were so plump and so inviting, he couldn't help but crave them. Her lash-lined eyes were _beyond _alluring, the makeup she wore only accentuating her natural beauty.

Every. Single. Damn. Thing about her was absolutely, irrefutably attractive to him. The _real_ kicker? It was her character that drew him in hook, line, and sinker. Without the soul inside those surreal eyes, she would have been just another lovely face. He never thought twice about those.

Of course, Amara being exactly what he wanted was just fecking unfair. It served to make him the arse-end of some cosmic joke he didn't care to be a part of. _He was not that man._ His lifestyle couldn't afford it, among other things. The complications weren't matters of patience or money or fame. He just-

He couldn't.

At least, that was what the operative told himself day in and day out. The truth of it had him scowling in private - and would have persisted had he not already perfected wearing a jovial face and maintaining a matching disposition in public. He at least convinced everyone in his proximity that he was the same old happy Zane - always carefree and funny!

Inside, he heard screaming. This time, one of the voices was his own, telling himself how fecking stupid he was. And had been. And continued to be. It only succeeded in giving him a headache. He refused to regard it as some form of emotional hangover. Even the migraines his optical implant had initially caused had been easier to accept than this bullshite.

_Ye need to take this head-on, _he reminded himself. _Let it run through yer system so long, ye forget_ _about it, if that's what it takes. Ye die before then? Fine. Great! Ye wanna eat a bullet? Go ahead! Ye feckin' deserve it, ye goddamn weak-minded, soft-hearted cunt_-

As firm as he wanted to stand his ground, his first reflex was to run like hell and disappear right off Sanctuary, never to look back. He could leave it in his stardust like the million other places he had put behind him throughout the years.

Ordinarily, following his modus operandi would necessitate him bouncing from the Raider gig and hoofing it alone. He might have, too, had the thought of abandoning Ava not been so difficult to stomach. Despite himself, he had absolutely no sufficient way of rationalizing hurting her. God knew the girl had suffered enough loss already, and there was no way in hell he could explain himself to her. Since no excuse could possibly suffice, he might have to fall back on the classic, "Ye'll understand when yer older" default and shatter her innocent heart. As much as he hated being so soft, it continued preventing him from resorting to that drastic measure.

Besides, the teenager _really_ didn't need to catch onto his and Amara's adult activities. Not only would it traumatize her, but she couldn't exactly afford to lose more color in her face. Besides, he wasn't particularly equipped for any sort of "Birds and Bees" talk. He didn't even _like_ birds.

Unfortunately, he suspected how futile trying to flee his predicament would be. There was no easy escape, as Amara was the kind of woman a man imagined when he settled for fecking another. Already, she overtook his dreams almost every night, beckoning him away from images of chaos and violence. She replaced them with alluring sensuality and experiences so vivid, he could commit them to memory.

Of course, that only served to torment him further.

In contrast, the Partalian siren remained scarce. Gone were the days of her seeking his chummy company or chatting him up while closely watching his intake at Moxxxi's. Now, instead of making herself comfortable alongside him at the diner, she sat diagonally from him. That maximized distance was just another detail he loudly noticed, even if he said nothing to that effect. Instead, he silently wished she wouldn't hold a grudge - and questioned if she even recognized herself having one. He understood her treatment, even if he couldn't relate. Regardless, he didn't enjoy being merely tolerated.

To top everything off, she frowned at him a lot. Sometimes, it was enough to make him falter in his cheekiness and fall into that same expression. _Don't do that to me, _he had been tempted to plead, if only a time or two. After all, they should have been sharing friendly banter and laughter. Amara shouldn't have made a point of leaving gatherings early just to avoid the risk of being left alone with him.

After deftly yanking the knife from his chest did he remind himself that it was for the best. He definitely needed to avoid being tipsy around her because already, he had been tempted to kiss that frown right off her. Old habits died hard, evidently. Every time the urge crept up, he had to take his leave and avoid making the same stupid mistake that had earned him her scorn in the first place.

That wasn't going to happen again. It should have never happened. He learned his lesson the hard way, and Amara's disapproval was proof of it.

Despite his stubborn efforts, his lingering attraction managed to get a jump on him. Sometimes, catching a glimpse of Amara's tresses caressing the bare cap of her shoulder was enough to have his desires surge again, ending whatever brief moment of levity he had mustered. Other situations had him looking sternly away from the ripple of her muscular stomach, forcing his guard to slam back into place at the speed of light.

Needless to say, he hated the changes in their routine and hated them more because he had caused them. Still, he couldn't shake the suspicion that he should stop everything, back away, and cut himself out of the Crimson Raiders entirely. Given how well Amara did to stay out of his hair, he supposed ducking out on occasion might be beneficial. And it wasn't like she cared enough now to bat an eye at his solo ventures.

He tried not to analyze what that meant. He felt he still knew her well enough to trust that she didn't want him dead. Similarly, he didn't think she had stopped caring about his survivability. She just...minded her own business and respected his. And that was just what he needed. That was what _they_ needed to maintain their partnership. If nothing else, they could still fight side by side, armed and deadly as always.

Nothing changed the fact that Amara was an amazing woman. That she could ever tolerate him and overlook his fuckups were testaments to her impressiveness. Undeniably, how he had handled matters between them proved he was a jackarse, and he wouldn't have professionally tolerated it. That alone made her better than he was.

What made matters worse was owning up to the fact that he had known all along the risk of her getting attached. Chances were, he would never stop feeling like shite over it. For as much as he wished he had never gotten involved with her, he also understood that he could never make up for it. That didn't mean he wasn't against trying to - he just didn't know _how._

Never before had he been a man who lingered. For as pissed off at himself as he was, he also understood that beating himself up over it accomplished nothing. All he could do to repent was avoid making the same mistakes twice. He shouldn't have made all the ones he had with Amara _ever_, but he couldn't indefinitely punish himself for it, even if he deserved it.

The last thing he wanted to do was punish her in any way - or do something to have her feeling like he was. That was why he swallowed his pride a bit. Was there some socially acceptable timeline where he was allowed to move on? The man he was, he wouldn't have thought twice about resuming his life as usual.

He wasn't quite sure why he was so patient about seeking other sexual outlets. He supposed the delay was out of respect for his teammate more than anything. Overall, he was clueless - if not outright terrible - at that sort of thing. It was pretty obvious, really, but short of asking Amara what worked best for her, what could he do? And since when did he make accommodations for anyone - not that he had any option? He valued his own life and physical appearance too much to do that. As inept as he was at interpersonal balance, he _did _know an invitation for trouble when he saw one.

Even then, he wondered if Amara knew how much of an earful he would have willingly taken from her if it meant smoothing everything over. He didn't know what was worse - that she had remained silent on the matter or what the damage would have been if she unloaded her siren rage on him.

Clearly she had unleashed some emotions on someone...Moze specifically. Zane wasn't stupid - he had caught the soldier mentally killing him time and time again. The castrating glares she had given him certainly suggested she, at least soon after, wanted him dead. She hadn't said anything to that effect, though. Instead, all the gunner did to voice her opinion was hiss a single acerbic word at him: "Dumbass." That seemed deceptively simple...He had merely shrugged.

Probably it wouldn't help Moze's attitude if he told her to knock her shite off like he wanted to, but damn, was he over her aggressively shouldering past him and lacing every word she said to him with venom.

Even then, she didn't behave in any way he hadn't expected. He had always known the Vladof soldier had a temper to her. Funny, his Spec Ops unit wouldn't have tolerated that, but she was a grunt...and her behavior proved it. Maybe when Amara started screwing her, she would lighten up. Until then, he would wait it out...for however long his tolerance lasted.

It really was a shame to see their companionship go tits up. FL4K, obviously, could care less. Amara conducted herself responsibly - no surprise there. Unlike their affair, their mutual respect for each other hadn't suffered the same crash and burn.

If anything, Zane considered himself as having done Moze a favor. Instead of giving him bitchface, she should have been _thanking_ him. Amara too, for that matter. The lasses had it hard for each other. In effect, he had removed himself from the equation and left them free to screw each other stupid. Why they didn't spend their days licking, fisting, or tribbing, he couldn't fathom. Evidently they still had things to figure out amongst themselves.

As for him, he was done with that naughty business between teammates. If anything, he had to count his lucky stars that things hadn't ended messier...even if their friendship had unmistakably taken some damage. He found no pride whatsoever in his expectations having proven true - he had _always_ known this would happen.

Despite everything, their roles as Crimson Raiders went on. They still skipped around planetary systems and did whatever odd jobs they came across. More often than not, they found themselves eye-deep in one conflict or another. The way he saw it, their team bounced around hostile territories like they were in one life-size game of ballistic pinball.

On their latest mission, he hadn't expected to quite literally throw himself at Moze.

They had been engaged in a gunfight, as always, and he had instantly snapped to attention when he heard the ex-soldier abruptly begin screaming, in vivid panic, into her headset.

Despite the hot lead trying to rain its way down on him and the steadily chipping away at the road divider he had used to take cover, bullets biting into it in unfaltering succession, he sprang into action. He had but a second to locate his teammate, barely managing over the holographic distortion of his rapidly depleting shield. With a gesture, he redirected his sentinel from being otherwise engaged and commanded it to cover him.

Then he had leaped into action, his responder in hand, sprinting to his feet while simultaneously activating his clone with that familiar sapphire flash. Without hesitance, the handsome digi-struct returned enemy fire, blind to the rounds that chewed through its shield and punched into its electric form. He didn't spare a second glance, even as the poor thing did its damndest to withstand the onslaught. Sparks flew and pixels flaked, but even then it boldly made the sacrifice.

Seizing the race, Zane had sprinted with all the length and stretch in his legs and vaulted over a number of obstacles he didn't have an instant to make sense of. Never losing his inertia, he leaves over fallen corpses and ducked under sudden spatters of bullets aimed in his direction - until SNTNL flew overhead and then, in a flash, pursued his attackers in a spray of relentless lightning bolts and rapid gunfire.

In his sights, Moze was thrashing in a fury of flames that all but consumed her, her frenzy propelling him blindingly faster until finally, he launched himself off the ground. Without thinking, he collided with her and knocked her clean off her feet, his weight far exceeding hers and his inertia a force to be reckoned with. And who fecking cared that the maneuver winded them on contact? Which it damn sure did.

His flight might have been graceful but the resemblance ended there. They collapsed in a coughing heap and a slapping flail of limbs, the gunner's petite body smothered beneath him. Fortunately for her, he rolled them before he could even think to draw a breath, acting more on reflex than anything. Between them, the sounds of sizzling embers and extinguished smoke rose, the cold leather of his garments both overwhelming and suffocating the hungry fire.

Like a well-oiled machine, he responded like the seasoned operative he was. He triggered his barrier in one mastered motion, its vibrant purple overtaking them. In his other hand, he raised his assault rifle and blasted through it, expending an entire clip of ammunition toward their thwarted attackers.

At the time, he hadn't thought much of the peculiar look Moze had given him for the assist. She seemed to have forgotten that he was not _only _a pretty face - which was an easy oversight to make - but that he was also a reliable teammate.

Apparently, it had taken something that severe to remind her that he really wasn't the arsehole she convinced herself that he was. For as much as he wanted to point out that he had never stopped being her boyo, he refrained. Though he wasn't one to hold a grudge, he didn't blame the gunner for hating his guts. To an extent, he could relate.

He certainly didn't come to her aide because he needed her appreciation and acknowledgment. He was happy to do it and sure as hell hoped she would uphold her responsibility as a teammate if the tables had been turned. With the glares she had shot him up until then, it wouldn't have surprised him if she would have rather watched him burn.

In fact, it surprised him when Moze sidled up to him later, while he had scanned their surroundings with binoculars. He had been so concentrated on the task that he had barely registered her approaching footfalls. Perhaps he had been trying not to.

"Thanks again," she had said in that stern voice of hers, "For not letting me get cooked. That's, uh, not really how I wanna go."

He had done little else than spare her a peek before fitting the rubber eyepieces to his face again.

"Think nothin' o' it. Ye've heard me shrieking like a pansy when I've been lit up," he told her, and that was the unfortunate truth.

For the first time in years, Moze had reverted back to the socially awkward, stiff soldier she had been when they had first met. She seemed to want to say so much more but had been unsure of where to begin. Honestly, at the time, he hadn't been particularly keen on listening to her try. It wasn't like he needed any reminding about how fecked up everything was.

To spare them both, he had given her an affable pat on her shoulder before turning on his heels to retreat back to camp. He had every intention of checking on a repair he had recently performed on FL4K. In effect, he left Moze behind so Amara could wander up to her right about the time he parked his arse by the beastbot and withdrew his trusty flask.

Well, at least one thing hadn't changed: he still hoped the gals would make something work.

With how fond of them he was, that would have been a refreshing change. Had he not liked them, he certainly wouldn't have stuck with them anywhere as long as he had. He felt mighty positive about FL4K too but they were a bot, if one with sentience. He still loved 'em like he did his Zoomer. He didn't mind being the third wheel if the beastmaster was a fourth.

As for Moze and Amara, he still trusted them to be good together. That didn't mean they had to make anything serious of it, but if they did? Well, he could imagine they would both be happier. Supposedly commitment had benefits for those who were actually capable of it, and they both seemed to be on the same page.

It really was too soon to say, but he would be lying to claim he _didn't_ consider them hooking up emotionally but wanting his physical services. He was a man, after all - how would he _not _be up for that?

Probably the thought wouldn't have crossed his mind had he not had former experiences with those arrangements, and that was in part because he didn't have any particular attraction to Moze. She was cute and by no means bad looking...he just tended to view her as a tomboy sister. He had only ever been inclined to playfully shove her and give her noogies. Thinking about cupping the back of her neck and kissing her was just weird. It certainly didn't sit right with him - not like being with Amara had.

It was all the better since Moze was also a lesbian, which would have made any attraction he could have harbored futile anyway. It was pointless to be into that, and honestly, he was most into personality. While he never bothered labeling himself, he figured pansexuality suited him more than anything. He wasn't particular to any one gender among the extensive spectrum of them. He only needed chemistry to get him going. From there on, he was pretty easy pickings.

Besides, it was ridiculously presumptuous to think Amara would ever want anything to do with his dick again, even if she knew he was good with it. He knew better than most how quality fucking didn't require one. Even then, _some _women missed getting pounded by a hard cock, and for that reason, his had been borrowed by a number of same-sex couples before. In that scenario, there were stricter limitations: No spending the night and likely no kissing. For a swinger: standard procedure.

_Ye don't have to torture yerself like this_, some deep part of his mind tried to convince him. He immediately ignored it because _of course _he did. He wasn't into bargaining bullshite. He damn well knew he couldn't listen to his langer's pathetic pining, intrigued as he was by the improbable scenario. Why wouldn't he jump at any chance to continue tirelessly pleasuring Amara while otherwise keeping her at arm's length? That way, he could have her without _having her._

No. No, damnit. He needed his entire self to be on the same page. And he was more than tired of letting his langer dictate the mistakes he made. As far as vault hunting went, there would be no sex, there would be no touching, there would only be appropriate partnership. Things would be cut and dry and _safe, _for a feckin' change.

_Seeming kinda pathetic, are ye? _asked his conscience with a shake of its proverbial head._ Thinking like this ain't even worth the risks. Done means _done_._

Aye. Of course it did. Nevermind that then.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his fantasizing wasn't worth _any _degree of risk. He definitely didn't need those ideas in his spank bank. It wasn't like he would have a shortage of partners. Besides, Amara was the monogamous type, and she would be plenty happy with Moze if they got around to it. The only benefit to him would be if their relationship smoothed the rough edges between them, and that would only be a secondary bonus. Clearly, his teammates' happiness took priority over that.

All he could do now was focus on himself and get his head back in the game - specifically his own. As an adult, Amara was responsible for herself. He didn't need to concern himself with her just as she didn't need to worry about him - at least not until they were in harm's way. That, outside of their missions, had little relevance.

As for the jobs he began taking on his own, those were his business and his alone. He did what he could to ensure no one aboard Sanctuary caught wind of them and, if they did, that they didn't interfere.

Tightly knit as the Crimson Raiders were, they often overlooked the concept of privacy_. _The lasses, in particular, tended to be the nosiest. As for himself, he didn't ask personal questions. That just wasn't his style - he preferred to blather on about himself. FL4K respected everyone's privacy because they didn't give a shite, plain and simple, which made him prefer their company over most.

Though it certainly felt like he had been out of the solo junket forever, he hadn't lost his edge. Honestly, he doubted he was even capable of that. The seasoned veteran he was in the biz, he was free to take whatever assignments intrigued him. In other words, he wasn't some young lad obsessed with only taking gigs that could either make or break his career.

Ahh, but those had been the days! It was fun to think back to making blind jumps throughout space just to see where random calculations delivered him. He vividly recalled kicking back at a command console, whistling with his hands stacked behind his head, while his vessel rattled through hyperspace and freeform jazz played on the sound system. Always exchanging one identity for another and ditching his ride whenever he went planetside. Being strapped for cash just from how lavishly he lived, preferring to be on his own rather than have his benefactors footing all his bills. That had come later, when his pride had mellowed out and his reputation had been more secure.

Of course, he equally missed having dozens of contractors desperately trying to hail him through concealed channels, all so they could flash dollar signs at him. Ahh, his ego had _really_ liked pitting one against the next. Oh, the Obsidian Block wanted his services again? Well, then he could hum-and-haw over Karuu's _doubled _offer because there weren't _actually _two of him available for hire. And besides, double-dipping was out of the question when his targets were a galaxy apart from the other. If they wanted him, they were going to have to cough up more dough, because he was a desirable man. Annnnd then he could let out a barking laugh that ended in a giggle-squeal and an exuberant kick of his feet when they tripled their proposal.

Of course, he could never forget working all his infamous charm on the universe's hottest receptionists. Watching them flaunt their well-stacked bodies and bat their flirty lashes at him had made filling out paperwork almost survivable. The challenge had always been a matter of satisfying his responsibilities before he started filling out and satisfying the secretaries.

Clearly, his brothers were jackarses if they questioned _his _professional choices - all while getting sand lodged up their arsecracks and screwing bumfuck Pandorans. Then again, he was the one who had to waste hours of his life ticking boxes, initializing disclosures, and scratching his signature until his wrist fractured. Oh, and dealing with corporate slimeballs.

There was also the occasional entertainment of him waking up shackled to a morgue slab - often by design. _Those _were particularly interesting times. What better way to infiltrate enemy lines than personally deliver himself. Sometimes, subjecting himself to voluntary torture as good of a strategy as any! Besides, a bit of violent interrogation remained preferable to clicking his heels and saluting as Dahl had demanded of him. He had endured enough of that nonsense while establishing a solid foothold in the black ops biz.

There was something to be said, though, about his retirement. However accustomed he was to performing within a thousand contingencies, the operative preferred his current liberties. A professional such as himself worked best when unhindered..and possibly unhinged. Beyond that, he rarely had to spend thrice the duration of his mission performing strenuous reconnaissance or relying on whatever fault intelligence his benefactor might pull out of their incapable arses.

Now, he didn't need to adopt any certain persona to bleed seamlessly into a crowd and seek his mark. He didn't have to outsmart and out-maneuver his competition, even if he still had to dodge amateur spies. All in all, he was allowed to stand out and be his cut loose, rascal self.

Sure, his current accommodations weren't very bougie. The glitzy venues he formerly used to entertain himself - and commit corporate murder - were on the opposite end of the spectrum. Sanctuary had some piss-poor nightlife, but he had mostly outgrown that. Even despite living the highlife, he had always had a certain fondness for enjoying a simple beer and a game of poker in any dark and run-down bar. After all, he wasn't allowed to get so utterly scuttered in a snooty, high-class joint.

As a Pandoran, it had been surprising how easily he had taken to the glamor of his professional pinnacle. Specializing as a corporate hitman, he had been surrounded by opulence. He spent more time performing clean hits - so much that the occasional splatter of blood had been a welcome change to watching his successful shot land through a rifle scope.

Now, he could still witness the beauty of that but without extensive calculating and long-hand geometry - and while throwing grenades overhead, no less! Sure, his bank balances were no longer ticking up by the millions, but he enjoyed accepting his payments in knuckle-bumps and similar displays of team bravado. And now he got to stock his own mini-bar up to spec instead of relying on whatever his hotel rooms provided.

_Nothing _as a vault hunter was ostentatious, particularly not among the Crimson Christ for that, as he preferred that ragtag group to all the smarmy shills he had formerly endured. No doubt corporate hitwork was still an extensive chess game of mergers and coups and complex espionage, but now what did he care? He was no longer forced to adeptly navigate the channels of that volatile business nexus.

Zane nearly chuckled thinking of the hours he had recently clocked zoning out to infomercials and other televised nonsense when formerly, he had kept too damn busy to catch up on all the ECHOnet dramas that everyone praised. Eligible bachelor he had been - at least in spirit - he had favored the highlife of sold-out concerts and sought out performances. The workaholic he had been, hell had to freeze over for him to actually attend any event he booked. More often than not, he found himself at the opposite end of the galaxy hacking some database, hunting some corporate shill, or pilfering trade secrets - and, along the way, amassing his own plethora of blackmail. Now, he was more of a professional drunk than anything.

Did he have a problem with that? _Nah_, not really.

If he felt inclined, he could resume being a mastermind of corporate sabotage and capitalize on financially crippling his enemies. Ahh, it was always entertaining to do some quality wiretapping and uncover how successful his efforts had been. Aside from watching the sums of his payoff racking up, there was nothing sweeter than hearing _all _about a conglomerate's decimated quarterly profits and projected losses. Often, by the time he flounced off to his next mission, his former target hadn't yet managed to uncover or number crunch the full extent of either his physical or digital vandalism.

Maybe someday, he would pay the ultimate price for all he had done - but not if he could help it.

Honestly, the bounties for his head collectively amounted to a drop in the bucket compared to all the financial destruction he had left in his wake. In his defense, he had simply been a mercenary doing his job. If the corporations hadn't had bones to pick with each other, or had the wrecked competitor only paid him more handsomely than the rest, they wouldn't have suffered the consequences!

Inevitably, if _he_ hadn't been the one to feck shite up and work his magic, someone else would have - they just wouldn't have been as proficient as he was.

The truth of it all was that he wasn't getting any younger. He couldn't keep putting part of his life on hold because he was hung-up on a relationship that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Maybe for the first time in his life, he had done something morally right in respectfully delaying his moving on. Now, enough time had passed that it seemed proactive for him to resume what he did best. Besides, the assignment that found him was to the benefit of Atlas. Considering he was freelancing with them and potentially planning to do more, how could he not step up the plate?

In effect, Zane shed his vault hunter skin and instead fell into his operative stride. He began by accepting a mission that Rhys directed him to. According to the Atlas CEO, one of his favorite employees still had a bone to pick with Maliwan for having so thoroughly destroyed their city.

And so he linked up with Lorelei, the glorious green-haired street fighter she was. Initially, he had been surprised that she hadn't yet undergone the gender transition she had mentioned more than a year ago, but that wasn't the focus of their discussion. It was pure curiosity, and never judgment, that caused his lifted eyebrows. Maybe during a later coffee date, she would bring it up.

Maliwan, according to her, was acting up again. Atlas had enough moles through the ranks to dredge up intel about their more covert operations. Certain evidence strongly suggested that they were developing one hell of a mech to potentially unleash on their competitors. Apparently, their shareholders still held a grudge over Katigawa's demise, the likes of which had forced them to scramble and establish a new, albeit less murderous, hierarchy of management.

On the topic of corporate revenge - a subject in which he had both experienced knowledge and extensive participation - Atlas' ultimate aim was to cripple Maliwan's research and development sector and demolish their latest _pièce de résistance. _As far as their competitors were concerned, their newest showpiece only meant trouble. What better way was there of keeping Maliwan in their place than reaping extensive damage not only to their spearheading prototype but also crush their inflated egos in the process?

As much as Zane agreed with their angle, he saw plenty of holes in their plan. In his professional opinion, it wouldn't do Atlas much good to be so obvious in reaping revenge, but then he wasn't the one calling the shots. If Rhys and crew thought they could stay ahead of the game and avoid retaliation, well - bluntly put, they were stupid. As massive as Maliwan was, it would require an all-out war to put a substantial dent in them.

Needless to say, if anyone was going to insert a bee up Maliwan's bum, it was gonna be him.

Truth be told, Zane had a lot of respect for their tech. Granted, their figureheads topped the charts as far as ganky maggots went, but that was par for the course. Even then, his opinion didn't mean shite. He was partial to Atlas now, as rare as that was. Then again, he supposed they were one of the few significant corporations who didn't have a death warrant out for him.

It was Lorelei who shot him the intel their people had scrounged up. In the meantime, the operative left his desk to retrieve a few bottles from his ale stash before the alert pinged on the secure connection he had established with Atlas. Within finishing two bottles, he had seen enough to leash him in. As he popped open the third with his belt, he hailed R. Strongfork on his ECHO.

"Took a gander at yer problem, boyo. Sounds easy peasy, Rhysie! Sign me up!" he announced, which was as proper of an official acceptance as he gave nowadays - no paperwork, please. "I give ye me personal guarantee that ye'll never be in better hands!"

In hindsight, that probably wasn't the most discerning line to give a man who was supposedly keen on him, but eh!

"That is such, _such_ great news! Best I've had all day!" admitted the smooth-faced brunette. "Hell, even I'll drink to that! I always keep a bottle of good wine in my office!"

It figured Rhys was held up there. Zane doubted he ever left, but the CEO seemed to prefer it that way. Unable to relate, the younger man had stirred up some polite small talk before the preoccupied mercenary told him they would keep in touch. With his own work to do, he didn't feel particularly talkative. However surprised Rhys seemed by that, he appreciated his diligence.

After tipping his head back into a hoppy yawn, the operative proceeded to prop his boots up atop his desk and settle in. He had done a great deal of thoughtful beard pulling while mulling over details and committing the most significant to memory. The rest, he hardwired into his neural port and downloaded.

Humming a shanty tune, Zane sat back and pulled from a pint of lager while watching the tech in his head instantly react to the incoming data transfer and implement its security protocols. Within a matter of moments, he had a couple fewer gigs of available space in his gray matter and a couple more empty bottles decorating his workspace.

As it was, he had been confident that he knew nearly all of Maliwan's tricks. He had worked for them extensively, after all. They paid handsomely and shared his taste for technology. In fact, some of his finest inventions had been gleaned from aspects of their research and manipulated to suit his specific needs.

Beyond that, the surviving Flynt had a personal bone to pick with the weapons manufacturer. After all, they had one of the most massive bounties out for him. Even _he _had done a double-take at the sum and giddily laughed his arse off. As _if _he ever needed further encouragement to consider himself so impressive. He couldn't disappoint them!

If only he cared so much about temporarily ditching the Raiders.

Within a matter of hours, Zane hadn't so much cleared his decision with Ava as informed her that he was leaving. She hadn't been thrilled, particularly when he disclosed that he would also be radio silent for an indeterminate period of time. Before she could press further, he reminded her that it was simply the nature of his business and no cause for concern. He certainly wasn't lying, even if being undetectable was only an illusion. No one was truly untraceable, which was a reality he had extensively capitalized on as a corporate hitman. No matter what precautions they had taken, his marks never managed to shake him.

Beyond that, he really didn't care to explain himself. He certainly didn't appreciate feeling like he had to check in with a kid when _he_ was old enough to be her parent. Fed up with reporting to anyone as he was, he left her to deal with it. Ava could handle his teammates in the event that they noticed his absence - he just conveniently forgot to warn her.

When the time arrived, the operative had all his ducks in order. Official clearance to depart? Check. Fast track clearance to the coordinates? Yep! Following a plethora of fancy finger strokes and a number of counterfeit security passcodes, he had authorized himself. When it came to Maliwan, he figured he could have forged access details in his sleep. In fact, he might have at one point or another.

"There's onnnne little hangup to making our move," Lorelei admitted, while he reverted back to her for any input she cared to have. She sounded much like she had a hankering for some particularly potent coffee. "We don't yet know how to get in."

Ahh, she sounded so concerned that it was adorable, even if she was thoroughly disappointed to have Maliwan's strict security rain on her parade. Why wouldn't she be, with how badly she wanted to clean their clocks? Fortunately for her, his specialty involved having everything covered.

"Not a problem, lass!" he assured her, slathering on his cockiness with a cheeky laugh. "Ye've come to the right man! I've done enough work fer Maliwan that I got ins an' outs aplenty! An' if ye think _that's_ impressive, I've always got more tricks up me sleeves!"

Thankfully he did, as no one could approach the base sans clearance without getting shot out of orbit. That was a no-go. Sure, he could hijack a Maliwan ship with access but that complicated things further. The general rule of thumb in the black ops biz was keeping things as streamline and simple as possible.

Infiltrating Midnight's Cairn was a cakewalk for him. Every time he trespassed their security for any reason, whether under their employ or working for their competitors, he laid digital breadcrumbs for an easy return. He had a number of identities integrated into their system, any of which he could adopt when his needs arose. Given their mass quantity of employees, dozens of makeshift access codes easily went undetected, most covertly awaiting his utility.

In fact, ghosting their technical infrastructure was preferable to lifting the details of an actual employee from their security logs. At least then, he didn't run the risk of contradicting activity drawing immediate red flags.

It was a shame, really, that they had blacklisted _his_ access. Sheesh. At least then, in announcing his arrival, they could greet him. He loved an old fashioned welcoming party! Where were their manners?

Ah, right. They knew what he was capable of. Fast forward a day and that was _exactly_ why their guards nearly shite themselves when they saw him, in all his handsome glory, saunter up to the entrance. It certainly spurred them into action, the way they swarmed not unlike an angry varkid hive.

Hands in his pockets, the operative had strutted his sexy stuff straight up to the Maliwan facility and shot their cameras his best shite-eating grin. Then, with exuberance, he unholstered his pistol, spun it around his index finger, and struck an open-arm pose.

With the cheekiest grin on that side of the galaxy, he announced, "Time to pay fer gettin' on me bad side, ye manky gits!"

Then, to the sentinel digi-structing to obediently circling overhead, he ordered, "Make daddy proud, Zoomie!"

Sure, him making good on his threat was only guaranteed to increase their bounty on him, but who fecking cared? Not him! He was going for a higher score than he already had!

Like every Maliwan facility, the Blacksite was massive. There had been a lot of distance to cover and a lot of bodies to gun down between him and his goal. Concentrated only on his mission, he found himself fully submerged in the zone. He thought of nothing but decimating anything that tried to stop him. Bringing out some of his more chaotic grenade mods helped clear the way and left their tech positively fried.

Ahh, those silly commandos and their worthless shields. Honest to god, they couldn't _actually_ think they would save their arses, did they? What fools they were. They sure didn't stand a chance against his cryo rounds and having Zoomer flank them with machine guns blazing. Had they known what was good for them, they would have turned tail and ran like their lives depended on it. While he supposed they weren't paid to abandon their positions, they couldn't collect their checks when they were dead.

And what was up with some of the Maliwan soldiers? Hadn't they ever heard the saying, 'Never bring a knife to a gunfight?' Zane was convinced their lightsabers qualified. They could swing their flashy toys at him all they wanted, but it didn't stop him from pumping them full of plasma. They always sounded so surprised, too, when he knocked out their shields and shot their organs to tattered pieces.

Ahhh, but how their panicked cries of "_We're being overrun_!" had been so damn rewarding, considering he was one man. Two, if his clone could be considered one - and one bitchin' drone, who engaged the jetpacked soldiers with merciless swiftness.

Sheesh, it wasn't like he was feckin' lying when he hollered at them that he was _made _for that. He only specialized in spec ops, after all, and that meant he had spent decades outwitting and otherwise defeating the spec ops of opposing units, of which Maliwan was no exception.

Big bastards the heavyweights were, they were more annoying than anything. Their obvious weak point was a joke. Really, most existed to simply get in his way and flail their flamethrowers around. Sure, they had the whole elemental arsenal going for them, but Zane preferred to keep his eyebrows. They might have needed a wee trim but scorching them off entirely wasn't _not_ a good look for him.

Still, he had no choice but to handle those manky gits. They were nothing more than glorified bullet sponges, stomping around and jumping with their thrusters. The latter wasn't _nearly _as suggestive as they sounded. Considering how often he, as a mercenary, had jumped into bed with Maliwan, he was accustomed to being disappointed.

What mattered was that he never let himself down. In working solo, he couldn't afford to. At least now, he didn't have to divide his attention by watching anyone else's back - not that he ever minded and not that it was often needed. Instead, he was accountable only for guarding his own...or having his clone do it for him. He couldn't have a more handsome assistant.

Truth be told, the battle wolves and wardogs were the most annoying opponents that joined him to dance. Damn dodgy mechs had the advantage of maneuverability, though not even their four feet could withstand his gun-slinging. Even at his age, the operative was nimble as ever, and his reflexes were even swifter.

Mother of Mary, though, he forgot how he hated those robo-hounds. Leave it to Maliwan to sick packs of them on him. Sure, they were nothing he couldn't take out with a corrosive blast to their misshapen muzzles. Still, that didn't stop them from leaping around like four-legged cunts and trying to take a bite out of his tasty arse.

Zane gave them a special treat - specifically, the most freaky looking shotgun in his arsenal. He didn't know if it was supposed to be some alien mouth or a nightmarish acid-spewing butthole, but he decided it ultimately didn't matter with how it blew their heads open. It was particularly rewarding to level the disfigured barrel with their open jaws and watch them, and their fecking lasers, burst in four gory directions.

All things considered, it didn't take him and his blue copy long to blast through the first bombardment guarding the facility. In fact, hearing someone's yell of "_He's almost inside! Release the prototype!_" was more thrilling than it should have been.

That was when he met Kraken...and was disappointed to recognize it as a small-scale version of the mech he was actually there to destroy. He had dredged up blueprints of Wotan but must have written off its mini. Prepared for the full-course as he was, he hadn't anticipated the appetizer.

Truth be told, it resembled a four-legged pair of hair rollers. It certainly wasn't the most intimidating or aerodynamic mech he had ever encountered, and it was far from impressive. Its impenetrable, albeit incomplete shield, was flashy but incomplete, and as such, didn't do it a whole lot of good. Considering his own shield was designed not only to filter his gunfire but buff it, Maliwan sure as feck could have done better.

The concept of a topless bot really wasn't as kinky as it sounded. In effect, it backfired. All he had to do was give some grenades an overhand toss and hit his mark. At other times, whipping out his corrosive firearms had the expected effect, wreaking havoc on its metal structure. The explosion that resulted packed an unexpectedly massive _boom_ that was far more impressive than the mech. It was enough to have him stumbling back with a delighted laugh and shielding his face with one arm, his synergized SMG glowing with remnant radiation in his other hand.

If anything, the lack of commandos beyond the security barrier was downright pathetic. The number of troopers who attempted to storm him was far fewer than he anticipated. In fact, their ballsy attempt was as piss poor at preventing his infiltration as the elevator being disabled.

Maliwan didn't give him enough credit if they thought an improvised descent would stop him in his tracks. Instead, he had no reservations about leaping over the edge and riding down three stories using his holoblades. They were perfect for plunging into the metal shaft and slowing his descent. By the time his boots touched down, he had left a nice jagged track in his wake.

Dropping into the Nest of the Valkyries would have been _far _more intimidating had it been full of birds. Instead, he was greeted by three curvaceous lady-bots and wave after wave of ground-shaking drop pods.

For robots, the Valkyrie Squad was a sexy lot. They were some of the hottest triplets he had seen in some time but seemed like a high maintenance bunch - and their need for personal space? Phew, talk about being defensive! Not only did they have some impenetrable full-coverage shields, but they placed themselves on high pedestals. How were they supposed to get a piece of him by being so shy? Lucky them, he liked lasses who played hard to get.

Sure, their voices could have used improvement. They had the whole _nagging mother-in-law _tone going for them - not that he knew anything about that. Had less programming been invested in their dramatic dialogue, maybe they would have been more formidable opponents. Instead, they seemed more like beefed up arbalests with orbital shields. Evidently, Maliwan was running short on designs.

Honestly, those huskari bastards, with their red energy swords, had been the biggest pests. Some nerve they had reproducing like rabbits and attempting to cramp his style while he was trying to enjoy his foursome. They weren't programmed to be gentlemen, clearly, if they couldn't wait their turn. Unlike them, Zane Flynt _always_ preferred that his ladies came first.

What was the point of the Hildr's scythe anyway? Wicked and flashy as it was, it didn't have much range. _Someone _let their design take precedence over practicality, even if she had managed to catch up to him and give him a wee bit of a spanking. Fortunately for him, he liked that and was willing to wrestle a big lass anyway. He wasn't as keen on having Rota try and freeze his balls using that frosty swirl of hers, which reminded him more of soft serve than anything.

Poor Sigrdrifa - what a name - had wielded a bunch of fireworks that mostly did a whole lotta nada. Her dodgeball attacks were useless, as they simply booped off his hard light shield, but they were mildly entertaining to watch. _Bounce, bounce, boing_! The same couldn't be said for the shock portal things that forced him to hopscotch around. He only suspected they meant trouble for his shields, but he avoided testing his theory.

Had he even use _boop_ in the right context? Ava would know. He wasn't so much on the fad lingo up-and-up and after intentionally mangling what the teenager tried to teach him, she had given up - much like the Valkyrie Squad should have.

All their theatrical nonsense about becoming eternal was clearly not the case, as he reduced them to hissing piles of rubble. Some good their full-coverage shields did. If only they remained posed around like decor, Maliwan could have saved themselves some hefty stacks of cash. Ah, well, their loss! He could practically hear their CEOs fall to the floor in kicking toddler tantrums - and he wasn't even finished!

The bridge leading to the Mechanized Warfare Development Labs was where shite truly got real, and for good reason: it was Maliwan's last chance to stop him from advancing to his target. There, their forces converged in a last stand that almost got too dicey for comfort. Even with his digi-clone and drone working overtime alongside him, it had been damn near impossible for him to do more than aim and shoot. Explosions shook the entire structure, lasers and plasma rounds roaring every which way, shots glancing off his shield and ricocheting off the numerous storage crates littered along the way. It was the _exact_ kind of chaos he thrived in, deafening and adrenaline-stoking and messy as feck.

Needless to say, it was a damn good thing he was a one-man armada. Under an onslaught like that, he had to be. With all cylinders firing and every element of his expertise engaged, his mind adopted an inexplicable balance of reacting on raw instinct and adhering to a stream of spontaneous calculations. It really wasn't until the smoke cleared that he could afford to jam something into the spokes of his mind and bring it to a screeching halt.

Of priority were the death spheres that tried to shred him to pieces. He and his sentinel engaged them the heaviest, allowing his holographic double to hold off the badarses attempting to storm them. There _might_ have been a time or two where he was close to thinking he had bitten off more than he could chew, but that never stopped him from grinning at the challenge. Things got particularly precarious when his body decided to change loyalties and strangle him from the inside.

At that point, his lungs were his worst enemies. The burn of them, coupled with his inability to draw a decent breath, sent him careening with the nearest surface and clutching his chest, convinced that his bastard heart was finally giving him the finger. All that had him doubling at his waist, his windedness catching up with him. He had damn near passed out from hacking so violently. Had any Maliwan arseholes landed him in their crosshairs, they could have got off a good number of shots at him, particularly when his vision started to sparkle.

The sudden flash of his clone, followed by the pounding flat of its hand against his bowed back, helped dislodge whatever gunk clogged his suffering lungs. It launched from him with phlegmy bark strong enough to send him colliding with the shipment container providing him cover. There, struggled to catch his wheezing breath, his assault rifle hanging weakly in hand while he used the other to punch himself in the sternum, loosening up the rest of the blockage. His clone cut through five soldiers before he could collect himself enough to function, its intense gaze boring into him.

"Shaddup. I _know_ I need to lay off the smokes," he snapped at his digital copy, sensing its intense judgment. "'Sides, how do _ye _know oxygen ain't overrated? Stop starin' an' keep shootin'!"

Nothing said 'Deathbringer' like a man needing a hit from an emergency inhaler - not that he would be caught dead with one.

Despite _that_ minor inconvenience, Maliwan didn't stand a chance. Both the humanoid and mechanical remains of their security forces were strewn in various states of disarray. Gore and mechanical oils created slippery pools underfoot, caution insisting he kept his firearm trained on whatever corpse he stepped around.

Soon enough, he found himself at the mouth of another elevator shaft. Cursing the unfortunate effects of age and refraining from giving his particular vices the blame, he allowed himself to take a momentary breather. He spent that time ensuring all his weapons were reloaded and his shields were fully functioning before crashing what remained of Maliwan's party.

Aside from Wotan, who was a massive chunk of fancy metal and sensors, more of the same ol', same ol' was there to greet him in droves. Considering there wasn't much cover in the extensive grounds, he was unusually grateful for having expelled all the gunk from his lungs. If he hadn't, he would have been up Shite Creek without a paddle.

The whole shebang of that battle had been a song and dance he had - as much as was humanly possible - perfected throughout the decades. Success had hinged on speed and efficiency. Had he not remained in an aggressive state of motion, sliding and side jumping and sprinting, he might not have returned with all his handsome pieces intact. Hell, had he any more of an arse, it might have been shaved off by some of the close-calls he'd had with the missiles that rained down on him. Even his hard light shield had suffered when he hadn't _quite_ been fast enough, shattering hexagons and forcing him to sweat out its recharge while his underlying shield endured vicious beatings.

Ahh, but it had all been fun. The best kind, actually. He was an adrenaline junky, after all, and best suited for the task. Experience proved that beating Maliwan technology demanded _better_ technology, and he was always eager to put his designs to the test. It wasn't like his teammates had all the reinforcement he did, nevermind his extensive shielding. Ballsy as it was, he has gone kamikaze twice and sacrificed his barrier to catastrophically disrupt Wotan's. It worked like a charm, even if his module sparked in overheated protest.

All in all, making Maliwan his bitch amounted to packing some serious firepower and doing a lot of outmaneuvering. If anything, how he _smelled_ after staying in a damn near-constant state of motion had been the worst of it for him. His mustache had nearly curled on itself when he had eventually ditched his clothes and hit the shower back aboard Sanctuary. His armpits had been downright caustic and destined for the triple scrub treatment.

But, that was the price to pay for racing around and jumping and sliding like a madman. That had only made it more rewarding when he landed his shots, even if his aim was usually keen. Ensuring he broke out the cryo weapons meant he put their security forces further to shame while he froze them in place. It was particularly fun watching all those heavyweights fixed in place. All that beefy gear couldn't save their sorry arses.

Fortunately, he hadn't been reduced to fertilizer. His clone had paid a big part in that. Between having Wotan split in two and having a few dozen death spheres in hot pursuit of him, he had needed his handsome bullet sponge. Believe it or not, even _he _had a limit to how many balls he wanted in his face.

It hadn't mattered how many of the hovering gobshites or ground forces had rushed him, he had been on a roll. Bastards dropped dead and spheres blew up overhead while he performed the Riverdance on crack around them and slung his favorite weapons. Not only did his Dastardly Maggie have a great name, but it was one hell of a pistol. There was nothing as tactilely pleasing to him than letting a revolver rip, and reloading with a spin was just plain fun. Besides, it provides some great target practice and some quality exercise for the ol' thumbs. Above all else, it killed like a charm.

As for Wotan, it had proven itself to be _the_ fanciest metal frog he had ever seen. Like its mini, it had the same shield flaws, which a few well-placed - and often aerial - shots could trespass. He _severely _questioned Maliwan engaging him where there were lift pillars installed. If those weren't blatant invitations to rain hell down on that bastard bot, he didn't know what were. Needless to say, he took advantage of them - doubly so because damn, was the _woosh_ of them fun. Regardless, it still baffled him that even the Valkyries had better defenses.

Few weapons beat a quality cutsman, in Zane's professional opinion. His, being of the electric variety, chewed through Wotan's defenses faster than they could say sayonara. Of added benefit was the irony of showing Maliwan the ol' what's-what by using their own firearms to blast their pride and joy to ruin.

Against the likes of him, Wotan was one overstated hunk of junk. '_Invincible'_, his dastardly arse! It was nothing more than an angry metal end table, and he belted out maniacal laughter while reducing it to as much. It would have been outright embarrassing how quickly his team would have massacred the bot, had they fought alongside him.

Still, more than ever, he had been glad he hadn't roped his boyos into it. Though he had done damn well to prove that no machine was invincible, everything had gotten a tad messy at the end. Between dodging death spheres, digi-structing soldiers, lasers, and rockets, everything had been dizzying. Even maintaining his blinding inertia had pushed the operative to his physical limits, but what better incentive than avoiding a rocket exploding him to mushy pieces? Mentally, he enjoyed the party!

He could only imagine Maliwan's CEOs and assorted figureheads watching him, the infamous Zane Flynt, destroy the everliving shite out of their most prized mech and a plethora of reinforcements. Though he was indeed special, he had gone on to prove that all it took was one capable fella to put them in their place and give them a thorough walloping. He made damn sure to blow kisses at one of their remaining surveillance cameras and then promptly pulled down his pants before pointing at his arse. He might have continued mooning them while doing a little middle-finger jig and telling them, "Eat this, ya nobby wankers!"

Okay, so he did, and he had loved it, though they should have paid _him_ for putting on that show. He also had a pleasant time relieving his bladder on Wotan's broken and hissing remains, even if he nearly snagged his junk while pursuing the AI brain that unexpectedly exhumed itself from the rubble and attempted to skitter away. He stopped it in its tracks with a shotgun blast, followed by another reload for good measure, and then managed to piss on that too.

Ahh, the adage of, '_The bigger they are, the harder they fall' _was true_. _The same could be said of both Wotan and Maliwan. It almost made Zane wish he had brought explosive charges along to blow the base to smithereens, but alas, he hadn't had enough at his convenient disposal. Besides, he could always make opportunities for that later.

All in all, he was disappointed to admit that the mission would have been more entertaining had he been with his team. After all, he had no one to truly appreciate his skills or the jokes he could have cracked. Naturally, the entire massacre would have happened faster had the other vault hunters been in on it, but he had time to kill. Worst of all was how solo gigs never gave him anyone to talk shite with.

Maybe he needed to finally give his digi-clone a voice. On second thought, he decided he would plug into FL4K and share the footage with them. At least the murder bot would understand his need to handle matters alone. He made a mental note to apologize for hogging all the bot babes for himself, even if they had been all about Odin. Obviously, that would have to wait.

For now, time was of the essence, and he wasn't quite finished. At any minute, a battalion of Maliwan dropships would inevitably break hyperspace overhead and flood the complex like enraged hornets. That meant he had to royally haul arse. Sure, he was the best at what he did, and he had slipped his way out of numerous sphincter-clenching situations with outrageous odds stacked against him, but that didn't mean he wanted to take a chance. His remaining ammunition reserves weren't particularly plentiful and his recent track record with ladies - of which luck was - remained questionable at best.

Locating the data archives was a matter of pulling up his stolen maps and plotting a course to them. Thanks to the engaged lockdown protocols, breaking into the sector was no small task, but he _was _any security systems' worst nightmare. He only put bread on his table by stealing data from highly guarded mainframes, and this break-in was no different.

As much as Zane wanted to run his hands over Maliwan's massive supercomputers and feel them up, he had a job to do and a fire hot under his bum. He deployed his digi-clone to stand guard and then wasted no time accessing the primary console and locating the necessary port to plug in his trusty data drive.

Huh. Why didn't his own have a fancy name like the _Viper Drive_? He wasn't out to sell it, that was why. Regardless, Rhys wanted him to use Atlas' pride and joy. Despite having it stored nice and secure in his utility belt, the operative decided to override that order. It was, after all, in Atlas' best interest - they just didn't acknowledge that like he did. _He _was a professional operative and knew how to do his job best.

Given its proven track record, Zane trusted his own construct would do the trick - and do it better. He didn't intend to have his drive and Rhys' compete side by side, certain that his would put it to shame. Chances were, his hardware would successfully hack its way past layer upon redundant layer of hefty firewalls while Atlas' tech struggled, and then he might be inclined to rub it in the CEO's face. Again, he had the advantage of having integrated stolen Maliwan tech and parameters into its programming. Linking into it with the holographic keyboard from his left wrist gauntlet provided him an additional advantage, allowing him to assist with a flurry of adept digits.

Single-handedly, the operative typed away while double-teaming the complex security measures in place. They were, after all, extensive. Following that, he navigated the database where the drive transmitted it to his ECHOeye and assigned download priority to the most promising partitions. Despite the advanced specs of his tech, time constraints made it impossible to access even half the cache there. Still, he was very much a kid in a candy shop.

Tempting as it was, he didn't directly link himself to the system. Neurological connections enabled the fastest data transfer but came with inherent risks. He had no interest in having his brain or cerebral hardware being scrambled by proactive security measures. _Nope. _He had done enough damage to it all on his own, thank-you-very-much. The road ran both ways: as able as he was to infiltrate their systems, they could construct a virus capable of getting past his own firewalls.

After ensuring he maximized the input of his data drive, he opted out of the visual feed and spared his brain the inundation of flickering download bars. Hungrily, the device chugged down data exactly as it was designed to do. Later, he would transpose its contents to Rhys' beloved Viper Drive. The CEO would be none the wiser.

Dropping himself unceremoniously into the nearest control console, the mustachioed operative finally tapped into the security feed. Numerous monitors flashed across the holoscreen, giving him a thorough vantage of the extensive Blacksite. At least now, he would have enough heads-up to hightail it when reinforcements made their impending appearance.

Satisfied, Zane cleared his throat while pulling out his flask and uncapping it. He made quick work of thirstily chugging down every drop of whiskey. After that, he busied himself by tapping out a tune along one metal side. Had he felt like it, he would have gutted some available tech and constructed a few makeshift explosives to leave in his wake. The piercing gaze his holographic self shot him convinced him otherwise. He wasn't in the mood to argue with himself.

Fine, then. On his way out, he would have Zoomer unload its remaining rocket payload on the supercomputers, but that wouldn't do more than inconvenience Maliwan. No doubt they had redundancies upon redundancies in place. He just liked tying their panties in the tightest knot he possibly could.

How he handled his exit required some deliberate, albeit second nature, planning. It wouldn't do anyone any good if Maliwan tracked him to Sanctuary III. As far as those arseholes probably knew, he was still on the run from his bounties. Maybe they would do some good and storm Pandora looking for him. _Ha._

Of course, by then he wouldn't identify as Zane Flynt. Since linking arms with the Raiders, he passed time by establishing a number of fresh alter egos. All were expendable, by design, and he would have no problem adopting any one of them in order to further obscure his whereabouts.

Truth be told, he would still probably need to make a dozen Fast Track jumps to randomly generated locations before he materialized on some dump of a planet. He would then bribe a freighter or civilian transport bound for one of the more prolific travel hubs in the galaxy and then cool his heels at a bar while ensuring no one was sniffing his trail. Only when satisfied that Maliwan hadn't happened across dumb luck would he feel secure enough to proceed back to his home base.

All in all, his methods weren't unlike the old-timey shite that came hand in hand with concealing his professionally illegal activities. Particularly when hunting his more paranoid marks, he'd had to use elaborate schemes to catch up to them. The same could be said for escaping the radar of pursuers _after _he had completed his hit. That said, he knew every in and out of his trade as much as he did the back of his hands.

About the only thing he would have changed, now, was his post-battle appearance. He clearly looked like his scoundrel self. Ah, well, whoever wanted an explanation of why he stank of plasma exhaust, corrosive fumes, and drying sweat was going to have to use their imaginations. In his experience, there were plenty of locations where that was completely normal.

His due diligence was why he had refused to use Rhys' beloved Viper Drive. Every access was logged by Maliwan's system, ensuring that its utility would have left incriminating evidence. Blowing the data room to smithereens wouldn't wipe that out.

While Rhys didn't seem to give a damn if his corporation was held accountable or not, Zane couldn't see it possibly benefiting from retaliation. The last thing Atlas, and Promethea, needed was another attempt at a hostile takeover. It certainly wasn't beneficial for business. Even for weapons manufacturers, initiating one's own war amounted to poor business acumen. They couldn't very well make money when they were bleeding it.

As inviting as it was to return to Atlas HQ sooner, he wouldn't risk it prematurely. Only by conjecture would Maliwan suspect he was working on their behalf, but he could have been enlisted by any number of their competitors. Hell, even his bitching introduction, no doubt captured on their security feed, suggested he was fulfilling a grudge of his own...and he kinda was.

Surely, Maliwan had to be smarter than to expect him to lose his edge. So long as he had anything to say about it - and boy, did he always say a _lot_ \- that wasn't going to happen. If he had managed to keep his head on his shoulders by now, he wasn't fixing to quit, nor was he in the business of bringing his allies down with him in the event that he made a misstep.

That was just another reason why him soloing the takedown had been the wisest choice. He had been free not only to take the countermeasures he knew best, but he did it without having to explain himself or account for more bodies during the post-mission shuffle. With so much at stake, managing only himself was convenient and ensured he could more thoroughly cover his arse.

As for him going AWOL longer than what Ava expected, she was just going to have to sweat it. When he informed her that he was deploying on a mission, he had left everything open-ended. She should understand by now that he knew his profession and would return when circumstances allowed it. Her worrying about his old self was just silly.

Eventually, he completed that complex dodging routine and touched base with Rhys to inform him that he would return to Atlas after he had offloaded his gear and had a snooze. The CEO was too giddy to ask questions, so much that Zane could practically envision him pumping his arms in victory and hopping from foot to foot. The lad was a cute one - he had to give him that.

Only then did he finally return to Sanctuary, reeking of battle and quite a pretty penny richer. Every muscle in his body burned from lactic acid and his jacket had a few new scuffs on it, but still, he had been grinning like the gorgeous fool he was. Waving like a pageant queen at the Raiders occupying the commons, he sashayed to his room and locked himself inside.

Following a thorough shower, the operative gave his digi-clone responder a flip. He refrained from glancing at his tempting bed until he brought his clone out, needing it for one last important task. Upon noticing him, and therefore itself, naked, it waggled its brows and broke into a sly grin. Rolling his eye at it, Zane flapped a dismissive hand.

"Not needin' ye fer that, ye frisky bastard," he told it, sort of wishing he was but instead in more dire need of its intended purpose. "C'mere an' align me spine."

Despite its pouting, his clone obeyed the orders. In a series of poses and arrangements they routinely practiced, it began restoring order to his spinal column with a plethora of bony cracks. Contrary to how grisly many sounded, they really were pleasant - or at least preferable to impinged nerves. A few had him choking in strain and sucking in sharp intakes of breath before ending the last with a "_phew._"

"Second to me, ye truly are the best," he crooned graciously, giving his handsome likeness a kiss on the cheek. Touched, his clone placed one hand over its imaginary heart and abashedly tipped its head to one side. Then, with a saucy wink, it flashed from its pixelated existence.

With that, he felt loosey-goosey enough to take an inventory of his new scrapes and bruises and threw back a pint before ultimately flopping onto his bunk for a nap in his birthday suit. Such was the anticlimactic celebration of a semi-retired corporate hitman. It wasn't nearly as enjoyable as the post-mission lay he used to get, but whatever. He took what he could get.

Later, his teammates gave him shite for both soloing the mission _and _not informing them of it. Despite how awkward things had been, they still resorted to normalcy to annoy the shite out of him. It figured. He supposed he had deserved the earful but still, it was _very _worth feeling like his old self again. He was glad as feck that Lorelei had accepted him tackling the task himself. In fact, he would be kinda lying if he claimed he hadn't done it to impress her a little.

She had always caught his eye, and for good reason: he wanted her to handle him like she did her assault rifle. For lack of a better word, hot_ dayum. _He suspected she would appreciate his favorite methods of courting: shooting some flirty smiles, shooting some bastards dead, then shooting his load. Now, he had checked off two of the three. One coffee date later and he figured he would be balls deep in whatever body she was sporting, provided Zer0 wasn't tentacling or otherwise boning her.

It wasn't _his_ fault if his crew had sticks up their bums. They seem to have forgotten how he had formerly made his living - or perhaps they underestimated the reckless stakes he had built his career on. Poo on them. He might have taken himself off the hitman docket but he was still as ornery and outrageous as ever. He would always need his adrenaline kicks and besides, Maliwan had one of the larger prices out on his life. Their arses more than deserved his boot.

It was fair game for him to stick it to them, not that he ever needed a reason. He wondered how many digits that would add to his bounty. Between the damage done during the COV war and what he had just reaped, probably they couldn't afford to pony up much more. The thought made him laugh like the rascal he prided himself in being.

His little adventure had been a literal blast. It had gotten him off the ship, as well as out of everyone's hair _and_, more importantly, out of his own head. Granted, some would say he had been out of his damn mind to tackle all that himself, but then he had never refuted being a crazy bastard. He practically wore the truth like a badge of honor on his fecking forehead. Besides, how could he say no to having a wee bit more play money? He needed it for his drinking and his expensive hobbies.

Okay, so he didn't _need _it, but he sure as hell wanted it. It was the icing on the cake and he had a sweet tooth to last the ages.


	21. Monachopsis and Ponytails [Haikus, Booze, and Memories]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -We've learned that Zane is afraid of birds. Amara is the only siren who hasn't shown wings. Coincidence? I think not!  
-Rumor once was that Zane and Zer0 attended the same assassin school. In reality, they only went to the same pub. I personally like them having a more integrated past.  
-Had to work some Ronin hair in there, albeit on this Flynt in his 20's.  
-Zane's altered memory is based on a dream I had of him and Amara back around November.  
-Enter Zane's thing with Ember. It's about time.  
-Chapter 22 is a big one, so it will take more time to proofread...provided I don't keel over from enduring my own writing.
> 
> Hoppy Easter, everyone! If you do nothing else, eat some candy!

Given his insomnia, it figured it took something as extreme as bending Maliwan over to have him sleeping like a baby. From the damp pillow he had to peel off one grizzled cheek, it was evident that he drooled like one.

Upon waking and scrubbing the sleep from his baggy face, Zane toasted himself again for completing his mission. It took only a second more for him to decide that he deserved to get thoroughly smashed. While his outstanding responsibilities dictated that he couldn't get pissfaced just yet, he guaranteed himself that he would suffer a hangover the following morning. In such good spirits, he wondered why he _shouldn't_ throw his own personal party. He loved himself a successful takedown!

For now, his first order of business was wrapping matters up at Atlas. Kicking off the process, he finally accepted Rhys' long-standing invitation to meet at the Metroplex' most buzzing fro-yo joint. Probably he shouldn't have anticipated the indulgence so keenly, but then he'd had a hankering for his favorite flavor for some time. At least hitting up such a location with an associate didn't earn as many awkward glances as he would have alone. No doubt folks would have stared curiously at the old dude eating cherry-vanilla swirl by his lonesome, not that the attention would have deterred him any.

But damn, maybe he should have thought twice about ordering a waffle cone. It both sounded and smelled divine at the time...until he was vividly reminded of how untidy enjoying one could be. He was skilled with his mouth, naturally, but his mustache tended to get in the way. As much of a plus as it was when he gave head, the same appeal didn't apply with food.

He didn't _really _care to demonstrate his oral talents on his dessert while seated across from his potential employer. In trying to pace himself and remain critical of how he licked the soft serve, he found himself in a race to consume the dripping mess. Between it melting all over his hand and soaking into his facial hair, he didn't put on the most dignified display. Rhys, however, seemed to find his struggle endearing and snickered while he watched. If nothing else, it was entertaining...if potentially indecent.

_Was_ there any non-suggestive way to hastily deepthroat a precariously tilting ice cream cone and lick his fingers clean after he exhausted all their napkins? Likely not! In contrast, Rhys and his silly little spoon remained perfectly poised until the moment he scraped clean his cup.

Ah, well, at least he was able to recover most of his suave image when they returned to Atlas. He made himself at home in Rhys' office, kicked back on a luxurious couch and enjoying high-quality liquor while watching schools of fish dart and converge in the massive aquarium. The hopeful CEO couldn't help but talk business and insisted on showing him his potential workspace - which would be brought up to his spec and design, no less, provided he ever officially accepted it.

Given how particularly bitter commitment tasted on his tongue, the operative strategically dodged questions and kept shite light. At least Rhys was easygoing about it...and so didn't want to get fecked by him, he didn't think. Taken back to that brief conversation with Amara, Zane decidedly didn't look for hints.

From then on, he wandered the main complex and conveniently forgot the recent sabotage attempt by his lungs. Disinterested in returning to Sanctuary, he decided to enjoy a few well-earned cigarettes on one of the tower's many balconies. Watching the ebb and flow of foot traffic below proved appealing enough, particularly when he was otherwise occupied with taking appreciative drags from his smokes and tapping off the accumulated ashes.

Truth be told, Zane would have felt more at home situated seventy stories up and balanced behind a rifle. Only in that arrangement could he tolerate occupying a place where people milled around like countless ants. How in the hell was he supposed to brush elbows with this lot again?

Ah, right - Rhys promised that he could stay tucked away in his own isolated space or at the bar. The mere thought of being surrounded by such constant bustle day in and day out had the Pandoran-Irishman withdrawing the last cigarette from his pack and subjecting his lungs to its fumes. That was fine and all, until a particularly irritating flare of heat had him expelling a series of rattling coughs. Feck, his chest had some nerve to protest. All he wanted was to enjoy a smoke in peace, but by then, his stash had run empty.

Frowning at his predicament, the operative considered occupying himself in other ways. True to his nature, he couldn't resist tapping into Atlas' mainframe and skimming its access logs. Dropping the exhausted cig from his lips and crushing it underfoot, he didn't know what surprised him more: the fact that Zer0 allowed themself to be tracked or that they were tied down in any way. Allowing Rhys to keep tabs on them seemed particularly domesticated of the assassin, earning a dry snort from him.

Shite, what was wrong with both of them? Everything, evidently, compared to when they had last occupied the same assassin's pub. Come to think of it, what was the ninja's excuse? He didn't know of any bounties on the market for the obscure mercenary, so it was doubtful they needed to lay low.

Scrounging up Zer0's last known frequency on his ECHO, Zane hit them up and informed them that he would be at Atlas' bar - where else? As far as he figured, he had nowhere in particular to be and plenty of reason to booze up the remaining space in his belly.

It wasn't the first time since linking arms with the Raiders that the operative relived his pint sharing days with the lanky alien. Still, neither Moxxi's nor Atlas HQ could adequately stand-in for the mercenary pub they had formerly frequented. That place had been, for lack of better terms, _the shite_. What Zane would have given to return there and _not _have his head lopped off his shoulders or a bullet punched between his eyes.

Of course, there were rules against that sort of thing in that kind of haunt. More than anything, those in their profession respected a mercenary's need to have a drink and take a load off. Still, situating himself among so many hired killers was akin to suicide. After collecting such an impressive bounty, one could retire for a few lifetimes and not have to give a feck about being rejected from their professional circle. Even if no one tried anything funny within those walls, everything beyond its doors was free game. He knew, just as well as everyone else would, that he would have to leave _eventually._

For as much as Zane didn't care to fit in with any certain crowd, he had belonged there. There were few better feelings than stepping through those doors with cash-filled pockets and being greeted by familiar faces. After all, he was as regular of a patron as could be, given his highly-traveled circumstances. He was often tied up on assignments for months, and yet they always remembered his preferences.

As much as he had tried to sleep with the more attractive barkeeps, he hadn't had much success. In fact, he didn't know where in the hell they found such disciplined staff. For as much as he tried to lay on his infamous charm and work his every handsome angle, they always managed to shoo him off with booze. Those folks truly were magical.

There was one barkeep, in particular, he had been head over heels for. Anja had been _the _hottest redhead he had encountered in the galaxy. He couldn't count the hours he had spent practically following her on all fours, smitten with her teeny tiny waist and shapely hips and a bosom so pretty, it matched her personality. He spent a solid year making a happy fool of himself over her and gained as much of a reputation for repeatedly being turned down as he had for his professional aptitudes.

Unfortunately, patience and persistence didn't always pay off. All the flirting became a game over time. It was good fun, not that he wouldn't have whisked Anja off to the nearest bed if she had actually given him a chance. If nothing else, having her repeatedly turn down his definitely-not-sleazy advances got him a number of free drinks from commiserating mercenaries and a number of good screws along the way.

By the time she rewarded him with a sweet kiss to his cheek, he had struck his proudest strut and settled for that accomplishment. He had celebrated by seducing one of her lady friends who stopped by to drop off her purse. He spent that same night rocking What's-Her-Name's world and leaving a stellar impression, hoping word would spread. Regardless, it always felt good having a slinky pair of panties tucked away in his pocket.

It just so happened that that same pub was where he most often gleaned information about his brothers. It seemed there was always someone who had made a pitstop on Pandora and had stories to tell about his demented kin. In fact, once folks actually became convinced that he was a Flynt, the unbidden information came pouring in. Having Captain send him a box of severed heads at that location had sealed the deal, as he hadn't otherwise had a reliable address.

With a scowl, the weathered operative found himself giving a particularly deep pull from his beer. Of all locations, that pub was the one he felt homesick for. God knew he had practically lived there when he hadn't been occupied elsewhere in the galaxy. What a shame it was, for others, that he wasn't gonna give anyone the charity of offing him. His wrinkly self would have to truly go senile for that, and by then, he wouldn't care who killed him.

Even before Zer0's quick arrival, Zane had downed two beers and returned his mug to the barkeep for a refill. At the sight of that graceful, serpent body gliding to occupy the stool next to him, he nodded at the young lass who he _didn't _flirt with. After all, it wasn't professional. Besides, he still didn't feel all that inclined to lay on his moves.

"A pint fer me skinny arse boyo, 'ere," he ordered while reaching to clap the alien's narrow back. Had there been any mistaking what Zer0 was, he still would have known better. He had only knocked off their mask while sparring as they formerly had. In the distant past, they _had _found themselves under the same master's tutelage.

Ahh, those had been fun times. Back then, he had been a far sprier, and younger, lad. Between his determination and the first version of his digi-clone, he had managed well enough at keeping up with Zer0's martial artistry. Granted, when he _hadn't _managed to outwit their fancy footwork, he had spent plenty of time getting knocked flat onto his back.

There was a whole lotta weirdness under that mask, but the alien was fascinating nevertheless. Zane found himself wondering if their appearance had evolved throughout the decades or if they had visibly aged.

"Old, drunk vault hunter.

Starting without me, I see," acknowledged the assassin, accepting the offered beer while Zane belatedly dropped his friendly hand and went back to hunching over his own frothy drink.

"Jus' like old times - with me half plastered an' you just starin' at yer drink 'cause ye never take off yer mask," chuckled the grizzled man before taking a hefty gulp of his ale. "Blame Rhys. He was try'na get me plastered an' take advantage o' me."

The displayed '...' on that carapace-like helmet had Zane belting out a sharp, gravelly laugh before shaking his head.

"I'm kiddin', I'm kiddin'! _Eesh_, lad…" Then, after reconsidering, he added: "On second thought, I s'pose he was, 'cause he was try'na hire me again."

"Another mission?" inquired his fellow mercenary, appearing to stare quietly into their mug. Something about their posture, however poised it was, had the mustachioed man shaking his head.

"Nope! No worries, boyo. I ain't honin' on yer position," he assured with a lopsided smirk. "I mean, far be it fer me to turn 'im down if yer busy kickin' arse somewhere else. But nahhh, I jus' wanna fiddle with some tech an' be an ol' fart. Ye know, one that doesn't have yer life expectancy."

After a moment, he added, "Fer once in me long life, I s'pose I'm tryin' ta make plans."

"A novel idea,

You will live on through your gadgets,

A tech maestro," commented Zer0 as they tilted their shiny head toward him.

Taking another swig, the operative gave a mirthless chuckle while brushing off his mustache with the back of his gloved knuckles. "Ye make everything sound so bleedin' _fancy._"

"_:D_" was all the assassin offered, the red emoticon blinking from existence soon after. Then, with a nod, the alien strummed their fewer fingers atop the polished bar.

"Atlas could use you.

You are a suitable fit.

Given your background."

Zane couldn't deny that, though he had done damn near every job there was. He had been the go-to guy for every rich arsehole in that galaxy, most of whom happened to be tied to one major corporation or another. Who else could afford him? Still, Zer0's deductions were legitimate.

Quirking an inquiring brow at his barmate, he had to ask, "Is there somethin' I should know 'bout ye bein' so willin' to pass the baton?" Aside from the obvious, that was.

Admittedly, Zane wasn't too keen on working for someone as needy as Rhys. As much as he liked the guy, he seemed like the type to cling around his ankle and subject him to dragging him along. From what he had witnessed, the CEO seemed _very _dependent, bumbling, and maybe _too _harmless. The marshmallow of a lad definitely needed someone to cower behind as they provided him security and did his dirty business. Without a doubt, Rhys identified him as being perfectly qualified.

Sighing, the alien shook their polished head.

"Am loyal to Rhys.

But miss assassination.

That is my preference."

Pulling a face at the thought of extensive paperwork, Zane decided he never cared to relive that torture - maybe not even if his survival depended on it. With an admissive gesture, he watched the orange-haired barkeep pour an amber stream of whiskey into a polished glass before sliding it to his elbow. It was gone in a blink, its path burning beautifully down his throat. After giving a sigh of relish, he offered Zer0 a crooked and apologetic smile.

"Sorry to say, lad, but I don't s'pose me vault huntin' days are quite over. I haven't driven me crew crazy 'nough to boot me _yet, _but I'm workin' on it. 'Sides," he added, returning his gaze to the fresh mug of beer awaiting his consumption, "I'm kinda hingin' on losin' a limb or two 'fore settlin' down. I dunno if Atlas can keep me busy 'nough, honestly!"

What Zer0 didn't need to know was how he was at odds with his teammates. At this rate, he gave himself one more vault opening before he did something even more unforgivable than he already had. What that would be, he couldn't even imagine, but he hadn't done much recently to earn even his own vote of confidence.

Flashing a 'XD', the assassin played off his humor. At least there was that.

"A capable source

Of quality prosthetics

Employee discount."

"Ye sayin' I can't afford one?" he snorted in obvious rhetoric, pausing only to imbibe half of his drink before continuing."Well, s'good to know anyhow. I'd expect as much. Jus' not as sure if Atlas is ready for _me_ an' all me nonsense."

"I have informed Rhys

Of your unconventional

And talented skill," came his companion's composed promise.

If there was one relieving element to sharing Zer0's company, it was that the assassin regarded him most for his acumen. Sure, the alien had encountered plenty of his eccentricities, but they didn't overshadow his expertise and ingenuity. Though their specialties were not the same, their backgrounds were relatable enough. Zane sure as heck bet the alien had his same habit of formulating a plan to kill everyone he met. That made for _really_ warming company.

More than anyone routinely surrounding them, they knew the most about each other's reputations. Through those, they had a sense of what the other was capable of. Between the two of them, Atlas' arse would be more than covered. It was no wonder Rhys wanted them both at his beck and call. The chances of that happening, though, appeared slim. Zer0 already admitted that working beyond the assassin trade was not their end game.

Even saving Atlas for retirement as he was, Zane recognized the potential for growing bored out of his fecking mind or otherwise suffering a similar fate. Professionals like them were rarely satisfied. As it was, he was convinced that he would die kicking ass. How was he supposed to do that if he was plugging away in R&D and making small talk by a water cooler? Christ, just thinking of it in those terms tempted the operative to throw himself from Atlas HQ's highest story sans parachute.

Giving Zer0 a jaunty grin, he couldn't help but tweak his mustache in a cunning manner before drumming both of his gloved hands atop the wooden bar.

"Awwww, ye sweetheart. I always _knew _ye had a soft spot for me into that funky body o' yers!" he teased, unable to refrain. He swore he heard a faint chuckle from his companion but then again, it was probably another crazy voice trapped in his head among the screams.

"Anywho," he went on, finally noting that Zer0's mug appeared suspiciously less full than before. "I'm pretty sure our CEO boyo knows that by now. After all, I'm a pro at provin' I got a few screws loose!"

"You are a loud man," agreed his companion.

"I will stay with Rhys for now.

Until you decide."

"What else'm I gonna do?" Zane muttered, giving a sardonic snort before he reached into a pocket and produced a generous stack of credits. "Ain't like I got many options. Retirin' somewhere like Aquator ain't fer me even if fellers weren't try'na knock me off. Me pasty nards can't take all the sun, thank ye very much."

Then, tossing the stack of bills atop the counter, he told the bartender, "Keep the change." He hardly registered the lass' eager thanks before he focused again on his gangly companion, wondering what _their _ultimate plans were.

"Best to guard those parts

Should they not stay concealed?

Is that not the norm?" asked the assassin, seeming confused. Then again, for an entity who never removed their gear, their uncertainty made perfect sense.

"Not on the island I'd be on," he replied with verbal swagger and a saucy wink, earning a sigh from the assassin's mechanical filter. "An' wassat I hear? Are ye implyin' I'm _normal_?"

Emoting a ';)', the assassin returned their empty mug to the bartender. Despite having stood there tending to her tasks, the woman appeared thoroughly confused by the unexpected condition of their completed drink.

What in the feck? Even Zane did a double-take and spat out a laugh, thoroughly entertained by the mystery. It seemed pretty official now that the lad drank via osmosis.

"Looks like I got meself a new bar trick ta learn!" he announced while slapping the tabletop. "I can make a pint disappear in the blink o' an eye but can't make it vanish like _that_. Tell me, what can ye do with a cherry stem?"

Ah, that almost sounded horny. Considering his own oral dexterity and all the knots he could tie, it was a natural association for him. Relating that to Zer0 seemed so strange, he nearly pulled a face, even if he had sexually experienced a few humanoid lifeforms in his day. Honestly, did anyone expect anything less of him? If they did, they damn well shouldn't.

Shameless as he was, Zane saw an opening and went for it. "Is that somethin' I should ask Lorelei?"

Seeming to process his curiosity, the assassin remained silent before giving a slight lift of their bony shoulders and a ':|' emote. Then, with a tip of their ominous head, Zer0 exhaled a wistful sigh.

"Ah, Lorelei,

There is nothing to speak of

Only a small crush."

"How long's this 'crush' been ongoin', boyo?" inquired the mustachioed vault hunter, leaning in just enough to bump them affably with his elbow. "I recall ye mentionin' it durin' the war. S'been a while!"

"I do not keep track.

I prefer the happiness

of working with her," they said in a manner that bordered suave.

Admittedly, it was pretty cute if it was true.

Leave it to the ninja and their patience not to sound the slightest bit discouraged. Good on them. Obviously they had their priorities straight - same as he did. If anything, listening to someone a tad more sober than himself - in every sense of the word - was refreshing. If one of them had their head on straight, it was guaranteed to be Zer0. That truth wouldn't surprise a single soul.

"Makes sense to me, boyo," the grizzled operative agreed, sparing a second to raise his pint in a toast before quaffing it in its entirety. Only when finished did he jubilantly slam his mug down and then, after palming his mustache, finish with his greatest words of advice. "Ladies are trouble anyhow - take it from me!"

Was that too revealing? Likely not. Zer0 didn't have a nose to be nosey with. Even then, they probably recalled the times they had witnessed Zane being turned down back at the assassin's bar. After all, he had gotten himself forcibly ejected by strong women on a few occasions. Chances were, the alien had witnessed him eat dirt a time or two.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Zane always said. It wasn't his fault those lasses didn't know what they were missing.

"I will take your word.

And not have you clarify

For I am afraid", they admitted with an 'XD'.

Barking out another harsh laugh, Zane pulled at his beloved beard. "Aye, ye should be."

_Jus' as I should be_, he lamented, knowing that fear didn't quite cut it.

Diverting the subject was as easy as any. Contrary to what many might assume, he was never a man who actually boasted about his sexual accomplishments. When he did, he told stories about his most ridiculous trysts - of which there were many - and only if he was feeling particularly raunchy. That was often reserved for more like-minded boyos, and only when he was more inebriated than he currently was.

Needless to say, the middle-aged operative didn't have anything to brag about. Quite the opposite, in fact. Shite, he had to be the only bloke who _didn't _crow about actually bedding a siren. That wasn't subject to change.

"Ain't gonna be any more o' that nonsense fer me these days - an' that's by choice, mind ye. I'm savin' meself fer vault huntin' an' flirtin' with Atlas. I can't be too easy for 'er 'cause I gotta keep her wantin' all this," he announced with a sweeping gesture at himself.

'GTFO' came Zer0's red response, followed by a ':D'. For as minimalistically as they got their point across, it reminded Zane of his digi-clone.

Much to his surprise, the assassin nodded for another pint. Had the operative not felt himself withdrawing into a dulled state of placation, he might have paid more attention to uncovering the enigmatic ways of Zer0's drinking. Instead, he found himself staring ahead at nothing in particular and registering his own buzz.

Huh. Slowly, it dawned on the Pandoran-Irishman that maybe, _maybe, _he was simmering in a wee bit of misery. At least it wasn't enough to have him holing up in some dark corner and chugging himself into an intoxicated stupor. Still, it became clear that his primary interest in sharing Zer0's company wasn't to have a chat, as he felt a noteworthy lack of things to say, but to avoid thoughts of a certain siren that lurked beneath the background noise in his cranium.

Considering he had just completed one of the most adrenaline-pumping missions in his late career, his absence of flamboyant storytelling was glaring. Zer0 and all their supportive silence seemed to detect and respect his sudden remoteness.

Already, the operative was plotting ahead to keep himself occupied. He would return to Sanctuary and give himself a trim, provided he wasn't too pissfaced by then. Maybe afterward, he would chip away at some weapons mods that remained in composed disarray on his workstation. Probably he would plunk himself in front of his television and channel surf until he conked out. The latter seemed about right, given how he had been functioning at full tilt and surviving on very little sleep. At least he was accustomed to running on fumes.

What did he have to feel sour about, anyhow? He was just crabby and in need of a nap. All he needed was a quality recharge to get him out of his funk. If anything, he should have been riding high, given all his recent success. He had _no_ lasting or significant reason to distract from that. In fact, he was getting his shite together more than he had in the past year, and so none of his bitterness made any damn sense.

Releasing a weary sigh, Zane tipped the mug to his lips and knocked back the last of it. It took all of his willpower to prevent himself from signaling to the bartender for something stronger again. By now, he should have known that nothing short of getting blackout bolloxed would make him forget the woman his mind insisted remained a problem.

Given the memories he had of them occupying that same space, it seemed inevitable that he would associate that bar with Amara. If anything, he appreciated the fact that he hadn't recalled the past sooner. The onset of it made him regret having lapsed into silence alongside the assassin, the absence of engagement allowing unbidden thoughts to overtake him.

...

"Looky here, Biceps! I found us a jackpot!" he remembered announcing, earning the immediate whip of the siren's ponytailed head.

The speed she used to reach him, on the second story of the Atlas primary complex, had almost been enough to make him regret his playfulness. However, he _was _excited, and besides, she should know his brand of bullshite by then. It didn't take the Partalian but an instant, after skidding to a stop on her booted soles, to discover his nonsense. When she did, she scowled in disappointment.

"_Zane_," she hissed before socking him in his upper arm hard enough to have his nerves buzzing. She totally ignored his laughing yelp, because damn, her metal knuckles hurt. "God, what is wrong with you?"

Shite, where did he even begin? Sensing Amara didn't actually _want _him to go on about himself, he was vividly reminded how she could benefit from lightening up - and not just while summoning her powers. The look she gave him was as sharp as the spikes embellishing her attire. It had him wondering if all sirens were serious one thousand percent of the time or if his partner was the exception. She was, after all, _extreme._

"Ahhh, everything?" he attempted cheekily, and helpfully, while chucking at her irritated growl. At the same time, he readied himself to dodge a fist that never came.

Ah fine, he had to give it to her - it _probably_ wasn't the most ideal time to kid while Maliwan was trying to overthrow Atlas. Already, the first story of their territory was covered with enough bodies to keep the janitorial staff employee overtime, and that didn't even take into account the gore decorating the rest of the expensive grounds.

The only downside of such a bloodbath involved them running a tad dry on ammo sometimes. Clearly, he didn't sweat it as much as his partner did. Considering the destructive mayhem she could reap with her magic, her arms _were _the only guns she needed. Her tension only reinforced his opinion that she could use a stiff drink or three - as if _that_ could take down her intense edge.

"I'd buy ye a pint if there was anyone mannin' the bar!" he promised, wandering into the joint with an extra skip in his step.

Wow, Atlas really had everything. He was half tempted to dispatch his clone behind the bar, take a seat, and tell his handsome look-alike to surprise him. Taking after him as it did, the holographic construct mixed a _mean _drink. He would have gone through with it, too, if time wasn't of the essence - even if Katagawa seemed more invested in all his creepy stalker talk than he was advancing his forces. At least his narcissistic ignorance allowed their team to split into halves and attack from two directions.

Probably, had Zane actually perched himself atop a stool and invitingly patted another for Amara to join him, she would have dragged him out by his neck. As appealing as that scenario was, he decided he would save it for another occasion. Why shouldn't they enjoy a pint before breaking their vault virginity?

"I don't drink," she muttered while poking her head into one of the other doorways and continuing her responsible search for mission-specific resources.

That was enough to have him blinking at her and pulling a face of humored disappointment. From the look of her, he shouldn't have been surprised. Aside from her alternative style, she was physically straight-laced.

"Yer kiddin'," he groused, earning another glare from her. Suddenly, he was undecided whether they were the worst or best combination of partners.

Throughout his days, he had heard rumors of such mythological morals. That made Amara some kind of buff unicorn, didn't it? And to think he had thought she was his kinda gal! Bah, she still was, with all her skill and fearless, weapon-wielding lifestyle, but _damn_. What fun was life without getting thoroughly plastered?

Perhaps Amara _was_ wise not to partake in a vice that taxed vital organs and often caused one to vomit profusely, but for a feller like himself, the entertainment was worth the trade.

With that rhetoric in mind, the operative was reminded of his dry flask. Looking to correct its sad state, he danced his fingertips along bottles until he made his choice. With a gruff "aha!", he snatched it by the neck and eagerly unscrewed the cap.

Amara turned on him with a look to surprise, accompanied promptly by an expression of disbelief that fit her demanding, "What do you think you're doing?"

Leveling his eye with her, he gave her his most charismatic grin. "What does it look I'm doin'? I'm refuelin'!"

That he was, the operative fixing to demonstrate by withdrawing his flask and unwinding its metal cap. Then, with a showy toss, he flipped the whiskey bottle over-end before catching it and dispensing its contents within his slender canteen. He paused only to enjoy a generous swig of the bottle before giving an exaggerated growl of satisfaction. His enthusiasm earned the exact reaction he anticipated from her: a judgmental roll of her eyes.

It was enough to have him chuckling darkly while ensuring his flask was thoroughly topped off. With avidity, he observed the amber stream until it rose to the brim. Only after completing that vital task did he cap off his share and tuck it back inside his jacket, shooting Amara a pair of finger guns when he was finished.

In response, she impassively crossed her arms, immune to his wiles. Despite him adding a dashing wink, she exhaled through her nostrils much like a bully skag.

"Oh_ come on_!" he gusted in amused disbelief. He still couldn't believe her attitude. How could she be such a stick in the mud when he was so endearing? Like her stern disposition, wonders never ceased. "Ye aren't a fun date, are ye?"

Her violet gaze narrowing, Amara challenged him. "Excuse me? Have you not seen me in action? I am _all _fun," she vowed with a flare of her siren sleeve and an impressive flex of her biceps. Cut as the Partalian was, she resembled a bronze cast idol.

In hindsight, Zane didn't know how it was that his mind _didn't_ extend its proverbial arms into a point overhead and dive into the gutter with the finesse of a synchronized swimmer, but it hadn't. He couldn't even blame the hostile takeover ongoing around them because he honestly thought so little of it.

Well, at least the whining banter between Rhys and Katagawa was amusing as feck.

"Alright, _Miss Fun _\- let's get this show on the road," he huffed after wrinkling his upper lip and working out an itch in his mustache. At the same time, he digitally unholstered his SMG and braced it against his shoulder when it materialized. "S'pose this wee pitstop let our boyos catch up a lil' on their end, if nothin' else."

"It had better," she grunted, the blue coiling throughout her arm already flaring with intensity as she anticipated combat. She wasn't particularly fond of B-team's more methodical approach, but then she was stuck with it. "I guess this means you're done stealing?"

Ohh, the opportunity was too golden to pass up.

"Never done stealin' hearts, lass!" he proclaimed before blowing her a kiss. Then, rolling his remaining eye at her do-gooder nature, he chuckled lowly. "Ye an' all yer poppycock. Rhys owes us. I'm jus' takin' an advance is all! S'a great deal fer all this, I'd say! An' by this, I mean _me," _he clarified, giving her his most provocative bedroom eye while posing with one hand behind his head.

So sexy, as always. Her turning toward the door and throwing a dismissive "Whatever" over her shoulder did nothing to change that.

There was _no _way Amara could assume that he was conventional in any way. If she did, well, that nonsense was on her. His silly shite went beyond her, clearly. Her stubbornness made him want to smack her on the arse and tell her to lighten up. That, or pinch the apple of her cheek and give it a little wriggle that showed how cute she was. Either way, she was guaranteed to punch his teeth in if he did either, so he refrained. He preferred them right where they were - and just as straight!

Deciding he would rather keep his handsome looks, Zane relented. She had put up with his antics enough already and might have earned herself a wee bit of respite - at least as much of one as he could give her, being her current partner in crime. Wasn't some of this on her for siding with him? Maybe next time, she would think twice about splitting off with him.

Come to think of it, that was what he had told himself a dozen times already. Despite her resistance, all his eccentric wonderfulness must have grown on her. Aside from his Deathbringer namesake, he could think of no other reason why she would consistently side with him over the others. All he knew was that she chose to, and he sure wasn't complaining.

For now, Amara had readied her own weapon and was waiting for him. It was a sight he was surprisingly willing to get used to, though he much preferred to lead the chase.

…

The sound of a woman's curse caused his recollections to rapidly evanesce - there one second, gone the next. Amara's familiar face was replaced by Atlas' bartender apologizing while she hastily wiped up something she had spilled. Reaching across the counter, Zer0 uprighted the glass that had presumably held the drink, effectively beating the operative in his belated attempt.

Uttering some nonsense about getting old, Zane went silent again and fell back into that sense of self-isolation. It was unfair, really, considering he sat across from a lovely barkeep polishing an assortment of glasses and replenishing her arrangements of napkins. To his right, Zer0 remained seated, their narrow body elegantly balanced atop the leather-capped stool. Present as the assassin was to distract him from his intrusive thoughts, the vault hunter couldn't detach from them.

Some time ago, he had decided that grappling with his impulses was futile. In his long lifetime of experiences, he knew it was best to let them run their course and be done with. That, often, was preferable to prolonging the effects they left in their wake. The more he resisted them, the more he resorted to intoxication to gain an edge against his conscience. While he was often eager to drink himself into a slurring stupor, he preferred to do so as a form of entertainment and didn't much approve of _needing _it.

Of all the peace Amara had stolen from him, he was determined that she would _not_ take that comfort from him. Sometimes, drinking was the only outlet he had.

As it was, it was bad enough that he caught himself sometimes second-guessing his actions. He would have liked nothing but to smother that bullshit beyond existence and did his damnedest. The only thing preventing him from being contented with life as he currently knew it was that stubborn, pathetic curse. As far as he was concerned, he just had to bide his time and outlive that nonsense. Eventually, it would take a hike. The busier he kept in the meantime, the less chance it had to gnaw at him.

Only one thing was certain: he couldn't allow his doubts to gain traction. Given half a chance, thoughts of that whole ordeal would permeate him. If the dreams that plagued him most nights were any indication, his yearning for Amara still lingered. Those dark, quiet times were when he most craved hearing her heartbeat and feeling her muscular body press against him.

Surely, he had more to think of than _her. _As it was, it startled even him how the thrill of his Blacksite takedown had dropped off as though it had never existed. His only excuse was to blame his extensive history of accomplishments. Making Maliwan his bitch, and destroying Wotan, was just another page of his on-going saga. All in all, it was just another day, another dollar to him.

_That_, Zane decided, was what had him waving on a couple of shots and knocking them back so hard, he registered the stretch of his neckline against his adam's apple. Their harsh burn was a welcome distraction that continued even after it settled in his gut.

He ignored the fact that Zer0 was poignantly staring at him. Clearly, the assassin wasn't trying to hide their curiosity despite wearing a concealing mask. Zane decided it didn't matter either way. As much as anything, being a quality neighbor at the bar was as simple as having someone available to provide conversation if desired.

His personal hope had been that the enigma, with all their composure, could help him remember what honest-to-god companionship felt like. Even if their presence didn't quite hit the spot, what they provided was still better than him sitting there nursing a bloody nose or a busted lip from a bar fight...right?

Until the time he polished off one last beer and slid off his barstool, they remained in comfortable silence.

Just like old times, but for far different reasons.

…

Maybe Sanctuary just wasn't the right place for him to be. Perhaps if he hadn't returned to it, he wouldn't have spent his sleep trapped in an increasingly familiar predicament.

Even in slumber, Zane's mind was determined to punish him. He didn't need further convincing of that when he regained consciousness in memories masked as dreams. There, he discovered Amara suspended alongside him by her shackles...captured by a since-extinct competitor just as he had been twenty damn years ago.

She was there, tied by her wrists and strung from an I beam above, her smooth face wrought with scuffs. Was she unconscious or sleeping? He couldn't say, but he could see her breathing. He could also hear her level respirations in ominous space, the dominant shadows otherwise silent save for the distant sound of dripping water and the pitter-patter of blood snaking from his nostrils.

Yeah, he knew exactly where he was. The dark ponytail that hung between his shoulders was a pretty dead giveaway. There was no mistaking the wet weight of it, the length still drenched from the hose they had previously sprayed him with. At least the short-cropped sides were dry - a cut that was both stylish and necessary. Dense as his hair was, there was no way he could manage a full head of it. He didn't have _that _much patience.

A really artsy-fartsy, gala-class look it was, coupled with a soul patch and sharp dashes of a 'stache. The gents and ladies _loved _it - or was it his charming personality that left their eyes all heart-shaped? Either way, Zane had no complaints...except when enemies used his hair as a leash. That was a source of kinky fun during sex, particularly when he bottomed for aggressive lads, but not so much when he was being dragged by it for more violent reasons.

If he remembered correctly, he had lopped it off not long after he had escaped from that mess. By then, the novelty of having long hair had worn off. Besides, not only were shorter styles easier to maintain, but he preferred a more rugged look. Must have been the Pandoran in him.

As for what he could _see_, he was at half capacity. The last image transmitted by his eye patch had been the butt of a rifle rushing toward it. Upon that sharply _unpleasant _impact, the device had glitched out, its pixels distorting, before cutting out with the second strike. With venom, he cursed the feckers who had effectively cost him a pretty penny. A nice chunk of his payoff would have to go toward fabricating another.

Feck. At least the arseholes had decided against their initial method of shafting him: the uglier, taller one had been determined to pry the patch from him. While Zane wasn't sure exactly what the meathead intended to do with it, he certainly hadn't appreciated having a switchblade wriggled between his waxy flesh and his metal tech. The recent memory of having someone attempt to shuck him like an oyster was enough to make his stomach twist on itself.

Sensitive to pressure as his scarred orbital socket was, he couldn't determine what damage had been done, but he _could_ feel dried blood where it crusted down his cheek. Knowing he probably wouldn't need an optical nerve replacement _again _was enough to have him thanking a nonexistent deity. That initial surgery had been miserable enough, and he wasn't interested in undergoing a repeat. He would have had a bleaker outlook had oyster shucker slipped with his blade and plunged into the outlet.

As Zane always did in that nocturnal memory, he tested his bindings. He found them damningly solid, their tightness causing sharp, electric pain to strike towards his elbows. Between the agonizing bite of his battered ribs and the bruised throb of his kidneys that promised he would kiss blood for days, he needed no further convincing that he had been in better shape. That long ago, he hadn't had his digi-clone to back him or otherwise come to his rescue.

Come to think of it, he wouldn't have ended up in that predicament if the sleazeball who hired him hadn't sold him out. Zane could connect enough dots to be convinced that his benefactor had planned on saving a pretty penny by having him do the professional work and then signing a couple of knuckleheads to snatch up the goods _his_ skills had scuttled.

It was a shite move but not an uncommon one in his line of work. Damnit, he knew the risks. Probably he should have been more alert, but shite happened. All that mattered was that he adapted and made his break. Unfortunately, if Hazra wasn't capable of affording him, he was bound to get gypped. The arsehole was dead one way or another, now that he had solidly sealed his fate. If only the fool hadn't mistaken him for just a pretty face. Evidently, he hadn't heard enough of the infamous Flynt lineage to think better of double-crossing him.

Huh. Maybe he really needed to roughen up his look. He already had the mustache that said, "Yer sister is gonna _love _ridin' this", but maybe he needed to take it one step further and include their mum. Beyond that, Baron had always rocked mutton chops and commanded respect. He supposed he could give those a go. With a face like his own, how could he _not_ make them look good?

Needless to say, that mission hadn't been his best showing but, like all those before it, it would be a success. In time, he would pocket the data drives the henchmen thought they had stolen from him and leave his double-crosser with his head busted open like a juicy watermelon.

For now, he was too suspended to work his swagger. Instead, he was forced to trace his tongue along his split lip and spit out a mouthful of copper-laden saliva. A number had been done to him when he had taken that last beating. Was that discouraging? Not in the slightest. It just meant he wouldn't be dancing his way out of wherever in the feck he was with his usual grace, but that wouldn't stop him.

He needed a stiff drink and he needed to vomit, though neither urge had anywhere near the association they should have. Probably his recent head trauma had to do with his nausea. Already, when his attackers had attempted to interrogate him upon capture, he had expelled the contents of his stomach all over their fronts...and, less fortunately, his own boots. That, of course, was _all _they would ever get out of him.

For now, his mind struggled between reliving the memory and splicing the siren into it. He found himself attempting to pump his legs and swing toward her, but the risk of dislocating his exerted shoulders put the kibosh to that. Granted, he might not need to fight his way out of there if he did succeed in waking the siren. Without a doubt, she could bust them out of that musty, dilapidated old factory without breaking a sweat.

The operative wondered if it would matter whether or not Amara, once aware, would register who he was. The ambiguous clash between reality and his altered dream made it uncertain whether she even _knew _him to recognize him. Truth be told, she would have been gestating back on Partali around that time. Evidently his mind didn't consider that, and yet it incorporated her regardless.

As different as his younger appearance was, his eye patch should have been a dead giveaway...but that depended. Even that device had been a different design. Upon second thought, did any of that even matter? _Clearly_ they were in the same predicament and she would recognize him as a victim. He assumed she wouldn't leave him hanging after she crushed them with her destructive magic.

If she did, he might be there for a while, if the intact rope binding him was any indication. It didn't seem half as rotten as his luck.

"'Mara," he called to her, his voice particularly gravelly from hours of inactivity. After clearing his gummy throat, he tried again. "'Mara, wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey!"

Despite repeated attempts, the Pandoran-Irishman couldn't rouse her. The more volume he used to try and stir her, the further risk he ran of alerting their captives. As it was, he was probably fecked. The silence of their surrounding dead space offered no means of muffling his commotion. Beyond that, the more he balled his hands into fists and jostled his restraints, the more they cut off his circulation. Already, his bones and muscles ached from being strangled by gravity, and the painful bolts of nerve impingement were enough to have him drawing hissing intakes of breath.

In contrast, Amara appeared perfectly tranquil, her chin resting on her collarbone and her expression fully at peace. Appearing to levitate in the shadows, she resembled a strange sort of angel. Even the spiral markings decorating her skin were in a quiet state of restfulness. From where he hung eight feet away, he couldn't make out the faintest shift of her eyelids.

Seeing Amara so serene did nothing to spare him the brunt of their situation. It wasn't his own fate that had his adrenaline spiking. Instead, unable to tear his attention away from the siren identically slung from the rafters, his alertness was escalated by her presence. Unconscious as she seemed to be, she was alarmingly helpless. That was, until she came to. The sooner she did, the better.

Already, Zane suspected something fishy. Had she been knocked out, chances were she would have stirred by then. Even he had taken the butt of a rifle into his ECHOeye_ twice _before succumbing to a final strike to his cranium. Aside from some smudges, Amara appeared pristine. He wondered if she had been drugged.

At the time, he couldn't consistently recognize that she was an improvisation in his dream. She was simply too tangible, and the stakes too high, for him to trust logic. As willing as he was to gamble with his own life, he refused to endanger hers.

It didn't matter that the arsehats who got the jump on him were amateurs who had capitalized on the element of surprise. The two men who entered the scene through a distant door were identical to his memory. The squeal of rusty hinges was nearly deafening, followed shortly by the mammoth slam of metal shutting behind them.

With his back turned toward their direction, Zane couldn't do more than listen to their slick, echoing footfalls and attempt to decipher their direction. To him, it seemed they circled like sharks concealed in the murky blackness. Had his ECHOeye not been busted, he would have known their positions for certain.

For as much as he didn't _want_ to sweat anything, the sound of them slowing to a stop by the siren's far side had his mind concocting a slew of mental curses. He couldn't _wait _to tear them from limb to limb just for lingering there and admiring her. The mere thought of their sleazy eyes running across her curves had him plotting their demise.

Funny thing, that. He was _never _reactive. That proved he truly was off his stride. Evidently, they had knocked something loose.

Still, the mere thought of them nearing Amara had his hackles rising, violent intent gathering throughout his muscles even before they emerged from the shadows. Situating themselves in front of the siren, they took their precious time raking their gazes across her from head to toe. Then, as the shorter and stockier man broke into a malicious grin, he regarded the thrumming operative.

"How's it hanging, pretty boy?" Shorty asked, punctuating the question with a smoker's laugh. "Did ya have a nice nap?"

"I've had better," Zane sneered, immune to the fact that he remained dangling. He knew he had best get used to it - at least until he made an opportunity for himself. As soon as his toes touched the ground, he was going to slaughter their captors quicker than they could blink.

Had his attention not been divided between his own predicament and, more intensely, the liability Amara presented, he would have formulated more of a plan. Instead, he found himself doing every damn thing he could to prevent himself from revealing his contempt for the man both leering and hovering sickeningly close to the siren.

The usual talk occurred, the same as always. Both wankers spewed shite about how they hoped he'd had _plenty_ of time to reflect upon what he had done. Then, they metaphorically jacked off to the sound of their own voices when they, at length, described how they intended to torture intel out of him. At that, he hung his head in boredom, far from impressed.

All in all, it amounted to standard business. They wanted to know what dirty business he had done for other employers. They also demanded to know if there were more like him. Overall, his mind blurred out the irrelevant details, which drawled on because henchmen like them _loved _hearing their own voices after having spent so long trapped under their boss' sweaty thumb.

Had his tingling hands not been tied overhead, Zane would have entertained himself by picking the gory clots from his nose and inspecting his findings. Dried snot and blood deserved more of his attention than they did.

Really, this hiccup was nothing. Already, he'd had much closer calls. Unbeknownst to him, there would be many more down the dangerous road of his chosen profession. Even knowing what to expect would have never stopped him.

Little did the fools know that their employer would end up with ten fewer fingers and spend his final minutes choking on their severed pieces. With a shattered jaw, he couldn't very well spit them out. Ultimately, his associates would discover him face-down, bathing in his own gray matter, atop his expansive mahogany desk.

Probably one of the douchebags currently blathering on had aspirations to fill Hazra's position, but their fates were equally fatal - they just didn't know it yet. In fecking with him, the best they could hope for was to fill a grave. Zane personally planned to leave their corpses to decompose and feed whatever fungus could sprout in that musty tomb.

What set Oyster Shucker off, the operative didn't know. In his opinion, he had been behaving far more patiently than ever. Still, the wanker must have decided he didn't like the way his prisoner was mentally castrating him and proved it by landing a fist square in his elongated gut. Zane could only curse and clench his teeth - until a jab to his side sent spittle spraying from his mouth.

Being reduced to a human punching bag wasn't a particularly enjoyable experience, and it certainly wasn't something Zane intended to make a hobby of, but it was survivable. That mattered more than the blunt pain that targeted his abdomen and sent his shackles clanking, littered with his sharp grunts. He didn't have much of a choice but to endure those deep strikes, his body reflexively recoiling from his injuries. Even then, as his attacker stepped back to pant and recover, the operative managed an aching laugh.

Ahh, at least Amara could later appreciate his vibrant collection of contusions. Purple was her favorite color, after all, even if it looked best on her.

Maybe it wouldn't be all that bad. As Shorty stepped in to pummel him, he _did _exaggerate some of the jabs, convincing himself that he deserved a reward for his superior acting. It wasn't all that different than covering his disappointment when a lad brandished smaller-than-expected equipment. In that, he had some unfortunate practice. He had to make the lad feel productive, after all...particularly one so vertically challenged.

In reality, his bodysuit spared him the brunt of the hits. Trusty as the tech was, Zane has known better than to leave Dahl without it. Short of removing the armored garment, the strikes he endured couldn't manage much real damage. Yeah, they didn't need to know that.

Distraction was key to taking the beating. Throughout it, Zane fixating on the siren between sharp grimaces. Staring at her resting face provided him relief amidst the harsh punches that spanned his ribs, sides, and hips. In effect, concentrating on Amara removed his mind from the damage tenderizing his flesh. Between flinches, when he lost his focus on her calm visage, the brunt of his injuries set in and consumed him like a constricting blanket of agony.

The sight of Amara there, unblemished and still untouched, filled him with purpose. If enduring their thrashing meant sparing her even a moment of that same treatment, he would insult them and suffer the consequences until they could no longer go on. His intent of keeping their focus was as much for his own self-preservation as it was protecting Amara. Watching them hurt her and being powerless to stop it would have been far worse torture.

By the end of it, the operative was swaying and sucking down staggered respirations, his abused ribs rejecting his attempts to draw decent inhales. Every inch his torso expanded made his serratus muscles seize and twitch erratically. His body wanted to curl on itself but at the same time, the prolonged extension of his aching muscles prevented it.

"Cowardly cunts, the both of ye," he hissed acerbically, watching them rub their worn fists. Clearly, they were feeling their own half of the violent workout. It served them right.

"We are, are we?" snapped Oyster Shucker, unable to resist a filthy laugh before he collected himself. "Then what does that make you?"

"I can think of some things," started the second man - before the operative interrupted him.

"I'm Zane Flynt, ye feckin' wanker," he reminded them, brandishing a smirk for good measure. His expression, combined with the thin sweat trickling from his hairline, caused the coagulated blood on his face to split. "I'd tell ye to remember it, but it ain't gonna do yer corpses any good."

It wasn't his best line, but it would have to drive. Zane thought nothing of the chuckle that passed between the henchmen. Instead, he cast his eye toward the ceiling looming overhead and analyzed the arrangement of his bindings - until the shorter dickhead lifted a had to palm the sirens hip. His attention immediately struck like lightning, a thundering snarl drawing back his lips. Like a ruthless, untrained beast, he snapped his shackles and whipped his body, the instinct overwhelming.

"Don't feckin' _touch _her," he snarled at his captors, his voice more bloodcurdling than it had ever been. And feck, if he hadn't shown too much by that - which went against _every_ rule of the black ops book. Cloyed by disgust as he was, he couldn't care. What he _wouldn't _do was choke. He never did.

For now, the operative had to improvise. He knew he had to appeal to the feckheads in some way, certain they would humor his gambling given his physically incapacitated state. Charm wouldn't work here. Instead, he used the perfect lure of the tantalizing unknown to capture their attention.

"Ye lads have _no _clue what yer in for with that lass, do ye?" snickered the youngest Flynt son, recognizing a clueless clusterfeck when he saw one. Shaking his head with ridiculing judgment, he made a show of stifling his own sadistic amusement before gesturing to her with his stubbled chin.

"See those markings on 'er? She's a siren - one of only six in the whole feckin' universe. Ye hurt her, yer gonna suffer her wrath, an' let me promise ye - ye've never seen power like hers. Treat her right, maybe she'll spare ye."

Ah, progress. The taller meathead turned to regard the other with an expression of poorly veiled concern. Receiving a shrug in response, the vertically gifted jackarse stared at Amara with tangible suspicion.

Damn fools - they truly didn't know what they were in for. If only she would wake up and show them.

"'Sides," he went on, pausing to clear his tacky throat before launching a blood-laced wad at the gritty ground, "I'm the one ye want. I'm nothin' to 'er. Wake 'er up an' ye'll see. The way I see it, ye _owe _me, 'cause ye wasted me time earlier with all that rookie bullshite ye did. _Please_, lads, make this worth me while!"

In Zane's actual memories, his ongoing goading had been successful. The gobshites had eventually given him the opportunity to make his escape. His dream wasn't all that different, as Amara didn't make much of an audience. She remained too unresponsive to appreciate the way he managed to make the henchmen lose their cool while he cackled and spit in their faces. Everything from there on was a blur, his maneuvers performed on pure instinct, but even then, he remembered it.

It was like his mind had recorded how he had ignored his physical strain in favor of heaving up his legs and capturing Oyster Shucker by his neck, strangling him between his thighs - and how he forced his victim into the other's knife as he attempted to slash his companion free. He recalled the injured man's shriek as the blade instead plunged into his neck, and the bubbling quality of his gasping wheezes as Shorty panicked. The disarray allowed Zane the prime opportunity to knock one of his boot heels, engage its holo-blade, and kick off the bleeding man's shoulders enough to swing his legs up with every remaining ounce of his strength and slash the rope overhead.

_Bless his pilates and his tech. _Unlike solid blades, holos were more easily concealed and less detectable, particularly against a couple of muscle heads.

Immensely sharp as they were, his maneuver wasn't quite enough to sever the line entirely, but the enraged man's lunge and the subsequent struggle that followed snapped it clean. Zane didn't have the opportunity to register his release before he crashed to the cement floor. Even then, he had enough adrenaline to instinctively roll as his attacker yanked out a pistol and popped off a round _far _too close for comfort.

Had he still had his left eye, he might have lost it from the rubble that ricocheted from the shot. He certainly felt it _ping _off the crushed remains of his eye patch. As for the laceration it left in its wake, he didn't register it until well after he had regained his bearings and stumbled from the scene. Only later, when he absently scratched at his oozing cheek, did he feel the biting sting.

None of that had mattered amidst the flurry of motion that ensued. With his wrists still bound, Zane caught his attacker in the chest with his knee. It was instinct that dictated his motions more than anything, his swinging elbow catching the grip of the handgun at the same time his attacker squeezed the trigger. In a fatal instant, the round ripped up through the underside of Shorty's throat and took a chunk of his forehead with it.

The spill of blood that splashed across the operative's grimacing visage was unpleasant but nothing new. For as raw as his abused flesh felt, he wasted no time in simultaneously shoving and kicking the corpse off to the side. Only then did he settle back with a haggard groan, working to catch his breath and stifling the epinephrine inundating his body. He spent that brief window of recovery collecting his senses and allowing his remaining eye to linger on the siren who still hadn't stirred.

Long before he was truly ready, he pushed himself into an upright position. He applied all the care in the world to engage his boot blades and burn through the bindings still chafing his battered wrists. Only when the ropes fell aside, singed and stained with his blood, did he dare split his concentration.

He needed to take back the data drives. He needed to find his stolen gear. He needed to get out of there, collect his dues, and seek some medical attention. But first, before all of that, he needed to get Amara down.

Zane wasted no time in rifling through the garments of their dead captors and didn't stop until he found the switchblade they had used during their pathetic mockery of torture. In the process of locating it, he withdrew the data drives only to temporarily set them aside, favoring instead the tool he needed most. He spared another hasty moment to mop the blood off his face using the front of one's shirt, figuring the less gory he appeared when Amara came to, the better. Only when satisfied did he curse in discomfort and force himself to his feet.

Had it not been for his height, he would have had to drag one corpse over, if not stack both, to reach Amara's bindings. Instead, he was able to ignore the protest of his body and stretch to access the line she was strung from. With all the care in the universe, he steadied her against his chest and aggressively sawed the rope from the dangling chains.

Gentler than he knew he could ever be, he managed to lower her slack weight to the floor and, still supporting her against his kneeling front, worked the slender blade into her restraints. He wasn't satisfied until the ties fell away, revealing the smooth length of her wrists. Only then did he release a heavy breath of relief and, with her cradled in his exerted, burning arms, sag against her.

He still had a mission to complete and yet, in that dream, he did nothing but linger there and gaze at the woman safe and alive in his arms. He embraced the relaxed rise and fall of her chest, trailing his eye along her inviting cupid's bow, while at the same time he brushed one callused thumb in a slow arc along the apex of her cheekbone.

She was still as a person suspended in stasis, seeming immune to the world around her. Perhaps, in time, that would change. Until she woke, nothing seemed to reach her...not even the way he, after some hovering hesitation, stroked the fallen hair from her face and tucked it securely behind one of her pierced ears.

For as much as he wanted to remain there, relishing that moment with such an enchanting woman, it wasn't time to rest. They remained in unknown, unsecured territory. Other arseholes were likely on their way, and he still needed to retrieve his gear where it was piled some ways away. Beyond that, he needed to determine their current location and make tracks toward his intended destination.

Roughened up as he was, he might consider resorting to those damn syringes the so-called doctors were now touting as quick fixes - but only if he had to. Crazy as he was, he didn't trust such quackery. Overlooking his own battered condition, he needed to search Amara for injuries and tend to those as best he could - before anything else.

His next step would be finding them a ride. Maybe he could locate the ship he had illegally borrowed, wherever it was in relation to their position, and get her settled in before re-programming their course. If that wasn't an option, and she hadn't yet woken, he would have to hide her somewhere and go about hijacking another interspace-capable vessel. As much as he hated the idea of leaving her unguarded, he might not have another choice.

Only when they were underway, he would be able to sigh a breath of relief. Maybe then, his hands would stop shaking when they weren't touching her. As in need of a strong pint as he was, he could concern himself with getting bolloxed and celebrating his successful mission much, much later. After all, he still had a conniving bastard to kill.

For now, Zane allowed himself another moment to bask in her warmth. Only then did he brace himself and hoist the siren into a bridal hold. Regardless of his own condition, he was determined to carry her any distance necessary in order to ensure her safety. His biting ribs and subdermal bleeding would have to wait, even as he grunted in physical misery.

It didn't matter how obstinately his body protested her solid weight - as an operative, he did what he had to do to complete his missions. Nothing short of death could prevent him from completing his objectives, and he was determined to prove it - if not for himself but for the woman resting safely in his arms.

...

For him, Moxxxi's was still the place to be. Despite how off-kilter things among his team remained, the old operative didn't care to alter his more established routines. That meant he visited the on-board bar just as frequently and continued drinking, his only adjustment being that he altered the seat he ordinarily occupied.

Honestly, it wasn't his choice to abandon his preferred vantage at the bar. Instead, the perceptive barkeep and her insistent hovering exceeded his tolerance, as rare of a feat as that was. As immune as he was to the distractive quality of her tits, they couldn't prevent him from detecting her unwelcome scrutiny.

Wise as Moxxi was, one would think she would know when to let off. Likely she did, but having her most expressive regular fall into a brooding silence might have proved too much for her resilience. Zane couldn't blame her, really, as they all wanted to maintain their personal homeostasis. For as much as he wanted to be a jolly patron and flirt to his heart's content, that just wasn't in the cards.

Goddamnit, he wasn't supposed to be that man. He was Zane Flynt! Happy-go-lucky! Chipper and delighted to live life even despite all the arseholes gunning at him! He had no reservations about breaking into limericks, shanty tunes, and dance numbers whenever the urge struck him, and he made a show of it! And the more soused he was at the time, the better!

As much as he was an operative, he was an _entertainer! _He made people laugh. He lightened up the days of whoever was lucky enough to see him flaunt his handsome wiles and swagger. He would strike up a conversation with anyone and was never afraid to do it! He was the charming old bastard who decorated his arms with lads and lasses who were in for a good time, _Zane Flynt Style._

Except now, these days, he was more of a bitter sod who felt his age and was prone to wishing people would piss off, even if he was too kind to say as much. What a shame that was. It took special circumstances to lodge a stick up his arse and boy, was it uncomfortable.

However much he tried to accommodate Moxxi and her well-meaning attempts at initiating conversation, he couldn't keep it up. Instead, despite his efforts to make light of everything, he found himself revisited by the demons in his headspace. After spending so many decades doing all the shite he had and witnessing every disturbing element of human nature, what remained of his sanity often hinged on finding humor in everything. He was rediscovering how issues brewed in his fecked up mind if he didn't keep ahead of them.

Fortunately, none of it was that bad. He trusted himself to be more diligent in nipping his negativity in the bud had it been any worse. For as often as he didn't mind oversharing his often-questionable escapades, he sure as feck wasn't open to discussing what actually troubled him. Despite his deceiving extroversion, he remained a closed and closely-guarded book.

That was why he began favoring a booth over the stools lining the bar. Inevitably, Moxxi seemed to have caught onto his altered composure the damn second everything had changed. Needless to say, he wasn't in the mood to be prodded in even the faintest way. Knowing how shrewd the barmaid was, he should have never made a habit of chatting her up. The instant he _didn't_ uphold his jovial act, her radar went off. Just like she was too beautiful for her own damn good, she was sharp as a knife.

Convinced as Moxxi was that he must be dying, Zane kept his distance. He didn't approach her for a refill until he thoroughly bored himself with spinning his empty bottleneck between his forefinger and thumb. Every time he relented and looked down from where he apathetically supported his cheek on his fist, he expected to see a ring carved into the tabletop. Only then did he relent and return to the bar. Moxxi always had a pint at the ready.

Bottles were more convenient that way, combined with the fact that they were darker, and therefore harder, to judge. Because of that, Moxxi had fewer excuses to sashay herself over and pay him a visit. Without a doubt, just based on his choices, she was onto his game.

She could worry all she wanted, despite how it was a waste of her time. The grizzled operative hardly spared the provocative brunette a glance as she went about striking up small talk with her assorted customers. More often than not, she polished the counter as she did, working it with a soft cloth until the surface sparkled beneath the artificial lighting.

As for him, he just wanted to mind his own damn business and appreciate the familiar fog of inebriation. Sure, he was more than capable of achieving that effect while shut away in his quarters, but he had tired of that already. Even for an introvert, cabin fever was real. Besides, the white noise of conversation odds and ends, combined with the music persistently playing, provided a nice buffer against the nonsense stirring in his head.

Zane had it on good authority that he'd had far worse nights. For as decent as his accommodations aboard Sanctuary were, he would have preferred roughing it on some wasteland planet on the far side of the galaxy, if not into the next...and he just might, soon enough. For now, he passed his hours tapping his scarred fingers to random songs or tracing them along the dark wood train. He traced divots with his blunt nails and thumbed absently through his ECHO whenever the urge struck.

Sure, nothing aboard Sanctuary was as entertaining as traveling planetside and getting into scraps with aggressively pissfaced blokes. Then again, they didn't provide decent company while bleeding profusely on the floor. Even his own clone, for as close of a companion as it was, sometimes left more to be desired. For as handsome as he found his copy to be, even _he _occasionally tired of seeing his own bluescale face. Right now, that didn't stop him from deploying the digi-struct and challenging it to a game of gin rummy.

If nothing else, challenging with his digi-clone kept him on his toes. He had to be sharp to compete with its computations. Cunning bastard it was, Zane didn't put it past his hologram to pry into their shared neural network. Granted, he could do the same and easily tap into its visual feed, but that was _cheating. _It wasn't like he wasn't a big enough loser anyway, these days...even if his inebriated fog wasn't doing him any favors.

Provided he wanted to win, the surviving Flynt never let the sneaky lad shuffle, but at least it let him practice all his fancy methods. Tucked away in the far recess of the bar as they were, no one could appreciate his theatrics, but that was fine. He didn't want anyone interrupting him and his buzz anyway.

Situated there with only his digi-clone and a memorial to all the pints now circulating his bloodstream, the operative questioned how he had ever grown accustomed to anything else. If anything, he should have felt more at ease in seclusion - same as he did in his quarters, where empty bottles qualified as legitimate decor. It baffled him how seamless it had become for him to sit aboard Sanctuary, alongside other patrons, and enjoy casual conversation as much as he did alcohol.

Two years ago, he would have scoffed at the concept. About the only company he cared to keep, back then, had been his own kind. After all, the assassin's pubs had been prime territory to pick up on rumors, talk business, and be solicited for his services. Beyond that, his tolerance for being buddy-buddy with anyone had been virtually limited to his clone. He tolerated folks when necessary but beyond that, his track record favored isolation.

Now, being tucked away in a little nook felt more foreign than anything. It seemed even his luminous lookalike stared at him expectantly, waiting to be recalled in favor of actual humans. Contrary to what it anticipated, Zane convinced himself that wasn't what he wanted. Had it been, he wouldn't have kept his back turned toward the rest of the establishment and ignored everything ongoing within it.

For now, not even the risk of happening across a teammate was worth returning to the bar for a refill. And so he sat, choosing to run dry instead. When the joint grew quieter and most of its activity died down, then he might take up his spot on his stool, provided Moxxi allowed him the solitude he wanted. By now, he figured he had gotten his point across.

It had been a solid week since he had adopted this new norm, and that was fine by him. He just wanted to drink. He didn't have much tolerance for anyone who tried to interfere with that. Needless to say, he was more than prepared to tip Moxxi generously just to keep her pretty mouth shut.

All in all, there had been few complications in his altered routine. There had been one particularly awkward night when he had been unevenly wandering back to his quarters after a drinking binge. Halfway there, he had turned a corner and walked chest-first into the siren.

Of all the people to roam the halls at that hour, Zane hadn't expected to encounter Amara. She only followed the strictest routine aboard. It seemed even she experienced bouts of insomnia. Whatever her reason, she hadn't seemed prepared to see him, nevermind literally running into him.

Grunting out a laugh, he had stumbled before catching a pipe mounted to the wall - and felt her hand reflexively reach to stabilize him. It took but a second before she withdrew like she had been burned. Sluggish as he was, he hadn't done more than open his mouth and utter a "S'okay." Without a doubt, she had smelled the booze on his breath.

The moment that followed was one of those bastard ones that seemed to uncomfortably stretch on. Not only had he been almost numbly soused, but he found himself suspended by indecision. Regardless of his inebriated conflict, his body reacted of its own accord. His listless mouth opened without permission while his hand simultaneously reached for her wrist.

"'Mara…"

Who knew what in the feck he intended to say? Zane sure didn't. He was utterly clueless, even as Amara effortlessly dodged his clumsy grasp. Presumably, he meant to try and set everything between them straight. Crestfallen as he felt, he would have apologized or said whatever was needed to make amends, no matter how pathetic he might have sounded.

For a man who recently felt so antisocial, the whiplash change was dizzying...but far from disorienting. Facing Amara, he recognized her as being the one person aboard he felt like keeping company even when he was in a sour mood.

Evidently, the siren couldn't relate. The look in her guarded eyes practically pleaded for him not to say anything more. Forced to respect that, he accepted her rejection with a pinch of salt, recognizing that he had overstepped his bounds. Mentally, he chastised himself while wishing he'd had significantly less to drink. For as drunk as he _wasn't_, he absolutely knew he was in the wrong. Hell, what was new?

Nodding in silent apology, the operative shoved his hands into his pockets and locked his jaw. For as much as he regularly ran his mouth, shutting it was preferred under those circumstances. Sweeping up the scorched remains of whatever was left between them presented one hell of a task that neither of them were equipped for. Particularly now, it wasn't the right time, nor the right place, _nor_ was he remotely in the right state.

After a tense and lingering moment, Amara moved to circumvent him - in the same direction he stepped aside to in order to let her pass. They bumped together again before clearing their throats in uneasy unison. It had taken another false start before she gave him a wider berth and hurried past, offering no more than a quick, "See you later."

To think a night like that would have given them an ideal opportunity to slip into the shadows or venture into the other's quarters. Given that option, Zane wouldn't have gone to the bar in the first place.

...

Many nights, Amara approached him through strings of rattling beads, parting their wall with her exotic body. His mind exaggerated the culture of her heritage and turned everything into a Partalian fantasy. There, he found himself atop a mandala bed surrounded by tasseled purple and gold pillows while she emerged from aromatic wisps of smoke like an eight-armed deity.

In the scene, she was as stunning as ever, what meager coverings she wore consisting of sheer, shimmering fabric that hinted at her dark nipples and luminous markings. Delicate, lustrous bangles adorned her biceps, contrasting the dark spice of her skin. A gold ring hung from her nose, a hair-fine chain connecting it to the hoops lining her right ear.

The wonder didn't end there. Glass beads and polished coins swayed along her provocative attire, capturing the energy emanating from her. Across her waist draped a glinting chain decorated with the same chimes adorning her bracelets. Even atop the half-gathered tresses spilling down her shoulders, matching embellishments adorned her, further conveying the marvel of an eternal goddess.

Her midriff was, like most of her, sensually bare save for the teardrop jewelry that dangled from her navel. Those markings of hers were there in a constant shifting of colors, captivating and heady...and yet dim compared to the intense fire in her expression as she stared at him with smoked-out, beguiling eyes. Her lips, full and inviting, beaconed him more than ever as she knelt atop him, surrounded by her luminous display of arms. Poised like a warrior, her sheer presence left him entirely at her mercy as she guided him to the hilt inside her.

Everything was sex and incense. Amidst the glittering sway of coins and adorning beads, he remained breathlessly enamored by the erotic roll of her hips. Divine lover she was, she embodied Kama Sutra, using spiritual rhythm and ancient motion to ride him. Every nerve wept pleasure, his lips parting from it, his breath humid as she draped herself atop him and titillated him with an open-mouthed kiss.

It was the most intense reality he had ever dreamed, and he never wanted to leave it. Every time he woke from the mirage, he hated it for ending and clung to the vivid memory as long as he could. His desperate _need _for the imagery had him revisiting it again and again, so tantalizing yet tormenting.

One night, while she enchanted him with the slow gyration of her hips, she drew his hand to touch her. With her tender encouragement, he found himself irrefutably drawn to her rounded belly...and why wouldn't he be? The smooth curve of it, so warm to the touch, was surprisingly firm as his palm gently conformed to it. The sight of her covering his hand with her henna-scribed own and cradling it against the flaring glow of her markings sent him over the edge. In his dream, he gasped her name as his orgasm rushed from him in a scalding torrent.

In bed, Zane startled awake, his body straining and shaking from the release he was still experiencing. Disoriented, he tried to stifle his moan, as though _that _would stop his reflex, while his cock spurted beneath his blanket.

"Feck," he hissed through gritted teeth, unable to deny the pleasure of physical relief. "_Feck_," he repeated, incredulously, as his member pumped out the last dwindling dribbles. As far as his blue balls were convinced, he hadn't come that hard in _years. _Far fetched as that was, it didn't stop the soreness.

Scowling, he spared a moment to calm his breathing. Before his thoughts could become a cooling mess of lust and disappointment, he peeled the sticky sheet aside. Only then did he use a dry section to mop up the gooey aftermath and ball up the fabric with a disbelieving, "_Christ_."

At the time, he didn't care that his predicament was his own fecking fault. Neglected as he was, _of course_ his mind was going to run rampant with sexual thoughts. Physically, he had ignored his troublesome testicles in hopes that they would begin acting their age. Their overachieving wasn't a problem when he regularly sought relief, but he hadn't been on good terms with them recently. This cry for attention wasn't going to help their relations any.

Later, he and himself were going to have a talk because he was far too fecking old to be having wet dreams. In fact, he was too fecking old for _any_ of this nonsense, he acknowledged while slamming the wet linen into the laundry chute. Nearly tearing its replacement as he yanked it from the compartment, he hastily shook out the fabric before chucking it at his bunk and detouring to his open crate of ale.

_Why the hell is this happening to me,_ he wondered. _Why won't in the feck won't anything stay buried?_

For the moment, it hardly mattered - not while he popped the cap with his teeth and threw back his silver head, draining the pint in a series of hearty chugs. It wasn't until he had emptied the bottle and carelessly flung it over his shoulder that the operative wiped his beard and reached for another.

For as plentiful and attention-seeking as the twinkling stars were beyond his window, they didn't spell out any answers. For how long he found himself staring at them, he decided he would be the man to know.

He couldn't keep allowing this to happen. It was finally time for him to do something about it.

...

Feeling resolved the following day, Zane officially decided he needed to continue that trajectory. More now than ever, he only saw the benefit of it. Not only would adopting a more indulgent lifestyle take him back to his roots, but it promised more satisfaction on the horizon.

And so he decided to treat _himself_ to everything he had been missing. What better way was there to behave like himself again than having a hook-up? He didn't think twice about whom his lucky companion would be.

For the six long months he had slept with Amara, he hadn't met up with Moxxi's favorite fire dancer. He hadn't gone to the casino to gamble, or fling cash at strippers, or done anything but walk the straight and narrow. In hindsight, he could think of nothing else _more _peculiar than that.

Despite what some may expect from him, he wasn't self-absorbed enough to think Ember would have thought of him, nevermind saved herself for him - at least, not until he finally sent her a message that read: [Ready for me, baby?]

The quickness she used to call him made him break into a cocksure grin. He let it ring twice before he answered his ECHO, not wanting to seem half as eager, and relieved, as he was.

It hadn't taken them any time whatsoever to arrange to meet. Their lasting attraction caught fire just as it had the first time their paths had crossed at the casino. The lush sexuality of her accent was enough to make him fall for her all over again.

Any doubts he had about her willingness were fully eradicated the moment she purred at him, "I can't _wait_ until our fires burn as one."

Shite, neither could he. He swore his pants had never felt tighter. It was a small wonder that its button didn't pop off and ricochet around the room. Needless to say, if he could have fast-tracked from sure willpower, he would have appeared right between her legs and gone to town.

One thing was certain: after he had his way with her, neither of them would walk straight for days.

Beyond that, he was already making other plans. He was _long_ past due for lounging in a lavish suite, wearing nothing but a luxuriously plush robe, and living like a king. The only thing he wanted half as much as a thorough, satisfying lay was a hot oil massage...preferably performed by an alluring lady or lad with confidently curious fingers. If he was to the point of popping one off in his sleep, he could only imagine how much his prostate needed relief. Given the right touch, he would have to take care that he didn't shoot his good eye out.

Until then, he had unfortunate responsibilities_. _Perhaps he could have talked his way out of the hodgepodge of missions lined up for their team, but already, they were one vault hunter short. Amara had been too busy with Ava's training to bother with their assignments - and _surely_ wasn't using that outlet to avoid him. As confident as he was that FL4K and Moze were perfectly capable of handling everything themselves, he couldn't bring himself to ditch them for such superficial reasons.

Despite himself, Zane couldn't bring himself to be that selfish. He definitely wasn't being paid to slack off. In fact, he wasn't getting compensated much at all, and he didn't need to be in order to behave professionally. Beyond that, he couldn't justify potentially endangering his boyos in exchange for some postponable nookie. There would be time for it later. There always was.

Moxxi, as capable as she was to treat her most valuable employees right, had given Ember an entire story of the opulent VIP tower as payment for her loyalty. Given the popularity of the fire dancer's show and her continued management of the Vice District, the entertainer thoroughly earned it. Hell, even he and the other vault hunters had received offers of equally posh pads in exchange for their successful heist.

Inevitably, he had graciously declined. The thought of having someplace to call his own was too strange for him. While he couldn't speak for his fellow vault hunters and whether or not they had accepted Moxxi's reward, he knew it wasn't for him. So far, he was satisfied enough with his quarters aboard Sanctuary. Overall, his needs were relatively minimal. All he cared for was having some private place to shit and sleep in peace. Having any more than that was pretty much a waste.

Instead, he booked his own upscale suite. As welcome as he always was to crash at Ember's, he didn't want to go there. That was her home, for one thing, though potentially it could have become his own if they officially tied the knot. Until then, he chalked his reluctance up to preferring neutral territory. As willing as he was to pound his lover until their eyes crossed and stuck, he wasn't quite ready to envision himself laying alongside her in bed and talking as casually as they would at dinner.

He, of course, _could_, being the crafty bloke he was, and he would look damn beautiful doing it, but he wasn't inclined to make a habit of it. At least, not yet.

_Why not, boyo? Ye don't want any more screws loosened in this head o' yers? _queried his sardonic self.

Given his recent lapse in luck, partaking in pillow talk would likely lead to some misguided sense of betrayal. As bullshite as _that_ would be, he didn't feel like risking it. Even if he fell into a silly sort of love with the performer, he didn't care to invite more trouble than their romance was worth. He had learned his lesson too recently for comfort and was still waiting for others to sink in.

Despite everything that had happened between them, Zane was convinced that Amara _really_ didn't need to know the white lie he had told her. He couldn't imagine her awareness would improve their situation any - not that it should have remained among his priorities.

And which one was that? There weren't many. The particular fiction that came to mind had left his mouth in that bed on Promethea, back when he had been screwed too happy and stupid to think any better of it. There, he had promised Amara that he hadn't rattled anyone's insides since they had met.

That, of course, had been a lie...because he had - not just once but twice. Despite the Partalian's insecurities, he hadn't intended to mislead her. Honestly, he hadn't been all that capable of effectively thinking while still basking in the afterglow and being pressed up against her naked body. Instead, he had recognized his lapse later...and almost absently. Not only had he bent over for Timothy while held up with him during the heist, but he had returned to that same casino and fecked the everloving shite out of Ember.

As manipulative as it _seemed _for him to tell Amara what she had wanted to hear, Zane honestly hadn't remembered where his dick had been at the time. Hell, it said enough about him that he couldn't even keep track of his plentiful marriages. Obviously, his sexual habits and flippant conquests were questionable at best, and what did it matter anyhow?

He remained convinced that his past wouldn't ever be Amara's business. Considering all the times he _could_ have gotten laid along the way, a couple of innocent mistruths didn't amount to anything. What mattered as that he hadn't double-dipped on his partner. He had kept his cock in-line and, more importantly, in her. Not only had he _not_ fucked Ember since he started sleeping with the siren, but he hadn't really planned to. And he hadn't phone sexed her or cammed with her, for what it was worth.

How had Amara managed to buy his nonsense anyhow? She had only been _right there_, bumping elbows with him, when they had met Ember at Handsome Jack's Casino. And despite how suave he tried to be, Zane was pretty sure his hitting on the performer couldn't have been more obvious. In fact, he starkly remembered the Partalian awkwardly staring at him while he turned up his verbal swagger - and that had been even _before _he suggested that Ember should marry him.

_Soooo_, his sorta-proposal had kinda just blurted out of him. He hadn't _really_ meant it...except maybe he had. The fire dancer was so hot in every meaning of the word that it seemed like a good idea to him! It wouldn't have been the first time he got hitched on impulse. Far from it, in fact. Lord knew he had enough spouses under his belt, even if none of his team knew that. The horny romantic he could be, he was pretty sure there was always room for more, and Ember fit the bill perfectly!

He never _intended_ to be on the matrimony market when he met another wife. He just seemed to happen upon eligible lovers and Ember was no exception. She was sexy, dangerous, and edgy - the exact type that made him fall to one knee, if his history was any indication. Lasses with both brawn and brains did it for him, and did him _hard_...until he fecked 'em and left 'em. And _hooollly hell_, did he have a thing for ladies who could rock a shaved head.

Beyond that, why wouldn't he smitten with Ember? He loved natural entertainers. He loved empowered, take-charge women. Loved a good dancer. Loved passionate sex even better. And loved throwing his money at people to do all of that. Hell, he had practically flung himself at the performer, almost unable to help himself. Don't even get him started on her augmentations. Women and technology together were real things of beauty and made his cock rock solid.

With his extensive history of fecking strippers, he couldn't stand Ember being the exception. She was _fire_ he had wanted to play with. Everything about her promised a stellar time. If his past proved anything, it was that women who knew how to work a pole belonged on his - hard and wet and often. And _damn, _had she exceeded his expectations.

Even while eye-deep in the heist, the operative couldn't help wanting to know how deadly the fiery goddess actually was. With Amara to his right and Moze and FL4K to his left, their foursome had proceeded to decimate the decent army of loaderbots that had tried to hold them back from Jack's tower. As always, their numbers hadn't stood a chance in hell of succeeding. Ember's assisting gunfire, fittingly incendiary, had only really decorated the glowing green of their caustic firepower.

Acid had done the trick, the bubbling fluids bursting across the bots and chewing through their metal structures. Nothing was better at greedily melting armor and consuming vital underlying components. Naturally, all that destruction had been quite the sight but it was nothing the vault hunters had time to marvel at. For them, it was just another day on the job. Their accomplished laughs and joking bravado had been a stark contrast to the hissing massacre littering the grounds.

Caught up in their exhilaration, the four of them had nearly rushed on without consideration for Ember. It had been his kick that sent the thermite-cut wall toppling, so one would think he would recall the woman he had recently asked to marry him. Instead, Moze's stern voice had figuratively caught him by the neck of his jacket and held him back, his abrupt hitting of the brakes causing Amara to run into him.

At that, the partners had smirked at each other and chuckled at their lapses in composure, both of them feeling much like giddy children about to trash a toy store. Shouldering his SMG, he had hugged the siren around her strong shoulders and felt her curl an arm behind his back. They had given each other a friendly squeeze before readying their weapons in sync.

As impatient as they both were to get on with the show, his subsequent fidgeting had been contagious for the siren. In a rare display of fondness, she had leaned toward him to fix a fallen segment of his hair. Then, like the thorough partner he was, he brushed a bit of fizzing rubble from the top of her head. Following that, he gave the Partalian a bump with his shoulder and rolled his eye at Moze, who had held them up being a chatty Kathy.

For a change, it hadn't been him blathering up a storm. Even Amara had sighed and mockingly flapped the mouth of a puppet hand. His delighted cackle had alerted the gunner to their inane impatience, effectively bringing her to awareness.

With how fun it was kicking arse with his team, how could Zane not rock back and forth on his booted feet? He had been eager to get on with the show! One would think gaining a fifth member would enhance the party, but instead, Ember's decision to stay behind had been for the best. Shite got outright chaotic between the four of them, and only they knew how to make the most of it. They had a knack for collaborating in their bloodthirsty dance and keeping each other safe despite all of it.

For as little fighting as Ember had actually done, he had appreciated her explosives. It seemed the Frenchwoman fought for love and not much else. He definitely understood that not everyone was built for battle as they were, and honestly? Their foursome was perfect. They didn't need a fifth person fudging up their rhythm or overcomplicating it.

Already, they had nothing to worry about. They had far bigger successes under their belts than overthrowing a casino overlord. He could have done the entire shebang himself and would have been glad to if Moxxi had requested it. Even then, he would have wanted his boyos to get in on the fun. He was that kinda guy.

Even back then, it had been strange to think he had always flown solo, because it sure didn't _feel _like it when he so thoroughly enjoyed his companions. Before linking arms with them, his socializing had revolved around drinking at pubs or having sex. Often, the two had overlapped.

Overall, bars were better haunts for having quickies in the men's washroom. Women weren't so much into that. Other times, he hit up clubs around whatever high-class hotel he occupied at the time. He had taken flings back to his accommodations and gotten his thorough fill of them there. Sometimes he fecked them or exchanged blowjobs in alleys along the way. All in all, he had been all for getting laid anywhere, in any way, just to satisfy his physical needs during his spare time between assignments.

In a sense, he had done the exact same with Ember. After helping clear out the casino of surviving prisoners, they had arranged to meet at the casino during its renovations and had instantly hit it off.

Of course they had. In the short time he had known the fire dancer, he had gotten enough of a read on her to play his hand right into her pants. It helped that he had hammed it up and gotten her attention in that particularly bold, flirtatious fashion of his. As a woman who loved flashy displays and appreciated a loud _boom_, his explosive personality proved to be a real hit. The fact that they were both sexually indiscriminate was an added benefit. They were equally eager to hop in the sack and weren't afraid to flaunt it.

Did he have a problem with that? Not in the feckin' slightest! In fact, he preferred it. The man he was, he would have suggested soon after that they invite Timothy to join them. Unfortunately, by then, the doppelganger had officially been hooking up with Moxxi. So long as someone was putting a smile on the poor lad's cracked face, Zane couldn't complain. He certainly didn't mind having Ember all to himself.

The first thing he had done, after meeting up with the Frenchwoman, was do his damnedest to kiss the accent out of her. Granted, it hadn't worked, but that was fine by him. He'd had a hell of a time listening to her moan and beg with it. Undoubtedly, someone must have heard their dirty talk and loud expressions of ecstasy, but they probably hadn't understood a lick of what they had been saying. Truth be told, that was probably best for anyone with a sensitive heart.

Their fucking had been wild, naughty, and so damn amazing, the operative had returned soon after for a second round. His back had fecking _killed _him from all those acrobatics, but that hadn't stopped him. Not for a single second. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for that off-the-wall kind of sex. He had come all across Ember's pretty scars and that metal arm of hers. And in her mouth. _And _in her ass. As for her cunt, well, she wouldn't let him do that without a rubber, but he never argued. A wise man never did, and besides, he couldn't dock her for having standards. She called the shots by demanding more commitment before letting him bareback her snatch.

No one aboard Sanctuary had even blinked about him heading to Moxxi's casino and having some quality downtime. And to his credence, he _had_ blown through a mass of money there. He had won some, lost some, and then_ won_ some. All in all, the trip had been one hell of a blast because he hadn't had to occupy himself too much with his own security, given how he was on Moxxi's A-list. He knew her place was tight...in more ways than one.

Needless to say, he and Ember had maintained frequent contact. After all, he was a man with needs, even if he hadn't truly acted on them. Instead, he had favored keeping himself occupied and otherwise unavailable. That didn't prevent him from calling his shaven-headed lover and verbally screwing her while he remained aboard Sanctuary. She had proven she knew how to use her tongue, after all, and had certainly used her sultry purr to mentally feck him. All their play had helped him achieve many messy orgasms.

Countless times, he had been tempted to show up at the casino for another kinky rendezvous and yet somehow, he had resisted. As besotten as he was with Ember, he knew he should keep his distance. Had he allowed their affair to continue, he might have actually been stupid enough to slide a ring on her finger. Honestly, that was just what his lovestruck arse did with irresistible women, and he wasn't convinced he _could _help it.

Still, nothing stopped them from having their ECHO strip shows. His girl could cam like a professional and tease with the best of them. She had her fun watching him jack off as she moved those sexy hips of hers and worked her curves in ways that drove her audience wild. He had spent many cold nights in space chasing pleasure and exchanging sweet nothings with his newest lover.

There were few sights as lovely as watching a woman pleasure herself. True to her trade, Ember made quite the show of propping up her legs and spreading them for his devouring attention. Short of being there and holding her thighs open, there was no better way to watch her confidently play with herself. For a physically lonely old cuss like himself, there was no better entertainment aboard Sanctuary.

Despite the assortment of erotic toys she used, she was particular to sinking two fingers into herself while circling her clit with a vibrating bullet. Her thighs seemed to tremble most when she did - but not as sweetly as when he had thumbed her pearl and stretched her full with his dick. Even when pistoning a ribbed dildo in and out of her snatch, she didn't get as soaking wet as she had around him.

What a shame that was. Even if Ember still enjoyed herself, her body clearly begged for a hard and heavy fucking. More and more, he wanted to give it to her, but the whole vault hunting shtick had kept him busy.

Annnnd then the whole thing with Amara had happened completely out of the blue, forcing him to put an official kibosh on their fun. He really hadn't had much of a choice, given how he had wanted to respect his teammate and her desire for exclusivity. That amount of consideration had surprised even him, as he wasn't often prone to having morals.

Would it have been wrong for him to have Ember at a distance? He personally failed to see any harm in them having ECHO sex, but against the odds, he had mustered some semblance of decency. He wasn't sure he liked it, but he had been convinced beyond a doubt that his affair with Amara would be brief. In fact, he had told Ember as much when she sent him a series of glorious sexts soon after. To say he had been tempted to take it further had been an understatement.

"Kinda got meself tied up in a situation," he admitted during their last conversation, keeping himself as vague as ever. Damn, was pretending to have morals hard.

That French accent of hers sounded

positively pouty and full of disbelief. "Mon ami, you mean you are _dating_ a lucky lady?"

"_Ab-_so-_lutely_ not,' he had laughed - and instantly felt like a dickhead about it. Because it seemed offensive to Amara, didn't it, for him to sound so vehemently against the suggestion? It wasn't as though _she _was to blame for his incredulous reaction. Instead, it was all on him, just as it always was.

Unwilling to linger on it, the operative had pressed on. His intention had been to mention it and promptly sweep it under the rug - over and done with just as his fling with the siren would be.

"Look, it ain't worth talkin' 'bout," he assured her, discouraging any further discussion of it. "She's jus' some fine piece I've been hittin'. Sadly, she's not quite the sharin' type, but it ain't gonna last long, I'll tell ye that. I'll let ye know when I'm ready fer ye, me sexy lil' croissant."

Ember hadn't been particularly thrilled but she was, as always, understanding. With a sigh, she had promised that her bed would always be open to him. If that didn't make a man feel like a million bucks, what did?

Truth be told, he had been too busy feeling like a jerk for that to really sink in. Despite his efforts to ignore his innocent indiscretion, it repeated in his head. Even convinced as he was, at the time, that he wouldn't mind losing his place between Amara's legs, he hadn't wanted to hurt his credibility with her. He still had his dog ways about him, but he really had no intention of disappointing his teammate.

Really, Zane figured it was probably for the best that he didn't hitch up to a pyromaniac - at least, not with his phobias. Possibly, with a promising partner like Ember, the fear instilled in him by his trauma could involve into an exhilarating kink, or so he suspected. Nothing got the blood flowing quite like deep-set terror, right?

He had Captain to thank for that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: We meet Zane Trainwreck Flynt.


	22. Graying Feuillemort [Mental Rampancy and Casino-Going]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Some senseless hate left by non-readers managed to feed off my own discouragement and put me off this time around. For some reason, people who admit they never read this fic stop by just to bitch about it and leave their nastiness. It makes no sense to me.  
-In contrast, I've been spending more time reviewing fics and burning myself out that way, but some authors are well worth it. I still have some catch-up to do.  
-**There's some basic mentions of non-consensual sex here.**  
-This was going to be one massive chapter but I split it up for the sake of posting -some- activity. Try and bear with me.  
-Here, we see Zane in his natural habitat...which becomes an increasingly jumbled disaster of a man trying to work through himself.  
-It's taken 22 chapters for Zane to somewhat consider his marital status. It's always been a thing - he just hasn't given a shit.  
-More mentions of Zane's missing eye. I still prefer the mangled fate. Sure, he has skins with a digi-one, but I figure that's for variety. To have the best of both worlds, he'll fix things up someday.  
-Welcome to the sex business in BL. It sells and it's dirty money.

Two days later, he was due to meet with Ember. Moxxi's Big Score Casino was their destination. Given how Ember still managed the Vice District, where else would they meet? The woman loved her work despite having been imprisoned on the ship all those years. Still, she very much acted like she owned the place and was proud of it. He could appreciate that.

More than anything, he couldn't wait to get his hands on the entertainer. Her being half metal did nothing to deter his attraction. He was into women and technology, so there was no conflict of interest there. The only problem he had was with that whole _flame_ thing she had going on, but as long as she didn't ignite him with those fingers of hers, they were a great fit. Hell, even that ability of hers might come in _handy - ha. _Christ, he was surrounded by hand pun fodder, wasn't he?

It wouldn't be the first Zane found himself inconvenienced by thoughts of a certain siren, but he was determined that it would be the last. What set everything apart, now, was that he wasn't going to get hung up on them. He had set out precisely to turn those intrusive thoughts off once and, ideally, for good.

Day by day, it got easier. The tension among their team continued gradually dissipating, though that was subject to change if anyone accidentally stirred the pot. Moze wasn't giving him such a cold shoulder anymore, which was an improvement. He could breathe more easily without being treated like the gals were constantly on the rag. Even Amara seemed more tolerant of him, though he had dialed back his arse kissing and reverted more to his loner ways. If she chose to ignore the fact that their exact situation was one he had wanted to _avoid_, then that was on her. Personally, he didn't hold grudges.

Progress was being made, however. Finally, she had returned his backup digi-structor, and that had been that. All it had taken was for him to leave his quarters open while making a pit stop at Moxxixi's and she had left it at the edge of his workbench. Fine by him, even if discovering the module had him popping the cap of his pint sooner than he planned to.

"Back home where ye belong," he had told the device with a reassuring pat and a promise. "I'll fix ye up, good as new, soon."

He should have been speaking to himself, and maybe he was. Even then, his first swig of ale did nothing to dilute the bitterness festering at the back of his throat. Soon after, he had decided that the offensive taste had nothing whatsoever to do with some pitiful, and officiated, sense of loss. Instead, he expected that avoidant exchange to trigger another flare of hurt feelings and cause another shitestorm.

Thank the gods it didn't - at least not that he noticed. Naturally, it was easiest to avoid detecting any by making himself scarce and draining his social batteries with B-Team. Aside from Talon frequently roosting nearby or preening at her dreadlocked handler, he had no reason to be on his guard. He had only _joked _about sandwiching himself between the odd couple. He planned to sleep with someone _far _different...thank heavens.

He arrived at the casino via fast track and digitized directly to the VIP tower. The structure remained as enormous and opulent as ever. If anything, he was surprised to see it was still styled that same royal gold and rich purple as when he had last visited it. As much as he aesthetically approved of it, he frowned, inadvertently conditioned now to relate Amara to that dark violet.

He had more associations to the area than that, naturally, though it just so happened that the siren was also present in the memories his mind force-fed him. In fact, he could vividly visualize the Partalian adjusting her shotgun in her grasp after they had succeeded in gunning down that backstabbing cunt, Freddy.

Towering over the mulleted wanker, who had been bloody and gasping wetly, Zane sneered venomously. Throughout all his years, he had no tolerance left for double-crossing arseholes, and the tone of his voice was a trenchant testament to that.

"I should'a kept yer loader buddies 'round, _boy_. I personally would'a preferred the mindfuck of reprogrammin' yer beloved bots to do the killin' fer me. Ye know why? _So ye'd die with nothin' left to trust. _But!" he continued in a cheerier note that persisted as he thumbed back the hammer of his Jakobs pistol. "S'pose this'll have to do!"

Thanks to a single trigger pull, the universe was one bastard lighter. Given the revolver's power, there hadn't been much left of Freddie's head but tufts of blonde scattered amidst a mushy spread of skull and gray matter. Somehow, Moze located his mostly intact aviators across the expansive room and walked up soon after, wearing them with a sharkish grin. Now, in the present, the operative found himself smirking.

Excited as he had been for his night out, Zane had remained considerate of his teammates. He had taken precautions as to not flaunt his personal business and instead, kept his arrangements on the down-low. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of changing into his civilian attire aboard the casino, but leaving Sanctuary in his usual digs was the most effective way to avoid detection. At least he had booked accommodations where he was able to himself in order, even if his primary reason for getting a room was to feck in it.

As much as he _could_ be a selfish arsehole, he didn't have the heart to risk inadvertently rubbing anything in Amara's face. Granted, he didn't have the necessary gall to think she was still stuck on him, so his concerns were likely unfounded. Chances were, she was probably _well_ over how things had gone down between them. After all, she was a strong and logical woman. Even then, he was done making mistakes. He liked her too much to risk hurting her like that...and he vehemently _refused _to admit how navigating such paranoid logistics felt identical to sneaking around behind a scorned wife's back.

It didn't matter if, ordinarily, he would have _loved _the opportunity to brag about how damn handsome he was or how his devilishly good looks put everyone else in the galaxy to shame. And it wasn't like he would feck up his polished appearance between leaving his crew quarters and accessing the nearby fast track station. Then again, stupider things _had_ happened to him, but the odds of that were slim. Still, he didn't want anything keeping him from his date. He had waited long enough to get back in the game.

And a date it was, wasn't it? To feck. The best kind of hookup there was. For a man like himself, there really wasn't much other reason to bother. Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed spending time looking at pretty men and women. He loved flirting with the best of them. He loved drinking. But Ember, he knew and had fecked before. Without a doubt, she would let him go straight for the gold, but he wanted to treat her to more than his dick, impressive as it was. And he hadn't had any good downtime in a while that hadn't involved being showered in gore.

Ember was more than worth a bit of effort. Keeping himself on Amara's good side was even more important, and acknowledging that was as far as that went. Stubborn as he was, their partnership couldn't stop him from living as he lived. _Nothing_ could have.

If anything, he was really going to live it up from now on. He had neglected himself by dropping the ball after retirement. Why wouldn't he pick up where his highlife had left off? Now, given his association with Moxxi, he didn't have an excuse _not_ to cash-in. After taking Jack's casino for her - and rightfully so if she had indeed designed it - their team had been granted unlimited VIP access: free stays in the most lavish suites whenever they wanted, endless free drinks, and total access to every conceivable amenity.

Like a respectable gentleman, he had tried to wave her excessive generosity off but _no one _refused Moxxi. The proud man he was, he didn't accept charity, but then she made a point in reminding her beloved vault hunters that they had done her an immense service by overthrowing the casino for her in the first place. The profits she made from it in a single day accounted for any debt they could ever amass. Since it made Moxxi feel good - which was the effect he loved having on a sexy lady - he begrudgingly accepted her payment.

"Ye don't have any idea how much this ol' man can drink," he had told her - and then laughed up a storm at realizing his own words. Moxxi, more than anyone else but his clone, most certainly _did_ know! "Ah, I mean, _maybe_ ye don't know how many flings I can turn in a week. Yer gonna need more housekeepers!"

Sure, it wasn't like he had demonstrated that sufficiently to the barkeep, particularly since his formerly prolific sex life had been a casualty of his retirement. Aside from nailing Timothy and Ember, thanks to the heist, Amara had been his only other lay. Fortunately, that was set to change now that he was once again a free man. It wasn't like there was some ongoing war distracting him, not to mention he had settled into the vault hunting lifestyle quite well. The fact that he _felt _ready to indulge more in his sexual vices was promising, wasn't it? It meant he wasn't so old after all!

With how excessively ready he was to show Ember an amazing time, he certainly wasn't feeling his age. He couldn't recall feeling so giddy in a long while. As a matter of fact, he hadn't even thought that thrill was possible after so thoroughly notching his bedposts. Chances were, that whole nonsense with Amara and the predictability of it made getting back in his usual saddle seem that much more exhilarating.

He _definitely _didn't let his last attempt at getting lucky deter him. In fact, the self-degrading memory still made him chuckle - so much that he mentioned it to Lorelei after laying waste to the Valkyrie Squad. Coupled with the recent timing, the similarities had been too humorous to resist.

"Wish I could say that was the first time this week three angry ladies tried to throw me out," he had divulged. Whether he was boasting or not, even he couldn't tell, but he sure as hell wasn't afraid to laugh at his own expense.

What he mentioned to Lorelei had been the truth, as not a week earlier, he had been at a bar where a trio of _ver_y attractive besties had caught his eye. What could he say? He had been just drunk enough to make a move. Not only did he naturally have the tenacity, but he had been pent up, which provided the perfect motivation for shoving his self-loathing to the wayside.

Truth be told, he just wanted to be his normal, jovial self. Even then, he had been sold on the idea that getting his dick wet would solve _all _his problems. That was exactly what he needed to get his head on straight and stop being such a mopey little bitch. _Jesus_, was he seriously over that shite.

Turning on all his infamous charisma, he had swaggered over to their table and made his handsome appearance. Catching one chair with his boot, he had drawn it out, spun it around with one hand, and with poised finesse, straddled it backward to command their unified attention.

"Ladies! _Beauties!_" he greeted with an infectious grin, only just _beginning _to slather on his proven charm. "It sounds to this dashin' ol' man that ye need an ear fer all yer problems!"

Nevermind that their 'problems' didn't actually _qualify_ \- at least not by his standards - but he wasn't an authority on the matter now, was he? All that mattered was his ability to lull them into a receptive sense of security...which sounded far more predatory than it was. By kicking back and initiating his own animated conversation, he presented himself as their easygoing best friend. Without fail, his methods worked their magic.

In his seasoned experiences, most lasses wanted the same things: to be told how pretty they were and to have someone shower them in quality attention. That was all, really, and he could lay on compliments with the best of them. He was also well-versed in the skills of both listening and _pretending_ to. Often, in situations where he didn't care for such nonsense, he interwove the two practices in order to keep tabs on the most pertinent details. After all, he needed to depict himself as a convincingly invested audience.

Of course, had anyone asked him what the twenty-somethings had been upset about, he would have constructed some half-ass summary about how they were mad over another lass talking some shite behind their backs. To add to the scandal, some boyfriend had been stolen and then flaunted all across social media. Hadn't one of them broken off a nail in that man-hungry slut's weave while trying to strangle her? He could have sworn he heard that. If not, it would have been a nice touch.

Unfortunately, even registering what little he had managed to take its toll on his brain cells. He swore he could feel them imploding. The scenario wasn't unlike falling asleep while zoning out to television and waking up to one of those gutter trash talk shows capitalizing on drama whores. He swore he sustained neurological damage just from flipping past them and catching glimpses of scorned lovers engaging in fistfights or accusing someone's man of being their baby daddy. Even had they been actors, there was no hope for anyone willing to swim in that cesspool.

At least these gals were nice to look at and weren't _that _grating. He just had to resist the urge to point out his age and inform them that their petty matters wouldn't mean shite in ten years...which, for them, might seem like forever. As futile as that would have been, he was convinced they needed a sexual distraction as much as he did. If nothing else, he had pleasurable ways of keeping their mouths busy.

Lucky them, he was just the type of professional who could leave each of them thoroughly satisfied. If they didn't give him the chance, well, that was their loss. It definitely wouldn't be his first foursome rodeo. In fact, neglected as he was, he might prove too much for three women. He hoped to hell they were half as experienced in the sack as he was, being pretty as they were. Already, he was anticipating laying them out side by side on a bed and putting both of his hands to work while treating the center sweetheart to his talented tongue.

It wasn't the most ideal time to realize he didn't have any rubbers on-hand...unless he had a stale, dusty one lost in some forgotten recess of his jacket. He couldn't bring himself to care, since he wasn't going to knock them up with his bastard kid. Really, that was all that mattered, wasn't it?

Probably he had more relevant matters to consider. In true Zane Flynt fashion, he could _absolutely_ rebound from one woman with triple her numbers. And he was more than willing to class things up in a hotel and spend as long as he could distracting himself with all the pleasure they could have. If he _was_ a tad bit out of practice, the gals would be delighted to meet his equally handsome backup. _Maybe_ one would like both her holes filled up. He could only hope.

As far as _they_ were concerned, he was a mature feller with criminally good looks and a golden heart. He most _definitely_ wasn't lavishing them with attention in order to lure them into bed - no, sir. He would politely let _them_ decide to take him there, adorable as he was. If they wanted to reward him for his good behavior, who was he to deny them?

All he did was keep the drinks and giggles coming. That time tested combination took their collective minds off their problems. Unfortunately, that made it somewhat difficult for him to remember what their gripes were in the first place - particularly when the sexy redhead decided his lap was an inviting place to be. Not long after that, the brunette sat alongside him and began squeezing his nearest arm in admiration and hugging against him. Not to be outdone, the auburn babe began teasing his beard while the curvier blonde flirted her foot along his armored shin.

That kind of attention was a tantalizing thing, capable of luring a man into a misleading sense of confidence. Touch-starved as he was, he practically melted from all their amorous ministrations...and made the mistake of believing he had it made.

That was, until he didn't. It was all fun and games until he broke the cardinal rule of avoiding names. _That_ was where he shot himself in the foot and his plans began to rapidly unravel. It seemed he was more stupified by their attention than he should have been. As a matter of fact, he couldn't even remember what he had said. He only knew, for a fact, that his tongue slipped as though trying to sabotage him.

"Ah, sorry, ye lovely ladies are messin' with me head," he apologized, and that was half true. After all, his eye _had _gone half-lidded from the way the brunette had been toying with his ear.

Her name started with a C, didn't it? In hindsight, he _really_ should have known better than to call her the first thing that came to mind.

"'Course I know yer name. How could I ferget! It's Cindy."

Right? Based on her expression, he was wrong. _Very _wrong. He ran his mouth before she could, wanting to initiate his own attempted correction.

"_Oof_, damnit. Strike two! I got it this time, Candy."

No, indeed he did not. There was no misinterpreting the redhead leaping up from cozy her place in his lap and turning to glare daggers at him while crossing her arms in furious disappointment.

"Ahh, shite," he sighed, unable to resist giving an obnoxious laugh. To further sink his foot in his mouth, he lapsed into brutal honesty. At this point, what did he have to lose? "That was a stripper, wasn't it? I _knew _it!"

With that, he smacked his now unoccupied thigh at the injustice. Jaws had fallen all around - except his own, of course. Instead, he fell into audacious laughter again, apparently bold enough to risk his untimely demise.

"My name is Kathy!" cried the woman. At least she sounded more insulted than heartbroken. Ahh, he always loved himself a resilient lass - specifically one who got that murderous fire in her eyes. She looked ready to punch through his ribcage and use his heart like a gory stress ball. _Perfect._

"Right, right," he nodded, his grin falling lopsided. " I _knew_ that! At least I thought I did! _Ha! _If it's any condolence, princess, ye have the makin' of one _fine _pole dancer."

Clearly he had no intention of pumping the brakes on that runaway train. Instead, he was accelerating and going full speed ahead. From his male perspective, he could _swear _he was offering encouragement. Looking as she did, he wouldn't expect her to mind the association. Had her outfit been a tad skimpier, she could have commanded a stage.

Then again, it didn't take a scientist like Tannis to determine he had hit a nerve. _Kathy_ and her girlfriends suddenly didn't appear so smitten with him.

"Oh, so now you're objectifying me?!" she spat. All at once, everything that had been so sugary sweet about her turned as deadly as cyanide.

Feckin' hell, now they were all plotting on castrating him. It never ceased to amaze him how instantly a woman could turn on someone _and _recruit all of her friends like they shared some dangerous symbiosis.

"O'course not, lovely! I'm jus' tellin' it like it is."

Narrowing her blue eyes, the chesty blonde among them interrupted with her own damning demand. "What's _my _name, huh?"

Resisting the urge to thumb his chin, Zane knew that was a good question. Monica? Monique? Mons pubis? Nope, that's where his mind was at.

Ah, feck it, he had thoroughly botched his mission. He knew a lost cause when he saw it. The peaches he wanted to eat for dessert had gone sour. As hungry as he was, how was it he found himself more amused than disappointed? His testicles would have to wait to get theirs, and he guaranteed that hook, line, and sinker. If shite was going downhill, he was going to enjoy the ride!

"Honestly? I'd call ye Boobs, since they're all I'm seein'. I mean c'mon, they're all out there on display!"

And, because he never learned, he used both hands to convey himself having a pair of equally massive, bouncy titties. Who could blame him for being a hot-blooded man? The fault was hers for leaving a perfectly good chest out!

Needless to say, his bluntness had only been the beginning of his downfall, even if he intended to compliment what her mother gave her. On the contrary, the backlash he received had been quick and furious.

He ended up backing away from the snarling women while they bitched him out and spewed smoke from their ears. At least he was right about how generous blondy's rack was. Had she been two feet taller, it would have given him a black eye. Instead, he raised his hands to ward off the fingers they jabbed at him and dodged the heel the redhead launched at him. In the process, he failed to notice the door at his back and bumped into it. Thanks to two shoving sets of hands, he managed to trip over his own foot and fall unceremoniously out onto the street.

That certainly wasn't the first time he found himself flat on his back outside a bar. He didn't so much as grunt as he struck dirt, his survival instincts instantly kicking in. Obediently, he remained sprawled as the women loomed overhead and pummeled him with insults. They effortlessly deflected off him, most of their words lost behind their shrill and indignant harping. He swore their voices should have shattered all the glass throughout the joint or at least made his ears bleed, but nah.

By the end of it, the brunette had kicked him in the side while that redhead, gorgeous as she was, threw a full drink in his face. Then, erupting with rapid-fire bitching amongst themselves, the trio stomped away from the bar. Not only had they saddled him with their tab, which he would have covered anyway and was the least he owed them, but they had left him with a burning handprint and a drenched face.

The smack, in particular, he had earned fair and square. He should have known better than to sit up amidst their rabid yapping and offered his brilliant suggestion: "At least leave the redhead with me!" _That_ had gone exactly as expected, and he had the throbbing cheek to prove it. Following that, he had laid back down like a good boy.

To think he should have been lounging atop a bed and basking in his naked glory while the girlfriends fought amongst themselves over who would ride his dick. Instead, he garnered the curious stares of newcomers as they, in order to enter the bar, circumvented his tiredly splayed body.

After spending a moment soaking in forcibly discarded ale, he had arranged himself upright and checked the neckline of his jacket. Then, while his spine mockingly popped, he pushed to his feet and brushed himself off. He barely bothered with much before he shouldered his way back into the establishment and headed toward the barkeep like he hadn't just been knocked on his arse.

Seasoned veteran he was, he ignored the amused chuckles of the other patrons while wringing out beer from his beard and brushing it from his dripping eyebrows. He hadn't even bothered wiping his leathers off since his shirt had caught most of the splash. Instead, he settled the bill and stuck an unlit cigarette between his lips. Lucky for everyone, he was precisely the type to shrug off that sort of thing, even if he wished he had at least gotten a blowjob for his efforts. If only things had gone to plan, not that he'd had one.

In the grand scheme of things, none of it mattered. Had he honestly given a feck, he would have conducted himself with far better manners. At least that whole mess had earned him some pleasant attention and entertained him. Besides, there were always more women, and men, to take to bed. Bidding farewell to a foursome was no skin off his back. Confident as he was, his resilient ego unblemished, he would have other opportunities. Hell, if they didn't fall into his lap like that flirty redhead had, he would make them.

Actually, that was precisely what he set out to do with Ember. Unlike a few easy pieces of arse, the fire dancer sure was something, even if he'd had that something before. Twice, actually. That was one more ride than he usually took, and why was that? Because the first time had been so feckin' good - so much that he was gonna have her again. It had been so long since they had been together that his body didn't remember the feel of her. His mind definitely did.

The room Zane stepped into wasn't dissimilar to the one he and Ember had thoroughly christened during their times together. True to its VIP status, it was real luxe. It had lots of modern fixtures, opulent textiles, and ostentatious furniture. The place was positively _regal. _In other words, it was all very befitting of a casino funded by Handsome Jack's infinite capital and Moxxi's sexuality.

Thinking back once more, the operative had to scoff _again_ over Jack's hologram repeatedly referring to him as a poverty-stricken vault hunter. Then again, who wasn't compared to the tyrant's extensive wealth? Even after death, the masked bastard amassed even more riches...but wasn't that how it tended to happen, at least with celebrities?

Regardless, the suite received two very enthusiastic thumbs up from him. It would be another great location to throw Ember around in. Granted, its aesthetic wasn't as stunningly crisp as the accommodations on Promethea. There was a big bed, though, that was just as perfect as the ones in the Metroplex. He wouldn't sleep there, though. He would be on his way back to Sanctuary before that happened, but not before seeing Ember on her way like a gentleman. Then, after packing his belongings and donning his tactical setup, he would return to his spaceship home looking like his usual million-dollar self...and not so much like he had been having the time of his old life.

As for his fellow inhabitants aboard the ship, they wouldn't suspect a thing, and _that_ just how he liked it. And if they did, he didn't give a shite. It wasn't like he tried dictating how they lived their lives. They could, however, envy him for having such a grand time.

But yeah, he definitely would not be waking up there. Not unless he did it alone, assuming he developed a taste for more gambling or maybe another lass he could pick up later. The chances of that were slim, however, given how Ember would satisfy him. That skill of hers was why he craved her. Better yet, she was like-minded. She didn't dock him for having his limits and instead, accepted the kind of man he was.

He, for one, wasn't interested in continuing his recent string of bad choices. Nope, he liked the bed all to himself. More than anything, he did not need to risk calling another lass by Amara's name when he was half asleep because he wasn't too keen on being slapped awake or even smacked that early in the day. Because yeah, there was a chance of that happening to his dumb arse given his repeated, and frequent, mistakes of waking alongside the siren.

God, how had he even fecked so much to begin with? That wasn't his kind of nonsense! And what did it matter anyhow if he wasn't planning on staying? It didn't.

Nooope, Ember wouldn't get offended after they got off and went their separate ways. In fact, as well-versed as she was, she would likely opt to leave first….no questions asked. She wouldn't even _suggest _other options because she was just like him. How damn refreshing was that? _Very_. He definitely didn't need some woman thinking she could order him around or grab him by the balls and command him back to her bed. And he didn't need _anyone_ to expect more from him when there wasn't more to be had.

All in all, he preferred to bang smart women than silly ones, and that was precisely what he had set out to do. Ember clearly wasn't Amara. She was different. Different was great. _Perfect. _He couldn't ask for better. What he needed to do was shut his mind up and have a damn drink because _obviously _he was too sober.

Bawdily laughing at himself, the operative shook his head and grinned until he felt his skin would crack. He didn't face himself in the mirror until he ditched his armor and leathers and pulled on a low-neck tanktop. By then, he was back in the right headspace.

Zane knew he was a handsome bastard and, as such, didn't need to gussy himself up too much. In the bathroom, he gave himself a wee bit of a trim that included snipping a few brow hairs that had grown minds of their own. He also ensured his ears and nose were clear of strays, as no lass in the galaxy got hot for those. That sure didn't stop a man from sprouting them! Then, naturally, he made sure his spikes were fly as hell and his facial hair was on point.

Once back at his bed, he shook out and pulled on a gunmetal dress shirt. It felt like money and was made of the finest satin poplin blend. He kept the top button of it undone, and why wouldn't he? He was a prime example of rugged masculinity and had the body hair to prove it. Testosterone, _check,_ and he wasn't afraid to work it. Sexy women like Ember appreciated his love rug. Those who didn't consistently decided, after having a feel of him, that they did.

Damn right they did, because he's Zane Flynt. And because he was, he meticulously ironed his own pleated slacks because sometimes, the concierge bots did a substandard job and he wanted to be sharp. Often, it was easiest to skip the sometimes-luxury to save himself the headache of trying to fix what he could have done right in the first place.

He never went anywhere without a solid leather belt, particularly when he planned to dance his nonexistent arse off. Once secured in place, his tailored trousers were followed by black socks - _of feckin' course _\- and equally dark, shined dress shoes. To top it off, he secured a deceptively minimalistic watch on his left wrist, the timepiece capable of commanding his present tech. It was nice and polished too, since his sleeves were bound to get rolled up soon enough and put it on stylish display.

For a final touch, he found himself digging into his modest bag of personal effects to slip on a couple of meteorite rings he had. Why the feck not? He felt odd enough without his gloves, so at least the presence of something around his fingers would provide some relief. Besides, every outfit needed a touch of _something_, and he wasn't a necklace kinda guy.

Familiar as he was with the bands, he spent a moment admiring the Widmanstätten patterns crystallized throughout the cosmic metals. Between the lamellae ribbons, the irregular grains of kamacite and taenite appealed with their unusual glitter. They made interesting embellishments nestled around his fourth fingers. By design, those were the only ones they fit on.

The fact that the jewelry represented a couple of his more recent marriages wasn't lost on him. The identical sisters he had hitched to were of the sweeter, lovelier variety of which he only had positive opinions. Just because he wore the matching rings on odd occasions didn't mean he _minded _putting them on display, though they were more for decoration than representing their actual purpose.

With his intentions in mind, he scribbled a mental note to remove them _before_ reaching between a woman's legs. Once or twice he'd had to go fishing after having forgotten them. There _might_ have been copious amounts of alcohol involved at the time.

Who was he kidding? Not even himself. Shite, he had been drunk as a skunk, which had only made matters funnier - for _him _\- and not easier. Needless to say, his partner hadn't been particularly impressed, but at least he noticed them having gone missing before he had plowed them deeper into her and took a metal jab to the cockhead. _No_ fecking _thank you._

Despite his past, it felt strange as hell for him to be dressed up. It was just as weird to not be in his technical attire for a change and instead, find himself sporting the opposite. There had been stages in his life where being dressier, if not downright formal, had been a common element of his routine. As a corporate assassin, he had represented himself among the upper class by attending elaborate banquets and brushing elbows with some of the most wealthy men and women throughout the six galaxies.

After retirement, he found himself settling for the technologically decked-out space pirate look. Already, his professional identity had been synonymous with his emblazoned jacket and all the gear mounted on it. That was fine - he was all for living in his gear. And he did, on his off-time, kick back in some basic digs and oversized casual wear that felt just plain nice on the skin.

Still, his gear best kept him in his element and he felt naked without it. More than anything, he felt unnerved not having his bodysuit constricting him like an armored skin. There was no denying that he was vulnerable without its advanced protection. In fact, he owed it his life a few times over already. That sense of displacement just went to show how little downtime he'd had since joining the Raiders. There hadn't been much else to his life since...but that was still better than constantly outsmarting assassins and dodging their bullets, wasn't it?

Considering he was headed out on his first date in damn near forever, he decided it was. Still, he couldn't imagine himself being rusty. His meeting with Ember was definitely the first meetup in a decade with the potential to be more than a tuck and fuck. He _did_ plan on taking his French sweetheart out to dinner and then elsewhere to dance, among other things. From then on, he figured he would let impulse dictate what did or didn't happen beyond that. He wasn't ever one to linger on such matters, honestly. He did, however, pause in front of the expansive mirror provided by the suite.

He was all class, even if he was his own rugged brand of it. He was definitely handsome as hell. A real charming bastard. Not some uptight, snooty twat. He was a man unafraid to laugh and jest. An older man, certainly, but one who aged better than the fine wine he would treat his lady to, since that was her thing. He remembered that. He was a real thinker, after all, and an even better looker.

That was, until he exposed the hole in his head. Pun aside, the scarring concealed by his optical patch was an unusual sight to see. Casino security didn't give him the option to use his ECHOeye. In fact, both it and his earpiece were strictly forbidden, given the advantages provided by such augmentations. Removing both guaranteed him _really_ feeling upended, nevermind half-blind. That disability came with its own complications, like the splitting migraines often triggered by severe eye strain. His brain was hardly accustomed to accommodating the imbalance his implant corrected. That was why he never removed it if he could help it.

And he didn't until then. It was only at the last minute that he used sufficient care to disengage the latches beneath it and, with utmost caution, eased his fingers to detach the wiring from its optical port.

What an unwelcome difference that removal made, its feed cutting off instantaneously. Obviously it meant his field of vision was reduced to half. It also meant he looked like shite. For as much as he didn't care to remember Captain's lasting damage, he used the rare opportunity to inspect the condition of his scarring as best he could.

Thanks to age, his remaining eye became increasingly more nearsighted every year. Suddenly reminded of the virtually forgotten truth, Zane found himself blinking in an attempt to adjust his altered depth perception and focus the fuzzy edges of his vision. Similarly, his grinding in with the heel of his palm resulted in an equally futile series of attempts.

Well, at least he was able to laugh at his own expense. Leave it to his one remaining eye to crap out on him, even if it was from age. He spent a necessary moment accessing the digital contact he kept for those exact occasions and placed it on his cornea, blinking it into place. He didn't need to be any squintier than he already was, and unlike Hammerlock, monocles didn't mesh with his personal style.

Huh. How fecking weird it would be to see himself with two eyes again, accustomed as he was to his metal implant. More than forty years had passed since lefty had been destroyed. Imagining both of his baby blues being present just wasn't the same as encountering it, but then _that_ wasn't in the cards now, was it? Given all his cybernetics did for him, he figured he should be rather fond of the hole in his head. It didn't do him any favors otherwise.

Tentatively, Zane rubbed around the socket and stretched out stored tension in the surrounding, fissured skin. If he ever needed proof that he could be any whiter, that underlying pallor sufficed. It reminded him that he should probably disconnect more and give everything a breath of fresh - or in Sanctuary's case, recycled - air. Of course, there was a lot he _should _do and didn't. That would remain on the list.

Fortunately, setting his inert patch was far easier. Overall, it didn't feel too different, even if its slimmer titanium profile made it a tad less comfortable. Despite its beveled edges, it just didn't fit the same. Regardless, he had to use it, and so he set it with a firm wiggle to ensure it was surely in position. From then on, he was officially good to go - at least, as good as he was going to get. Which was _really _good...he just needed to remind himself of that, after staring in the mirror too long and feeling as though he looked every day his age.

Now more than ever, he needed to live it up. In this stage of his life, he never knew when his langer was gonna go soft. Never knew whenever someone was gonna put a hole in his head and collect on his bounty. Never knew when his back was going to finally give out. Technically he wasn't all _that_ old, but for his line of work, he was ancient. And his body had undergone enough damage that it must have artificially aged a decade. God knew he had been beaten, shot, and stabbed to shite long before modern medical advancements had been developed.

Unfortunately, he was equally old-fashioned about all of it. Plenty of his aches and pains could have been resolved with surgery by now. He needed at least two operations to repair a fair number of collapsed discs in his spine and correct the resulting nerve impingements. Even then, he avoided Tannis because all her scans resulted in damn near a hundred alerts and red indicators. He preferred his denial over taking a laser or scalpel to his flesh.

Don't get him wrong, there had been a number of times where he had honestly considered subjecting himself to the care of specialists, provided he could ever sufficiently trust one. The downtime of their treatments was relatively meager, but even a day was too long for him. As it was, he figured there was no point in following through with any degree of it since he would inevitably go right back to injuring himself. All that fancy technology couldn't correct his being middle-aged_._

Damnit, none of that was conducive to him having a fun time. His ailments likely weren't the best topics to consider before commencing his much needed night on the proverbial town. It was better to remember that he was only as old as he felt and holy hell, he was gonna feck like a teenager. He could guarantee that night was going to be the best he'd had in years!

Besides, he wasn't ashamed of his age, even if he remained shocked that he had survived so long. Even then, he had damn well earned his fifties. The opposite of the common adage was true for him: the days had been short but the years had been long. He didn't know how the rest of his life was going to play out, but who did? Chances were, he would keep getting himself into deeper and deeper shite until his luck ran out. That, or his back did during combat.

If he was ever so inclined, he could ditch his remaining eye and replace it with more tech. Then he could plug himself into some pornographic virtual reality and just...keel over when some orgy got the best of him or biological starvation ended him. His primary problem with that was how feckin' _lame_ that would be for an ending. Immersive as that fantasy might be, he wouldn't even have to feel his demise. He was pretty sure he would prefer to fully experience dying. After all, folks _usually_ only died once. He oughta make his last action a blast!

For now, the remaining Flynt intended to keep his so-called blasts nonfatal and preferably sexual. That meant he had to get his arse in gear and make sure he was ready for what his date entailed. Mentally, he was all-systems-go. Physically, he was killin' it, though he was far too humble to say how good he _really_ looked. He couldn't say he had never been hotter, but he was close to it!

Shooting finger guns at his reflection, Zane flashed himself some tooth and quirked his brows in his most refined cockiness.

"Work it, ye handsome bastard," he growled cheekily to himself.

And he did, as he swaggered all the way to the VIP lounges. By design, he had time to waste. He was overdue for a little personal downtime that involved hobbies other than spreading legs. The second he had digitized on the casino grounds, he had been most ready to hit the high stakes tables and go all-in.

In fact, he had arrived early to do just that. Considerate of his date, he didn't want to subject Ember to too much standing and watching as he threw exorbitant amounts of money at gambling. Heavens knew she saw enough of it and might even tire at seeing him accept his winnings. He would take them in eridium and have them delivered to his suite because he sure as _hell_ didn't need the money. He would rather use the purple stone for whatever Earl had stashed away for sale. That, or he would give it to Ava and let her decide if she kept it or divvied it up between herself and her fellow sirens. He could care less if she told Amara where it came from.

Truth be told, he didn't care about winning. More than anything, he just wanted to see the dice roll and cards flip. And he did - with a single eye, constantly reminded that his tech was strictly prohibited...and for good reason. A time or two in his past, he _might_ have used it to tip some odds in his favor.

Given how he had been reading expressions and using them in predicting people's motives far longer than he'd had a capable implant, Zane didn't require its assistance. Experience and mathematics gave him a fair advantage. Beyond that, he could go big because he _couldn't_ go broke, and honestly, putting so much at stake was the only way he got his kicks. Being a high roller held no significance for a man so willing to make insane wagers with his life.

Without his eye patch and that direct channel to his database, the operative _was_ at an atypical disadvantage. Even his critically sharp recall and catalog of extensive encounters couldn't account for the mercenaries guaranteed to be present. He was surprised enough that he hadn't yet crossed paths with a known contract killer in the VIP sector. Assassins and other hired agents were common fodder there - at least, those who earned a decent living.

Acknowledging that fact didn't hold him back. He didn't _do _fear, and he refused to limit how he enjoyed his life, even if it meant facing the consequences. Just by being there, he was putting his neck on the line, and acknowledging his recklessness did nothing to deter him. He _knew _it was a feckload easier for any number of bounty hunters to recognize his standout mug than for him to memorize all of theirs.

One thing was certain: if someone had the gall to off him in the casino, they would make a shiteload more cash than they would by collecting the jackpot.

Until misfortune happened, he planned to partake in card games. After all, what would this trip be without some baccarat, craps, and blackjack? And what was a venture to that particular casino without being inundated with flashbacks?

Despite the noteworthy changes throughout the gambling metropolis, the operative couldn't help but think of cute lil' Timbo. The doppelganger had only given him some of his fonder memories of the heist. How could he not think back to them and grin - and then immediately ponder about the poor sap's whereabouts?

For his sake, Zane hoped Timothy had taken his advice to heart and gotten a new look. His survival largely hinged on it, after all. From what he had gleaned from their more appropriate interactions, it was clear the lookalike didn't want to be associated with a madman. Then again, who would?

Sure, there had been many doppelgangers who had capitalized on their Handsome Jack roles and proudly flaunted their pornographic goods. What adult filmgoer_ hadn't_ seen all those skin flicks? Despite his stuttering, adorably insecure personality, even Timothy had been guilty of starring in some. Desperation made many folks twink it up for the camera, and he had been able to hide behind the _cocky_ persona so deeply ingrained in him. At least he hadn't been exterminated like the rest, though spending seven years being hunted and imprisoned in an inner space casino wasn't a much better deal.

In all honesty, Zane could easily say that he had never been attracted to that bastard mug. He had too many negative associations with it and beyond that, Jack's gob just didn't do it for him. Of all his features, his heterochromia had been his most redeeming. Beyond that, soul patches felt better than they looked. Jack's only made him seem more like a douchebag.

Had he looked better _before _his branding? Nah, he'd had a punch-worthy face even before the mask came into play. From then on, he resembled a plastic caricature. Talk about insecure and two-faced.

Timothy, though...that lad somehow managed to get his gears going. It had to soul in his eyes and his mannerisms that set him apart from the original. It wouldn't be the first time Zane had formed an attraction to someone damaged and sheepish. As much as he wanted to comfort the doppelganger with sex, he was just as inclined to bundle the younger man against his chest and defend him with snarling ferocity. For whatever reason, folks like that could make him ruthlessly, if not _insanely, _protective. What a funny thing that was.

Zane might have given Timothy shite when he had first stumbled out and showed his face, but it had only taken one glimpse of hose stricken, kicked puppy eyes to prove who he _wasn't. _Besides, images of Jack's corpse had been plastered everywhere after the trigger had been pulled between his eyes. The graphic evidence had only been passed around and laughed at among his assassin circles. He remembered clinking some celebratory mugs with his boyos while downing pints at the pub.

Now, not only did Zane find himself occupying the casino that had once belonged to the evil bastard, but he had participated in stealing it from his digital clutches. Thanks to Moxxi, not a single trace remained of the arsehole, enabling patrons to come and go at their discretion. They were also free to entertain themselves however they pleased - a reality that was used, by some, to its best advantage.

As for him, he was just happy having a change of scenery. Despite the recycled atmosphere, ditching Sanctuary felt like drawing a breath of fresh air. Beyond that, it felt nice to be back in his element. Reinforcing that sense, he never left any VIP lounge without a few ECHO details in his pocket. Granted, they only remained there until he was within tossing range of a trashcan, though there was one particularly cute lad who had given him some gorgeous _fuck me _eyes.

What a young thing like him was doing there, Zane didn't know but he almost wanted to find out. He had to be in his early twenties. Chances were he was there playing with his wealthy family's money. By boldly following the operative into a washroom and slipping him a card with a confident grin, the brunette made it clear he wanted another rich daddy. He had practically licked his lips while openly checking him out from head to toe.

The casual way the kid conducted himself suggested he was probably a regular making his rounds, not that Zane had any problem with that. He just tended to avoid the types - those out to stroke their egos and then later throw tantrums when they didn't impress him. He was a bit beyond that nonsense, honestly, even if he humored the lad to spare his delicate feelings.

Come to think of it, one of the two other high ballers who came onto him might have been dear ol' dad. Zane hadn't paid him any particular attention but realized, later, how there might have been a resemblance between them. At the time, he had been more interested in watching cards flip when the bloke had brushed against him and slipped a handwritten note into his waiting hand. Despite his preoccupation, he always saw them coming and played the same game of politely entertaining them to ensure they quietly got out of his hair.

In hindsight, maybe he would have thought more about indulging a particular craving he had harbored since hooking up with Timothy. Just because he didn't go for the snooty, spoiled types didn't mean he couldn't consider enjoying their equipment. He didn't have to take them back to a suite to have a taste of them. So long as he could get on his knees and suck a cock, he didn't really care where it happened. All he knew was that he hadn't satisfied the need in far too long.

He _loved_ giving head. Of all of his skills, that had to be one of his greatest. How could it not be? He had decades of practice and an intense passion for it. Sucking a man off got _him_ off. It both satisfied his oral fixation and gave him that little hit of submission he savored. Sure, he could take charge of the man in his mouth, but it was _more _fun to get face fucked. Styled as he kept it, his hair was perfect for it. There was enough there to hold and plenty to pull. And besides, it was hot as feck to swallow a load and resume his life like it had never happened. No one except him and that lucky lad would be the wiser.

Just thinking about it made him want to track down that young boy-toy but he didn't. Short of taking it bareback from some random, the second to last thing he needed to do was swallow a stranger's load. He would, too, if presented the opportunity. That meant it was best that he didn't put himself in a position to...literally.

He had condoms burning hotter in his pocket than his money. He tried not to hate their necessity too much. Spoiled as he had been, it was a challenge and would require impressive willpower to act responsibly. Still, he knew the risks. He told himself that no matter what happened, he would make _no _exceptions.

Okay, so he would only make one.

In the off-chance that he happened across the lad at the top of his To-Feck list, he was going to pounce. He would use every trick in the ol' sexy Zane book to dig that itch and guarantee the lay of his life in the unlikely event that a particular smuggler entered his crosshairs. Sure, the scenario clearly wasn't gonna happen, but that didn't stop him from mentally rehearsing his lines.

_Hey-o, Clay! Fancy seein' yer fine self here! Ye must be a gamblin' man, aye? Wanna grab a Junpai Jumpstart an' talk 'bout Junpai-7? An' do they make a dessert called a Junpai creampie, 'cause I could _sure_ go fer one of those- up me arse, in case that wasn't clear. By the way, do ye feck men? Figured we could learn more 'bout each other if we did, boyo! Lucky you, I'm a lover _and_ a fighter! And I'm dyin' ta bottom!_

When it came to getting who he wanted, the operative had no reservations about being the aggressor. That was, of course, provided he could get a decent read on the target of his attraction. He wasn't out to offend anyone - particularly not an ally - so he could resort to subtle hints with the best of them. But damn if he didn't feel a libidinous fire for the smuggler. He couldn't help if he was particular to all that rich, chocolate skin and those round, full lips. Just thinking about them was enough to make him weak in the knees. And damn, for as much as he loved a meaty set of hips on a lass, the hint of Clay's slender ones _sold_ him.

Aside from Clay oozing charisma, Zane suspected his intense attraction to the smuggler stemmed from a particular partner he had previously had. In fact, his first consensual male experiences had been with an equally dark-skinned lad. Pandora, after all, had been _Pandora_, and his forced exposure to sex in that hellhole had been unfortunately common in the wastelands. Being from the infamous Flynt clan hadn't spared him that. If anything, it had made him a target.

Despite Dahl's stringent codes of conduct, plenty of his fellow soldiers had fecked each other. It seemed someone had always been getting busted and subjected to corrective measures. Lucky for him, he had never been caught getting his jollies off - not that it wouldn't have been worth it. Particularly for a Pandoran, the strict expectations of military service had _needed _to be broken, though he might have done that sooner had there been options. Between Pandora having been a severely male-dominated planet and Dahl's strict gender segregation, it would be _years _before he experienced a woman.

As far as his superiors were convinced, he had the _definition_ of refinement. How wrong they were. Even back then, he had been anything but proper. If anything, his aptitude in concealing his activities and manipulating others beyond questioning his behavior had been apparent. He hadn't gained inertia and notoriety as a blacks ops specialist without reason.

Of course now, he had no interest in recalling his former military career. Instead, he reminisced over more personal advances he had made while enlisted.

There was just no forgetting how Benson had changed him. Upon developing an attraction to him, his fellow Dahl commando had been patient - as he'd had to be, skittish and damaged as he had been when initially recruited. Eventually, after months of respectful persistence, Benny had not only made him a proud purveyor of men but the physical wonders the darker man had gradually introduced him to had given life to the pleasure seeker he had shamelessly blossomed into.

After the scars left by his past experiences, the contrast of sensations had been unexpectedly enjoyable, if not unfathomable...so much that Zane still doubted his eye had ever rolled back into his head as deeply as they had with Benny. Needless to say, discovering his sexual identity and being encouraged by such a generous partner had significantly shaped the lover he had ultimately become.

There was simply no forgetting the first release he reached with the other man thrusting inside him. Feeling those intense flashes of deep pleasure building inside as he babbled in disbelief and panted in desperate delirium, _don't feckin' stop, don't stop, right there, oh god, oh Christ!_ only to have one broad hand clamp around his mouth while orgasm overtook him, muffling his startle-pitched moan of elation.

He was never the same man after that. _Absolutely_ not. With Benson's careful coercion, he had gone from flinching at any touch to collapsing with his cheekbone against the wall and going cross-eyed as he shot thicker ribbons of come than ever into his partner's coaxing hand. Even to that day, his memories of those moments never failed to arouse him. At the time, his comrade had been exactly what he had needed.

_Shite, Benny, if only ye could see how charm I am now. It's been one hell of a lifetime, boyo…_

In that moment, Zane knew that was too much sentimentality for his blood. Still, all the changes that had happened since then had been vast. Now, he couldn't remotely imagine himself clean-shaven, close-cropped, and smooth-faced. Who knows what kind of chip-on-his-shoulder breed of arsehole he might have been without someone earning his trust? And who knew what happened to his fellow serviceman?

He had never _not _lusted after all genders, body types, races, or backgrounds, but that particular association still got him hot in its own exceptionally intense way. Besides, being the visual lad he was, he found the contrast erotic as feck. _Any _stark differences stroked him the right way and only made him eager to press his ivory body to all those dark, inviting tones.

Back on Eden-6, it had been a small miracle that he hadn't told the other vault hunters to go on ahead while he braced himself against a vending machine and angled his arse enticingly to the other man. Like a skag at the peak of its heat, he knew exactly what he wanted smuggled past _his _borders and would have dropped trou in an instant - with or without a disturbed audience.

Damn, it was a shame that hadn't happened - half because he wouldn't be forced to remain suspended in his lust and half because he would have paid to see the expression on his teammates' faces. If they had thought the swamps were dirty, they hadn't seen _him _slut it up.

Given that everyone had been up to their eyeballs in a war, there hadn't been much opportunity to lay on the moves and seduce Clay like he would have preferred to. No matter how hard-up he was, he virtually never chose a sexual throw-down over an actual battle. Both fucking and fighting got his blood flowing in much the same way, and besides, he was a Pandoran. He had been kicking arse long before he had ever sprung wood.

By the time they had defeated the Calypsos, he found his mind needed a bit of downtime to recalibrate before his interest had surfaced again. Back then, he had been preoccupied with deciding what post-war life had in store for him. When the casino heist had come about, he hadn't expected the sparks that Ember had set off in him. After indulging in his favorite fire dancer, he wasn't quite sure what had happened to his langer. For reasons unknown, he hadn't really thought to turn anyone else inside out. At least, not until Amara had kissed him.

As for whether or not Clay even swung his way, Zane couldn't say for sure. He _suspected_ he did, but he was never certain of anything until he was easing their erection from their pants. A lot of lads who didn't feck men were still willing to get sucked off by one. If he had to settle for that, he gladly would. If nothing else, he could add the experience to his spank bank.

Would he want it more than once? It was difficult to say. He could see keeping the smuggler on standby as a viable option, provided he was half as delectable as he looked. Did Clay really even _need_ to be with how excitedly he panted after him? Probably not. Sometimes, the chemistry was so intoxicating that the sex could be mediocre and his mind would still get him off.

Needless to say, the next time he laid his sights on Clay, he was pulling out all the stops. He couldn't let that fine piece of smuggler slip through his fingers again - especially when he had no one to stop him.

If he had still been tangled up with Amara, could she have? Aware of the answer, he cursed it. Regardless, the operative didn't honestly know if he could stop himself from panting heavily in the other man's presence. That wouldn't exactly be conducive to him making amends with the siren...not that such an unthinkable thing was remotely an option.

It was all futile to think of anyway. His balls weren't allowed to be in a knot over Amara, nor did he accept them feeling kicked in now that he had officially shat their shared bed. Given his current trajectory, he was actively intending to lay to waste everything they'd had. He needed to ensure, for good, that there was no going back, and that involved using his testicles again.

_Genius!_

Shrugging implications of the siren aside, Zane focused on the road ahead. How could he _not_ think of Clay and all his sexiness? He was guaranteed to encounter him at the Hammerlock and Wainwright wedding. Granted, such events weren't often the best places to lay on the moves and carve out some privacy, particularly when the smuggler was the Best Man and he was a Groomsman. As such, they were expected to partake in the celebration, and that didn't include doing each other. That didn't mean they couldn't catch up _afterward_, however.

Already, the operative was penciling notes into his mental itinerary. Until the newlyweds shipped off to their honeymoon, he supposed he should stay on his best behavior - or at least mind himself better than he had at his own weddings. Given Clay's loyalty to the Jakobs clan, he was sure to regard his role highly. Damn, even that was sexy.

Alas, he couldn't currently fulfill that fantasy. What a shame that was, but patience often paid off. And besides, that was the cost of him not propositioning the smuggler soon after Eden-6. He wasn't willing to be bred by just anyone - at least not anymore - but it didn't mean his resolve didn't leave him disappointed in his former lack of initiative.

For now, he would have to settle for the lads undressing him with their eyes and decide if their flirtations were even worth returning. The more he thought about it, the more he didn't feel like making an easy catch. Where was the excitement in that? Though it was flattering to have people throw themselves at him, it sometimes grew tiring. It certainly didn't provide him the thrill of the chase or feel rewarding.

Could he blame them for wanting a piece of him? Of course not. Zane imagined what drew them to him was the same as always: his dashing good looks and his chipper attitude. Few players laughed as genuinely as he did when he lost a hand, effectively drawing all the attention to him.

He made for quite the show, admittedly, and he wasn't afraid to prove he had money. His lighthearted, wilder disposition had always drawn folks to him like moths to a flame, including lasses, lads, and everything in between. He only pulled more gents because many of the women there were for decoration. There were always a few of them sharking around, looking to latch onto the arm of whoever reeked of the most credits and bat synthetic eyelashes at them.

Ordinarily, he loved himself some sexy gold diggers and would've had them hanging off him if he were more in the mood. He dodged one - a busty blonde who was certainly lovely, by design, but his sights were set on another woman for the evening. Kindly refusing one succeeded at demonstrating to others that he intended to remain a free man. There were plenty of other wealthy players to satisfy their hunt. Definitely enough to go around, and around, and around.

It was a small miracle he didn't end up at one of the card tables with sex workers kneeling underneath. He could certainly afford the excessive wagers and knew all the games. He was perfectly capable of picking a seat by the prettiest face and unzipping. Getting blown while blowing money made gambling that much more enjoyable, as it combined two of his favorite vices. Provided he could smoke and drink while getting deepthroated, the setup made a man never wanna leave. Of course, the closer a player came to coming, the worse they usually played. It was best to know when to call it quits or decide to go all-in.

Blackjack - sans a blowjob - was his particular idea of a good time. Computing, observing, and tracking were his specialties and made him _real_ trouble for casinos - so much that to avoid possible blacklisting, he had to lose more than he would have if left to his strategies. Some establishments went so far as to ban prolific assassins because they were such skillful gamblers, and he had been among many. The act of winning _and _losing were their own games in many ways, but at least the money he threw out was more than capable of repaying Moxxi.

He hadn't been lying to that All-in-Allen about Lady Luck loving him. He and that beautiful lass had a romance to last the ages. He flirted with her on the regular and kept the foreplay going, and she almost always treated him right. It helped that he was a man capable of making his own luck when the well ran dry. What good was an operative if he couldn't successfully improvise?

He would have been a dead man a hundred times over if luck _didn't _have it hard for him. He had survived a few too many catastrophic explosions for it not to exist. He'd had even more near-misses and sustained wounds that came within centimeters of ending him, and still, he managed to keep kicking. He had survived Pandora as a kid, for feck's sake, with one particularly psychotic sibling who had despised him. Needless to say, he had done his fair amount of bargaining with Gods that didn't exist throughout his long life.

Now, he was gonna get luckier. He had his sights ultimately set on the casino's redlight district, where all things filthy and raunchy went on.

Sex addiction - he had it. At least, he probably did. Or _had_ had it. What could he say, he had an addictive personality! So he'd had sex with a lot of people. A _lot _of reckless sex. A lot of stupid sex. Were those the same thing? Regardless, he had done it all. He had ruined many relationships because of it. Destroyed a hefty number of marriages - both his own and others. He had probably been a homewrecker. Either way, he had made a lot of fun mistakes with his dick. He had contracted infections, been treated, then contracted them again, all because he had been so damn impulsive. Fortunately, he hadn't yet encountered something that wasn't curable, and he didn't intend to. Now, he couldn't afford to be as careless as he had previously been.

Years ago, he had survived a particularly reckless phase where his addictive mentality had turned to sexual enhancement drugs. He had spent an alarming amount of time tied up and opening his mouth to accept whatever his partners had placed on his tongue without question, care, or fear. Even to that day, he could recall the sensations of growing heavy with intoxication, his head falling back and his eye going blind to everything but colors and pleasure. He remembered drugged moments of consciousness where a different man, or woman, had been atop him before being overwhelmed and fading out again. He had woken in many dark rooms, disoriented and lethargic, covered in sweat and other bodily fluids...including blood.

Now, making those same decisions might as well guarantee a death sentence for him. He trusted Ember enough to watch over him. She would ensure he only experienced pleasure...but what promise was there? And did he even care? What did it matter if he was flying high and someone slit his throat from ear to ear? Or if whatever given to him was laced with poison and rotted his heart from the inside-out? He should have died a few hundred times over anyway.

_Huh, cute moment of self-loathing there. Nip that in the bud, lad._

He had a niggling suspicion that he had developed the jovial personality he had _because _of sexual pursuits. Had he still been half the arsehole he had been after leaving Pandora, he likely would have had few partners. The clever lad he was, he had learned early on that humor was a powerful aphrodisiac. Making women laugh practically _made_ them jump into bed with him. It worked with men too, just not as consistently. That was more where his sharp looks and forwardness came into play. Sex, he had quickly decided, had been a pleasant channel to use his unspent aggression.

Eventually, he became something more than a rabid Pandoran with a chip on his shoulder. He evolved through success and thrived through pride derived from his work. He learned to simply laugh and enjoy the ride...if not excessively sometimes. It hadn't helped that his career of choice came hand in hand with sex. Sometimes, seducing someone was part of his objective, and it was a proven way to gain favors. If he hadn't been on a mission, he had either been drinking or fecking something - or doing both. Being intoxicated only exacerbated matters, as it led him to lose what very few inhibitions he naturally had.

Unfortunately, the bounties for him had not only forced his professional retirement but somewhat put a chastity belt on him. His survival had become his priority and that necessary abstinence had given him enough mental clarity to feel...corrected, he guessed. Now, he supposed that made him a _recovering _sex addict…who still ended up getting laid, but at least he'd had few partners.

That said, Vice City was both the _absolute_ last place he needed to be and where he most wanted to be.

If he was going to be foolish enough to think of his teammates, he would recognize that the Vice District definitely wasn't a location Amara needed to discover him visiting. It was a thriving sector of hookers, booze, and illicit drugs and shamelessly lived up to its namesake. The sexual queen she was, Moxxi had only expanded on it. Her wiles went far beyond Handsome Jack's. Even despite having married her, that damn nutjob never had enough moxie in him.

Overhead, neon signs glowed like brilliant ideas. The red outline of 'Adults Only' was the only lure most interested patrons needed, but the puckered lips in the center accentuated the promise. Luminous advertisements of 'Girls, Boys, Bots', embellished with hearts and stars, hinting that all needs were catered to. Based on appearances, if Promethea's Metroplex had a lovechild with a porn shop, the Vice District would be it.

The sector was also decorated with fruity depictions. Suggestive cherries and peaches were most plentiful - and why wouldn't they be? They were sweet and wet, just like sex. Their juices dripped down one's chin when bitten and clung to the hands. Everyone there was delicious enough to eat.

That location was meant for someone like him - libidinous, lecherous, and rich. As an ideal customer, he was more than capable of paying for all the sex and drinks he might desire for the rest of his life. More importantly, he was willing to.

The Vice District and its clubs were capable of taking a man's mind off whatever troubled him. It provided a customer places to get shitefaced and fecked any way he liked. He didn't doubt for an instant that there was something to satisfy damn near _every_ fetish. Chains and whips, handcuffs, roleplay. Robots, orgies, blood play...The offerings went on and on. It would be a shame, honestly, for any vanilla person to visit, but that tameness could be catered to just as well as anything. And booze flowed throughout it just as freely as it did Moxxxi's, if not more, with a menu so extensive, it promised everything.

There, a wealthy man like himself might manage to go broke if he was determined, though the chances of him fecking until his heart went out were more likely. What a hell of a way to go that would be! Given he was hooking up with the Vice District's manager, he had a real advantage. With a snap of her flaming fingers, Ember could assemble an orgy beyond his wildest dreams. She had offered to already, but he chose instead to fly by the seat of his pants and see who he dropped them for.

He was guaranteed to lose them for the performer and they both knew it. His offer to put a ring on her finger still stood, and she knew that too. Being married to the manager of the Vice District - hooo boy, _that _was what he needed. How fun that would be! He would basically have the key to his own blissful demise.

_Ye mean ye don't have that already? _his mind asked pointedly. He bitchslapped the shite out of it, just like he routinely did with common sense.

The unfortunateness of it all was that there was nowhere truly secure for him to be, even if he had friends in high places. That applied to the casino more than most, packed with people as it was. The professional he was, he knew how capable technology was at identifying a target. Now, facial recognition was so common that anyone with a decent device could pick him out from a crowd. It also bit him in the ass that he already had notoriety associated with that particular location.

Anyone with two brain cells to rub together could predict he would eventually return. Such an establishment meshed perfectly with his habits and he had a history of working for Moxxi. In effect, that meant he was good as fecked, and not how he preferred to be, had he any hope in hell of hiding.

As aware of Moxxi was of his predicament, and for as closely as she watched over all her beloved vault hunters, her influence only extended so far. He wasn't ignorant enough to trust her security system, extensive as it was. Someone with his background would be capable of hacking and controlling the mainframe. Often, a bit of chaos could grant a seasoned assassin just the right window of opportunity.

Just being there required him to drop his guard a bit low, but when did he ever get to anymore? _Never. _The way he saw it, it was best to be foolish when it befit the payoff. Besides, his being there hadn't killed him yet. The last he checked, he wasn't poisoned or bleeding, so he had no complaints. Unless he got utterly plastered, he would remain diligent of his surroundings. And it wasn't like he was blind to, well, being half-blind. He wasn't reliant on his tech, but the total absence of it put him at a disadvantage that couldn't be denied.

How did he think he could let loose again? He was being particularly reckless considering he had put himself in a venue full of folks trying to get rich. Who knew what desperate people would do if they suspected what his death was worth? Then again, how would they know? He was behaving more like a carefree civilian than a man with a ten-digit bounty on his head. He most definitely was not acting like a vault hunter. For now, that was fine with him.

Given how he didn't care to worry about himself, he certainly didn't want anyone else to concern themselves over him. Thanks to some mindful strategizing, it was unlikely anyone would know for some time that he had departed Sanctuary, so what was his head going on about now? Nothing? _That's right. Carry on._

He, like Moxxi's other loyal vault hunters, had clearance to be armed, at least. Other patrons underwent thorough scans to ensure they weren't packing heat, and Zane had seen enough guts from that system to give it his approval. Still, there were a number of weapons that might go undetected. He would know - he had made a career of using them.

He actually chose not to be armed. Nothing would draw attention to him like a pistol tucked in his waistband. A trained eye could detect virtually every hiding place. To make matters worse, he wasn't exactly dressed for concealment, though he always kept a couple of knives on him. Instead, he would rely on his clone's arsenal, integrated as his trusty double remained with him. Provided he didn't get drunk and deploy his handsome holograph for a dance, it would remain concealed.

His bluescale body double, however, maintained its usual limitations. Most noteworthy was it remaining stationary _unless _he touched it. Minimizing motion saved energy and extended its duration until cooldown. Beyond that, it was intentional that he deployed the digi-struct precisely where he wanted it. He had to know where he would transpose to, after all, in the event that they swapped places. Regardless, his clone would have no trouble gunning down damn near anyone if they felt inclined to try shite with him...and possibly perform a splendid Scottish reel while doing it.

Needless to say, if someone wanted to take a stab at him and try collecting on his bounty among such extensive security, fine by him. Good luck to 'em. He would deal with it, the same as he always did. It wasn't like he cared to so stringently limit himself. What in the feck was fear anyhow? He reserved that for fire and birds. As far as death was concerned, he didn't give two shites about it. Everyone was only postponing the inevitable anyhow. He planned to dodge his untimely end as much as he could and entertain himself while doing it - even if his fellow vault hunters might disapprove of how he accomplished that.

Contrary to him enjoying a night of debauchery, he didn't _really_ want to lose his accountability with Amara. He could only imagine how she, atop her moral high horse, might judge him for having a booty call. She might presume _that _had been among his reasons for ending their affair...which would have been wrong. Not just that, but wrong as _hell. _He couldn't even envision himself surviving the argument that could arise from that, not that he needed to.

Besides, it wasn't like Ember would expose him. She was a classy lass, after all, and was well-versed in keeping her affairs under strict lock and key. Some of her forbidden clientele demanded it. Thank Christ, he wouldn't have to warn his French lover beforehand to avoid alluding to their affairs in the proximity of his team. At least he didn't think...though to best watch his arse, maybe he ought to drop a hint.

Then again, if Ember connected the dots and decided that Amara was his not-exactly-former "situation", she might want to _talk_ about it. Like hell he was interested. Beyond that, she might sass at him for formerly hiding the truth from her even despite how open-minded she was.

_'Lie'_ was such a strong word. He personally preferred '_mislead'_, but he digressed.

As far as Zane was concerned, that whole mess with Amara would stay back where it belonged. No one would have to dredge up that situation or drag his arse back to Sanctuary _this _time. No sir, and no siren. None of his personal problems would know where to find him.

Unlike on Xeros, he brought his ECHO with him but jammed the everloving shite out of it to block his location. He didn't need his boyos trying to rain on his parade or interrupt him getting laid. Even then, if his friends found themselves in a touch of trouble, he would still hear about it. It wasn't his intention to be unreachable in the event of an emergency. He wasn't that heartless. And he _had_ informed Ava that he was leaving for some R&R, covering his arse with official clearance in the event that his Raider fam felt they needed something from him.

He was a nice guy and all but that didn't quite extend to his boyos getting all up in his personal business. He was still very much entitled to tell them to piss off once in a while. Still, he figured it was better they didn't know he would until he had to. He sure adored his crew, but he truly hated getting cockblocked. That _reeaaaally _wasn't something he had ever adjusted to after flying solo for so long.

In the unlikely event that some hitman took him out and they discovered he had been getting lucky in the Vice District...well, what did they expect? If their jaws dropped at _that,_ they would be in for one hell of a surprise if they ever hacked his porn stash. _That_ would give them plenty to remember him by! And it wasn't like he had ever _not_ made himself out to be the manwhore he proudly was.

Given casino security, it wasn't even like he had the option to leave his ECHO behind. Not only was his optical augmentation strictly outlawed but the same applied to his earpiece. He would be completely out of touch without the device on him. With so many familiar elements of him missing, it was no wonder he felt disjointed. It was bad enough that his brain was no longer accustomed to having a single eye. The imbalance his implant corrected gave him the most fracturing migraines. They were one significant reason why he never removed his eye patch if he could help it. When one hit, he had few choices but to slug down some heavy drugs.

The last thing he wanted was to get knocked flat onto his arse by disabling agony or reduce himself to a burbling puddle of operative jelly. He wasn't much fun when he was medicated in that way, gurgling incoherently and drooling on himself. In that event, he would need someone to come squeegee him off the floor and escort him home. FL4K would be his go-to for that...same as usual. He didn't think Ember could drag him anywhere, and besides, her returning him to Sanctuary would expose them.

That meant no Junpai Jump-Starts for him! He had done enough of a number on his liver with those and equally potent drinks. Contrary to popular belief, he tended to avoid them unless his intent _was_ to black out and later pray to the porcelain gods. For now, his goal was to _avoid _getting shitefaced in order to best remember all the amazing memories he planned to make with his wifey.

To further enforce his determination, Zane assigned his digi-clone to keep him accountable. It wouldn't be the first time he enabled it to more aggressively take the wheel, particularly when he put himself in particularly risky situations.

Truth be told, his handsome copy did a hell of a lot for him. It had gotten him through some pretty tough stints - even aside from those on the battlefield. Zane struggled most with himself. When shite went wrong in his head, well, he had admittedly poor ways of correcting it. Sometimes that meant getting utterly wasted. Other times, it meant getting into an old fashioned donnybrook with his digital likeness.

Was it idiotic? Nah, not when it worked. For them, cleaning each other's clocks was a valuable pastime. It helped him clear his head to have it beaten in. After a hypo and a rinse, it was like nothing had happened. They both entered their respective cooldown modes and settled the differences they didn't _really_ have over a pint. Then life went on. For him, it was a valuable outlet capable of helping him handle his aggression whenever it built up. In fact, it was downright therapeutic. Afterward, he could go right on back to strutting like he didn't have a care in the world, and no one was wiser but him and his digi-clone.

Absently gambling as he still was, Zane didn't know why he lingered on his clone but damn, he was fond of the fella. Why wouldn't he be? It was quite literally a part of him. They shared DNA and a personality. In some ways, their likeness ran deeper than twins.

Throughout much of his life, his clone had been his only companion. When he had initially coded and constructed the digi-struct, that hadn't been his intention. It seemed inevitable, though, for a man with so many voices in his head to extend them to his own likeness.

It hadn't taken him long to resort to his digital doppelganger as a sounding board. It hardly mattered that it couldn't verbally communicate. Instead, it outwardly relied on gestures and pantomiming to get its point across. The two of them were on the same wavelength enough that there was virtually no miscommunication between them. In the rare event that there was, the clone was equally as capable of conveying itself through his ECHOeye.

Its inability to talk was by design. Like hell Zane wanted to get into arguments with himself. _That_ could get colorfully ugly. The two of them would probably bicker like fishwives and cuss each other out. Nope, his personality was just too big for him to get along with himself.

Come to think of it, it was probably for his team's benefit that his clone didn't have a voice module. Their ears might bleed from all the _boyos_ and compliments they would give each other. He praised himself and his dashing good looks enough as it was - double that might have their eyes roll out of their heads, particularly given their combined flirtatious natures.

Still, they were capable of seriousness. His clone had accompanied him during some of his darkest hours. It had resuscitated him a couple of times, after _every _damn thing had gone wrong. Had protected him when he had been injured and needed it. Had physically provided him touch when he had been most starved for it. Zane couldn't say where he would be without it, honestly. Probably dead. Definitely more psychotic than he was, particularly given all the interspace travel his work necessitated. He had spent too many days isolated in the void of space. He might not have gotten through it all without a pack of playing cards and the smile on that handsome blue face.

Truth be told, he was every bit as protective of his clone as he was any of his other teammates, ridiculous as that might have been. It was _intended_ to be a bullet sponge but that didn't mean the operative took kindly to his digital double taking enemy fire.

It was the clone's primary objective to keep him safe. That purpose wasn't limited to combat situations. There had been a number of times that the digi-struct had activated itself in order to argue with him and attempt to override whatever extreme plan he had concocted at the time. If anything, he was surprised his clone hadn't tried persuading him to reconsider his location. There were many unknown variables and too many occupants to account for - and there _really _wasn't a feck worth dying for. At least, none that he had encountered.

Don't get him wrong - if there was, he would strive to find it, but his expectations were realistic. Not only that, but they were_ educated_, given he had already sexually romped with Ember.

Then again, who knew who he would end up fooling around with by the time he was satisfied? There were no limits imposed on what they did - that was half the fun of it. Nothing was as unpredictable as promiscuity. If given half the chance, he might indulge in anyone worth fancying, particularly knowing his lover would gladly join in.

For now, his one-sided sights were set on one special lady. For as sufficiently as he had entertained himself thus far, he was more than eager to meet up with the star of their show. Aware of the time, he made one last detour to the men's restroom and ensure everything about him was on-point. Only then, after subjecting himself to that promising inspection, did he swagger his way to the casino's finest, and most appealing, restaurant

Initially, Ember had suggested they meet at 'Mouth Feel', which was none other than a restaurant in the Vice District. Skeeved out by the name, he had quickly nixed that. To him, it sounded as unsavory as someone dumping a roasted chicken on his plate. Fortunately, their actual destination sounded like the perfect place to get any_ other _variety of meat.

When push came to shove, he would eat anything but poultry. _Anything. _He had too many traumatic memories of Captain holding his thrashing self down while allowing Pandoran carrion to feast on his charred skin. He vividly remembered the sensations and sounds of his flesh snapping from his body and being wetly gobbled by beaks - so much so that it had ruined all avian creatures for him. He didn't care how popular chicken, in particular, was - he couldn't stand the thought of chewing on something that had eaten him.

To that day, the mere thought of it sent a revolted shudder rushing down his spine and made his gut lurch in disgust. Try as he did to stifle his phobia, even FL4K's obedient rakks consistently triggered him. After one particular close swoop and him nearly pissing himself - and reflexively deploying Zoomer to blow them to smithereens - he had to implore that the beastbot keep them distant.

The few times their trio had begun hopping up to beg for his food, he had hastily scrambled away on hands and knees like a wussy and left them tilting their heads in confusion. It couldn't be helped, damnit, because he had _tried _to overcome his pathetic issues and spent forty years failing miserably. As badarse as he was, his intolerances were severe. And he knew better than to throw the rakks scraps from a distance, lest they decide to actively seek him for attention.

Nope, he just couldn't do it. Making friends with them wasn't worth cardiac arrest. He simply couldn't overcome his visceral reactions. Even distantly hearing their ravenous, greedy shrieks caused the past to echo in his ears. In fact, he had to knock that shite right off before he lost his lunch right there on the casino floor. That would _not_ make for an attractive date.

Fortunately, he recovered by the time he stepped into the High Stakes Grill. The gentleman he was, he arrived in advance and arranged a table for them before awaiting his date's gorgeous appearance. The stunner Ember was, she truly didn't need all her fireworks and flair to captivate him. He noticed her the second she sashayed into view and instantly knew he had won the jackpot.

Lord have mercy, the hot little number she wore scored high with him. He could appreciate the simplicity of that short black dress, but more than that, he _really _admired how its cowl neckline plunged nearly to her navel and put so much on display. A single slender, gold ring connected the halter's front and back, gleaming sensually along the metal of her augmented arm and complimenting the matching bangles glinting at her organic wrist. The way that slithery fabric clung to her broad hips and ended by the heel of her palm left little to the imagination. Bless it, as she had _nothing _to be ashamed of and everything to flaunt, including some very pretty toes flaunted by her strappy, glittery heels.

Needless to say, he would have no problem getting his hands everywhere on her. He uttered a quick grace before giving her a knockout grin, wondering why in the hell he had waited so long for this.


	23. Playing With Fire [Gambling with Ember]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to split this portion of the story -again- but as much as I'm dragging, it'll probably take a year for me to comb through the rest of it. This kid I'm growing must be draining my soul, plus all these kickass action fics popping up make mine seem like a soap opera. Noooo!
> 
> The thought of Zane developing a taste for tawdry pop music still tickles me to no end.

Probably, Zane could have greeted Ember with the whole cheek pecking thing but with the way her digital eyes somehow lit at the sight of him, he didn't bother. Instead, he welcomed her with open arms and allowed her to drape herself against him, accepting her full lips with his - but not without a formidable mental stutter.

_What is this nonsense, Zaneboy? Is she movin' too fast fer ye? _laughed his conscience, its tone both sneering and incredulous. He stomped the bastard out before it could get another word in. Then, ignoring the swift strike he felt in his chest, he greeted her as he always did.

"Love," he crooned, reaching for her real hand to draw it up and lay an adoring kiss to her slender knuckles. "Ye look ravishin' as always."

Luxuriating in his smitten attention and refined companionship, the performer thumbed his beard before appreciatively trailing her metallic fingertip along the left length of his mustache.

"As do you, handsome," she purred back, continuing to tease those thick, frosted bristles like so many lovers had before her. "In fact, mon ami, you've never looked better."

His response was automatic and didn't befit the way he felt, however much he wished it were true. Instead, he was more closely convinced the fissures in his flesh would break open and expose the ugliness he felt inside.

"Tell me somethin' I don't know, princess."

With that, the operative placed a gentlemanly palm on the small of her back and guided her to the table. Graceful as they both were, there was nothing eschew about that. He concentrated on the exposed heat of her bare skin and allowed it to soak into him. It was about damn time he felt someone besides himself.

And it was nice. It felt right..._right?_ His gut had plenty of time to figure itself out - and it needed to, as they were just getting started. Until then, it could feck itself. He didn't appreciate it twisting in on itself.

Moxxi ran a classy joint. Had he not intercepted their waiter, he wouldn't have been the one to pull back her chair and gesture to it in invitation. He was, after all, a courteous man. Chivalry wasn't dead. Far from it, in fact, though it was severely underappreciated...and nonexistent for the vast majority of Pandorans.

Classy women like his companion appreciated it. Ember's dark eyelashes batted coquettishly as she turned her alluring back to him and gave a throaty, sexual chuckle. She then perched oh-so-elegantly on her seat before easing back, treating him to the sight of her crossing her impossibly smooth and irresistible legs.

Damn, was she a sight to see. After situating her carefully, he was more than happy to seat himself across that tastefully small and intimate table. There, he could treat himself to her beauty, so much that he forgot the menu to instead stare deeply into her sultry eyes. With the same admiration, she leaned closer and pursed her lips in ways that made him feel like a lovesick puppy.

"Miss me?" she hummed, flashing him her most stunning smile. She was more than willing to lace her fingers with his along either side of the fluttering candle flame.

"Was gonna ask the same," he replied, showing his own white teeth. "An' ye know I did," he promised, punctuating his claim with a exquisite, erotic kiss.

Like hell he was going to face the truth. He had thought of her but not as often as he should have. He'd had his hands...a little full, he supposed. And his head had been a bit distracted.

Still, he was pleased to be there with her, his thumbs languidly caressing her knuckles. He made his captivation oh-so-apparent as he ignored the arrival of whatever drink he had absently ordered - when had that happened? - and released a lovelorn sigh, playing that role he knew so well.

It was a good one, that. One of the better. He was every bit a pleasure seeker but how often did that involve romance? He was a sucker for it. Even more of a sucker for such a sensual and dangerous woman.

How could he _not_ miss this? It was nice to flirt with a beautiful woman. Nice to share her company and treat her to a meal and lavish her with his fondest attention. Nice to watch her moan in delight during such a special occasion. It wouldn't _stay_ classy, provided that was what she wanted - dates like this never did - but for now, he wanted to play up the romance. Like everywhere else in the casino, he wanted to make money rain as heavily as ever in order to treat her to whatever she desired.

If she wanted a flood of wealth at her disposal, he was more than willing to give it to her. Money didn't matter, and he made that clear. What better way to appeal to a woman than spoil her with both riches and attention? A lass like her deserved as many lavishly overpriced bottles of champagne that she wanted. She would enjoy that seven-course meal prepared by a masterful chef commanding prices that stopped most hearts to see.

Not his, naturally. He was made of charm _and_ money. Both had been his walk of life for a long damn time. For him, this sort of arrangement wasn't anything special. It wasn't, either, for Ember, who conducted herself with casual finesse. No doubt he was just one wealthy fella among many who wined and dined her in such a way. Many others sought her companionship. She was a desirable woman, after all. There was nothing wrong with that, but instead _everything_ right.

For him, the thought of food didn't settle all that properly. Provided whatever they were served wasn't poultry or tainted with cilantro, he could eat it. He might not necessarily like any of it as much as he would a big, greasy cheeseburger slathered in condiments, but he could manage. It wasn't his style, but was it truly anyone's?

Like so many other expensive venues, the entire spiel was all about appearances. He didn't really spare much attention to the server who explained, at length and with grandeur, every course designed by a famous somebody, made with a whole lotta fancy somethings, composed to tell some sort of story...blah blah. He picked all the green shite off each plate, much to Ember's amusement, and gave her a cocky wriggle of his brows. He laid on _alllll_ the charm as he navigated the dishes with his pinky poised appropriately.

Honestly, he was more paranoid about stumbling across an unsavory ingredient than dropping dead face-first into an arrangement of prawns. Not only did he make sure to wave their robo-staff over to scan his plate and ensure nothing _uninvited_ \- as in, lethal - had been slipped in as a garnish, but he always had his countermeasures ready. Not only could they potentially save his arse, but they could prevent him from breaking out in some _very _unsexy hives in the off-chance he encountered some new shellfish variety his histamines didn't agree with.

That might have ruined a bit of the mood but so did him spewing up his liquified organs or hemorrhaging all over the table. Bloodstains could be a _bitch _to get out of fabric. Surely the housekeeping staff knew to flush their linens with chilled water first. Besides, given the stock of CEO's and equally narcissistic bastards that frequented the restaurant, he wasn't the only customer requesting additional insurance.

Aware of his background, Ember was anything but phased. Instead, she fluttered her thick lashes while soaking up his generous dating style was fun - so long as he could make a lass giggle, he didn't have to worry so much about being a snooty bastard. He would rather snort out a laugh with a mouthful and cause her to do the same. Humor was his default and most lovers appreciated it, the same as he cherished her being so unbelievably sexy...and practically naked.

It was one thing to deploy his digi-clone to sneak a peek at FL4K's poker hand and another to have it give him a thumbs up at his date's lack of panties, right? Without a doubt, Ember wouldn't have minded if he satisfied his suspicions himself, but short of dropping a utensil to the floor, there wasn't any excuse to take a quick look-see. Had they sat any closer, he didn't doubt she would have invited his fingers to decide for themselves. One way or another, it wasn't like he wasn't going to find out eventually.

Silently damning the table separating them, Zane caught a sudden glimpse of two slender women being escorted to their seats nearby. What an attractive pair they were, and yet his interest was irrefutably peaked by the purple fabric of one's cocktail dress.

That damn color. For as much as he liked it, he was beginning to think of it as some strategically placed curse. His first thought, before he could squelch it, curiously wondered if Amara would approve of the garment. Sternly reminding himself that he had never seen the siren even wear a dress, he dropped the subject. At least, that was his intention until his mind drifted while Ember spoke of up and coming acts with whom she would share her stage.

One would think his date's enthusiasm would prove captivating. It should have, and ordinarily _would_ have been, had he not been so... _whatever_. There his mind went drifting again, that sight of violet pushing him off a dock to send him up Shite Creek with a leaky hull. Futilely, he found himself debating if he should have treated Amara to that nice of an evening at least once. Really, did he have _any _doubt?

Given it was far too late for that, he reminded himself that they never worked that way. They hadn't been dating. _Never _had. Now, he couldn't even take her out in the guise of flirty friendship. _That_, he might have done if he had previously been hit with the urge to enjoy a night on the town. Instead, their team had kept busy painting everything red with _blood_, which usually involved a lot less dress-up and less playful bumping and grinding.

Boy, would they have had a blast carousing some of the galaxy's wildest nightclubs. If his boyos thought he was entertaining when tipsy, just wait until they saw him pop a molly at a rave. He might be the only fossil there, but he would put them all to shame, whether he was high as feck or not. He was guaranteed to look just as incredible as all the flashy colors he would experience after a hit of ecstasy.

Just because he was old as feck didn't mean he wanted to act his age. He was sure he made that _very_ clear. Besides, it wasn't like he got to enjoy his younger years. 'Fun' on Pandora consisted of lobbing grenades down a spiderant hive and running like hell from the swarm. He had left _that_ to enlist with Dahl. Nothing said "party" like the military!

Above all else, he preferred to think of himself as a generous man, even if exclusively for his few friends. Just once, he had taken Amara to a luxury suite...if only for an exquisite bed and a whole lot of amazing sex. He couldn't necessarily help it, nor did he care to, if they hadn't needed any frilly, romantic foreplay.

That wasn't to say he needed it with _anyone_, nor did Ember. They could have just as easily ditched their clothes right then and there and practiced making babies. Why weren't they doing that again? His appetite was missing. He felt himself chewing something edible like an automaton but wasn't getting anything out of it.

Feck, he felt as fed up as he did after a problematic and late night of coding. It seemed he had exhausted countless hours trying to reprogram his brain, only to have the interface persistently flash errors and gibberish back at him. He felt no different than when he planted himself at his desk aboard Sanctuary and threw a conniption with some troublesome project. The goddamn data in his head was corrupted, clearly, and he was left with the mess of analyzing all the chaos left in its wake. That, or throwing in the towel and launching the cursed device into open space - but not until he wiped its data clean and smashed the bejesus out of it for stress relief.

...Right, because allowing more mental meandering was _absolutely_ conducive to a steamy date. At this rate, it was a matter of time until he assigned his clone the task of coming out and smacking him when a certain A-name came up, even if that ran the risk of getting kinky. The rest, he could more easily deal with, but then being so distracted wasn't polite. If his mind kept _that _up, he was going to have to hit Tannis up for a prescription of something to shut his head up.

He knew what the problem was: he was too damn sober. While it wouldn't assuage his condition much, he drained his flute of champagne, refilled it to max capacity, and drank that too. That earned him an inquisitive lift of Ember's eyebrows, but she ultimately let it slide. Probably she knew he was in need of something stiffer. And indeed he was...on two accounts.

Reminding himself to be present, the operative focused on the sophisticated spread laid out before him. Thank the gods he was capable of refinement and didn't default to some violent Flynt mating ritual. He preferred _not _slaughtering an entire settlement just to demonstrate his malicious prowess. While he wasn't entirely against challenging his competitors in hand to hand combat, he didn't find it all that necessary. He preferred exhibiting a bit more finesse than reverting to a rabid bandit and throwing their mauled bodies into a flaming pit of spikes.

He couldn't even imagine the disturbing events that must have resulted in Sparky's conception. How many women did Captain brutalize before one popped out his kid? How many others had tried, only to squish like an insect beneath his clumsy heft? Whatever poor lass had survived had probably served as his psychotic brother's entertainment while chained to a wall, laboring and screaming. He probably threatened to burn her alive at the first sign of complications, if not for simply seeming weak.

Actually, there were always crazies willing to bear a bandit lord's offspring, but that didn't make the process any less abhorrent. Then again, he had heard _all _about how his mum had turned the tables and hunted down his old man, which wasn't all that uncommon according to Flynt family history. His granny, in particular, had been one tough broad. She could have lured any man in with one taste of her _mean_ hate gravy.

Oddly enough, his siblings would have viewed _his _methods as excessive and ridiculous, but at least his partners were consensual. Unlike his brothers, he would never want it any other way.

Was all the shameless romancing with Ember necessary? Nah. If their past was any indication, it sure as hell wasn't. In fact, he had tried to woo her a bit that first time but they had ended up leaving their meal early and cutting to the carnal chase. That wasn't to say they couldn't still skip their appetizers and rush to his suite to feck, but he was feeling particularly patient. A woman like her was well worth the wait. Though jumping through these hoops didn't necessarily enhance sex, he still found himself cherishing her companionship. In bed, they already knew they made fire, and it was only a matter of time until he provided the flint.

_Heh_.

All of it was simple, really. He wanted to take a load off and enjoy himself in other ways. Forget some shite on his mind, like vault hunting and sirens who wouldn't stay out of his head. Instead, he asked Ember if she could still look around that many months later and remember all the disasters that had accumulated in the casino over seven years.

Of course she did, and only afterward did the operative consider if he had committed some cardinal sin of reminding her. Instead, she lifted her glass to him in cheers of Moxxi's success.

"She's sure pulled it all together, hasn't she?" crooned the performer in her lush accent, still looking around in a bit of wonder.

Zane joined her, letting out a low whistle. He nodded at the chic venue they occupied, just as he had to himself at the rest of the casino.

"Sure has. From what I've seen so far, she's _really _pulled it together. I expected no less! She's that kinda woman."

"Your kind of woman?"

"Ye know it," he cheerfully growled, adding a lurid grin near the end. "Wouldn't work fer her otherwise!"

That wasn't really true but eh, he had an image to uphold. Truth be told, most of the women who sought his professional services could have been mistaken for bulldogs. They hadn't needed looks to attain their influence.

Moxxi had indeed cleaned up the place. There were far fewer bodies strewn about. Seven years of trash and human waste had been removed. Proud of her design as Moxxi was, she had performed mostly superficial renovations in order to satisfy her personal tastes and update the decor accordingly.

"Not a Jack head in sight, thank god!" laughed the vault hunter, grinning in relief. "I hated the bastard as much as anyone. This joint is a lot better without his bullshite face or voice."

Ember smiled, nodding in agreement. "I _absolutely_ agree. I only spent forever seeing that vile bastard everywhere. I am still surprised his prisoners didn't deface every trace of him beyond recognition. We were all too busy surviving, I suppose," she sighed.

His expression softening, Zane would have hugged the performer to himself had he been within reach. Instead, he gazed at her fondly and reached to hold her hand again. Ember was a proud, strong woman, and didn't need consoling, even if she was grateful to accept his touch. If anything, the relaxed look on her visage proved he didn't have to watch his mouth so much.

"Poor Timtam, havin' to live with that shite in his head," he lamented gruffly, so easily reminded of the doppelganger. "If I was him, I'd've strapped meself to a nuke an' launched meself into a planet. Ye heard from 'im lately?"

"Not since he and Moxxi called it quits," admitted Ember with a pouted frown.

Ah, that was right. That outcome was_ very _inevitable. Zane hadn't laughed in Timothy's face for no reason.

"Poor guy," sighed the operative with sincere sympathy. He leaned back in his seat, absently arranging the napkin arranged atop his lap while frowning. "Can't say I wasn't tempted to follow the lad, honestly. He's got puppy dog eyes on 'im an' I'm a bit o' a sap fer that. I've since heard rumors 'bout him vault huntin' but haven't found anything solid. No offense to him, 'cause he's a survivor, but that business is tougher than he seems to be.

"If it wasn't fer me team, I would'a helped him learn the ropes a lil' more," he expressed with a hint of regret. "Fella seems like the type to get himself caught up in a lotta good times - an' by that I mean the _bad_ good ones. What can I say? This ol' man's got a bit of a bleedin' heart for folks dealt a shite hand, but don't tell anyone that. Can't have me get taken advantage of!_ Ha_!"

Then, in a much smaller, smiling voice, he added: "'Least a man could hope," followed by a less playful "How 'bout you? Ye keepin' any tabs on 'im?"

Ember shook her shaven head and began tracing her lower lip with one alluring finger. Drawn to it, Zane's single eye followed her deliberate movements.

"I wish, but _non_," admitted the performer, giving a brief shrug of her pretty shoulders as if consciously deciding it wasn't allowed to bother her. "Timothy knows I am here if he wants me. And Moxxi is _everywhere. _If he needs to, he can reach out for help."

"Fine way o' lookin' at it," he praised, looking at the Frenchwoman with palpable admiration. "Ye think he'd be too broken up by Moxxi bein' advertised damn near everywhere? How broken up _was_ he when their fling ended anyhow?" he asked, because curiosity needed to know.

Smirking, Ember shook her smooth head. "He'll live," she said with confidence. "He's a softy, though, but Moxxi is just another reminder of his former life. You know as well as I do that they weren't made to work out."

"Aye. Right y'are," he nodded, idly pulling on one half of his mustache. "Suppose now he can go on try'na find out how he wants to live as his Tim Lawrence self. Gonna be quite the learning curve fer 'im."

_That_ was stating the obvious.

"Oui, it will definitely be," agreed his sexy date, shrugging her inviting cleavage, "but I trust Timothy to succeed. Considering everything he has been through, why wouldn't he make the most of his freedom?"

Granted, the doppelganger would never truly be free - not with Jack's DNA swimming around in him and all the lingering madness that accompanied it. Sighing inwardly, Zane sympathized with the man again. He was a heck of a fella. Real nice, that one. It was a shame to know he would be troubled forever in ways only the most malicious arseholes deserved. There were folks throughout the universe who had a whole lot of nothing...but at least they had themselves. Timothy couldn't really claim that.

Ah, that was a piss poor trail of thought to head down. The fact that Timbo would never be safe made it worse - at least so long as he resembled Jack in any way. And certainly never with his sanity so fractured. Compared to him, the operative knew he didn't have it so bad. Sure, he had assassins out for him but at least he was stable enough in the head.

_...Usually_.

Ember's voice dislodged Zane from his downward spiral of thoughts. He noticed her regarding him with sultry intrigue, one of her elegant hands drumming her digits languidly along the inviting underside of her neck.

"How did you feel about pauvre Timothy?"

Shifting his mood, the vault hunter regarded her with an assuring smirk. "Gonna hafta reconsider callin' 'im that, love. Sure, he's gonna always be his sheepish self, but now the sky's the limit fer him!"

He was definitely picking up what she was putting down, though. Ember had that look to her that suggested her curiosity was sexual. As arousing as her voice always was, there was an extra purring undertone.

That accent of hers sure was something. It never ceased to remind him of all the dirty talk they had shared over their ECHOs. Combined with all the erotic images she had depicted, her velvet tongue had certainly done him in.

With a thoughtful hand, Zane stroked his facial hair, slowly pulling each end of his mustache before gliding past his chin. He couldn't remember the last time he had felt skin there instead of his beloved beard. One thing was certain: that he never would again.

"Can't say I ever expected wantin' to snog someone with Jack's likeness but yeah, he's a sweetheart. Considerin' all the nonsense he's been subjected to, he's still a gentle soul. I'd _love_ to show 'im a good time again. Guy needs it, though I'm surprised he didn't keel o'er from me bein' so forward," he admitted with a nostalgic chuckle.

Zane had to admit, it felt good to speak so freely about his attractions and sexual interests. It wasn't like he held anything against Amara for being more reserved - it just felt great to be in like-minded company. Sometimes, he liked talking about sex almost as much as he enjoyed having it.

"If ye ever hook up with him again, consider hittin' me up," he suggested, giving the performer a little 'telephone' gesture with one hand. "With the two o' us showin' him such a good time, he'd forget his troubles. No doubt 'bout that."

_So would I_, he thought quietly and left it at that.

At the casino, he had taken one for the team. That didn't mean he wouldn't again, but he was equally interested in topping Timothy and giving it to him good and deep if he was willing. Hesitant as the younger man had been before, it was clear he was more of a bottom than a switch. Chances were, he was wary of allowing himself to be that vulnerable with anyone. Able to relate, Zane also knew how relieving it was to take the risk and be handled with respect. He _really _wouldn't mind being slow and gentle with that sweet lad.

At the moment, his dick didn't act like it. It didn't even stir before getting rock hard. Granted, it would have felt far worse had he been in his leathers, but the sensation of suddenly getting sprung was odd when unexpected. Thankfully, even tailored as they were, his trousers were capable of comfortably accommodating an erection. Resisting the urge to snort at himself, he shifted in his seat before settling with his legs more relaxed.

Smirking sexily as she sensed his predicament, Ember purred at him. "Been a while?'

"With a man, aye," he admitted, sighing in disappointment. "Kinda hard-up fer it, honestly...but I s'pose ye know that."

"Plenty of men here," offered the performer slyly. She would be the one to know. "Do you have anything particular in mind?"

Grinning wolfishly, he couldn't help himself. "Ye got any dark lads aboard, goin' by Clay, with a history of smugglin'?"

Her amused expression was answer enough. He sighed in wistful disappointment and then chuckled despite himself. "Figured not!"

"Sorry but no," she snickered, her eyes twinkling and intrigued by his specifics. "I do have a couple in mind who are quick learners and _very_ eager to please."

"Lass," he nearly groaned, "don't tempt me. 'Sides...I don't just take it from anybody. Doubt I'd even bend o'er fer Trent the Slut. Speakin' of, are him an' his kegels still workin' here?"

"He is. Booked for the entire week, though," said Ember, taking another classy sip of her wine like they weren't having that particular discussion.

"Ahh, I expected nothin' less!" Zane exclaimed before giving a hoarse bark of amusement. "With a title like his, I feel like I missed me calling!"

"There's still time, love."

The operative couldn't help himself and didn't care to - at least not when breaking into such delighted laughter. His_ "Ohhhhoho!_" hit hard enough to tip back his crested head, his raspy ruckus drawing immediate attention to their table. What could he say? _That_ was the kind of attitude he loved in a person. Such_ positivity_!

He managed to calm himself while pouring Ember another glass of wine. Upon finding the bottle nearly empty, he finished it off with a direct swig. For him, that merry method of drinking was far more familiar than classing it up, though he wished its contents were far boozier or hoppier than they were. Still, that didn't stop him from waving over the waiter and fondly listening as his date ordered a bottle of top-shelf champagne in that luxurious language of hers.

At least so far as alcohol was involved, he had made a mental vow _not_ to get hammered. The more he reminded himself of that, the better, even though a bit of tipsiness would only add to their mutual enjoyment. Already, he was feeling a wee bit high from having such agreeable company.

"Ahh, I love ye," he cooed, bringing her hand up again to place an adoring kiss atop it. How could he not, with how lovely she was when pink-cheeked and showing such softness? After a lingering moment of sharing her lidded gaze, he brushed his lips more genuinely across her knuckles before relenting.

"Sadly, there aren't a whole lotta tops who know what they're doin' or wanna be bossed around by a man who knows what he wants. I figure I'll bottom fer the right man when I meet 'im - as in, one that's not gonna try to off me by perforatin' me bowels. An' trust me, when I do, I'm gonna refuse to give that cock back 'til I'm good an' done with it."

Ember must have eased out of one heel, somehow, with how she began daintily teasing her toes along his right ankle. Seeking bare skin with her provocative caresses, she sultrily lifted one of her eyebrows while his own angled in playful interest.

"It's been that long, hmm?" she inquired while innocently propping her feminine chin atop the back of one forefinger.

"Not since gettin' with Timmy_,_" he frowned, disappointed by the truth. That meant he had been sorely missing out on some of the most intense pleasure there was. For a man like himself, that was unacceptable. Familiar as he was with his body, solo stimulation just wasn't the same. He knew because he had tried.

Sure, he could have had anal with his clone, and he very well might have if prostate play with a certain someone hadn't tide him over. After all, it wasn't like his digital partner hadn't offered. That handsome bastard was as horny as he was.

Arriving with Ember's favored champagne tucked into a bucket of ice, the waiter withdrew her request with flourish. Holding it on dramatic display, he awaited her nod before bracing the bottle at a forty-five-degree angle against his towel-draped forearm and began to loosen the key of the muselet. Only then did he fold the cloth over the cork and reinforce it with his thumb, doubly ensuring it didn't pop off and escape.

With a practiced wiggle, the waiter proudly smiled as the bottle whispered, the pressure within peacefully effervescing before the final release. Then, after ensuring the champagne didn't overflow, he brushed off the towel and went about daintily retrieving a flute from his silver salver. Soon after, he was presenting his bubbly offer to the lady at the table. Gracefully accepting it, she blew him a kiss before lifting her flute in waiting.

How amusing would it have been for the operative to snatch the towel right from the server's arm and crack him in the arse with it, chasing him away from his date? _Very. _Unfortunately, he exhibited restraint, even if he didn't properly savor the champagne he cheered against Ember's and then immediately drank. He let the waiter refill them before giving the lad a look that made him leave. Only then did he lean back and overlap his ankles beneath the table.

"Guess I kinda aged outta that since turnin' forty," the operative lamented drolly. "Since then, nearly all the lads I've hooked up with expected me to be their daddy. S'pose that's fine…I can get in on that - literally."

Tutting quietly, the fire dancer coquettishly curled her lips. At the same time, her toes traced spirals along his shin. "You, mon ami, are a _very_ desirable man. I would be surprised if most could handle you. If only you were as free to indulge as you should be, but then you've done everyone's bidding, haven't you?" Then, after glancing around as though expecting a wicked face to resurface throughout the casino, she asked, "You are among Hyperion's most wanted, are you not, after working for Jack?"

"Certainly am!" he boasted, and then added with a wink, "but then who isn't? Bah, I earned it by havin' quite the history with the bastard. I actually did a lot o' work for the ganky wanker. 'Course I did, 'cause Hyperion had the best pay in the mercenary trade. Workin' fer 'em was like a legit get-rich-quick scheme provided ye could tolerate his nonsense!

"I was pretty good at it, but even then, I hit me limit," he huffed. Feeling dry, he took a pull from his neglected glass of bubbly. "At that point, I was gonna snap if he called me sugar tits or cupcake one more time. Ain't like I'm a stickler for formalities, but _feck_, his ego an' me own didn't jive. There ain't enough space in a single galaxy fer the both of 'em!"

Ordinarily, he didn't talk old business or air out dirty laundry in public. That was a surefire way to draw the wrong kind of attention, but still, Ember had asked. There was a lot he would do for a particularly gorgeous lass like her.

Pausing to mindfully replenish Ember's glass of champagne, he found himself briefly entertained by that flow of fizzy, liquid gold. Easing the bubbly down one wall of the flute was second nature, as was filling the crystal halfway. Sure, the waiters preferred pouring for them, but Zane didn't want them breathing on him more than they had to. He topped himself off before nestling the bottle back into the ice, both feeling and hearing that signature frosty shift as he did.

"Anyway," he continued casually, tipping the stemware to his lips to wet his throat and drinking down that faint tickle, "I don't need'ta tell _you_ how Jack was the arsiest arsehole to have ever arsed. I ditched 'im when he started sendin' me on sorta suicide missions. Jackhole got off payin' fellas like me to off themselves when he was tired of 'em," he explained blithely.

"Sounds like him," she scowled, delicately pinching her own flute of champagne so that she could sip from it. The elegant way she did was quite enamoring, his remaining eye taking the time to trail admirably down the slenderness of her pale wrist and then her neck.

The topic at hand sure needed changing, and he had just the thing to appeal to her interests. He happened to have the best method of seducing ladies on good authority: entertaining their personal intrigues._ Cha-ching._

"Got something I've been thinkin' of, 'tween you and me, " he started, earning an appealing arch of her dark brows. "I'm due fer some upgrades real soon. Thinkin' maybe ye can escort me to that homeworld o' yers an' help me pick out some parts. I've been there before, but it's been a hell of a while, and I figure it might be nice for ye to 'ave a visit, aye?"

According to Ember, society took cybernetics damn seriously where she came from. Simply by looking at her, one could tell she was avid about replacing her body parts, and it turns out her homeworld was proudly liberal about it. Unlike cultures that shunned altering the human form, her own regarded them as enhancements, if not a beneficial art form. Though he hadn't gone overboard with his own, he had enough artificial pieces to prove his support on the matter.

Zane figured a few more augmentations might be in order for him, - if not in the near future, then soon after. In fact, he wasn't quite sure what held him back from undergoing additional alterations. He had the money and could see the appeal. He supposed he just wasn't thrilled about surgery, though recovery wasn't as extensive as it had been back in his day. Then again, nearly every part of him was working well enough, so why fix what wasn't broken? Given his age, however, it was probably better to take some initiative before his body became _too_ opinionated_._

Clearing his throat, the operative pitched back the remainder of his champagne with much less finesse than intended. Old habits die hard, evidently.

"Not sure what's gonna go out first, me back or the ol' ticker," he confessed with a lighthearted laugh. "I haven't taken good care of _either_ as much as I prob'ly should'a. What can I say, there's never enough time to recover from all the sexytime wear an' tear! _Ha_! An' it's almost time to pluck out this shoddy organic eye and get meself what yer sportin'. It'd match me usual outfit, wouldn't it? Real on-brand fer me!"

Tilting her head, the performer regarded him with affable scrutiny. If it wasn't for those surreal pupils glowing at him, they wouldn't stand out so much as augmentations - not that he minded any. Clearly, he loved his luminous accents!

"What's wrong with it? It looks fine to me," she lightly teased.

Chuckling, the vault hunter appreciated the unintentional pun and then thoughtfully pursed his lips.

"Ah, it's age...kinda like the rest o' me. I can't tell so much when me cybernetic is jacked in, 'cause it does all the accommodatin', but this 'un is a wee bit fuzzy."

Just thinking of it tempted him to dig in with the heel of his palm - and he nearly succeeded before remembering his contact lens. Still, he blinked for emphasis and squinted his eye momentarily before flashing her his award-winning grin. "'Course it's still seein' how utterly beautiful ye are. _That's_ never been clearer!"

Ahh, he was _so_ smooth. In hindsight, he probably hadn't worked in enough compliments about his stunning companion, but there was still plenty of time for that. He was just feeling a wee bit rusty. That didn't matter much, as Ember still treated her to that lovely smile of hers. She found him _adorable _and positively sexy, no doubt. How could she not? Her left hand was reaching for his, laying hers atop that scarred surface. He knew bedroom eyes when he saw them, even with his aging own.

Similarly, he noticed the way her digital gaze lingered on his eye patch. That had him rambling a bit to address it - instead of focusing on flirting, which he was pretty sure he should have been favoring.

"As fer me _usual _hardware, I developed that bad boy an' have been updatin' it throughout the years," he boasted with a cocksure grin. "Admittedly, I would'a gone a more subtle route if I didn't need some reconstruction. I might'a played surgeon a few times but never honestly and never on meself! An', would ye guess, I ain't keen on tryin'!"

As she snickered, he knew it was time to lay on some more charm. That, he could do with the best. He _was _the best. She was, too. They were good together. He wanted to prove it and was glad to, intertwining their digits so that he could softly kiss the back of her hand once more. When finished, he nuzzled the side of his cheek along her smooth skin and settled atop it like an obedient pet pleading for attention.

"Listen to me! Really talkin' meself up like a treat here! Let's discuss what really matters," he encouraged while dreamily gazing at her. "This homeworld o' yers, ye think it's a good place fer us to settle down an' build some kids? Me Zoomer gets lonely sometimes."

There it was - that delighted twinkle in her artificial eyes. How she managed remained a bit of a mystery but it was clearly there. If he had to guess, her cybernetics reflected the radiance of her lovely face. That had to be it. Whatever it was, it made him want to soak her up. And feck her, obviously, but that was a given.

This romance thing was fun in its own way and made his heart get a little thumpy-thumpy. That feeling was too pleasant to be alarming. It definitely made his belly warm in ways that had nothing to do with the wine and champagne. After all, both were nothing more than fruit juice in a hoity-toity glass.

He sure brought up marriage a lot with her. Could he wed her? Hell yeah he could. Would it last? _Maybe, _but then it didn't have to. His standards for that kind of thing were questionable at best - if he actually had any. The more time they spent together, the more convinced he was that they could make something work. Not only was she lovely, but she shared his penchant for technology _and _she was a romantic.

One thing was certain: they could have an amazing sex life, provided the spark didn't fizzle out. Rare as it was to find an open-minded lass like her, he should _definitely_ slip a ring on her finger. Not that he expected her to, but how badass would it be if she took his surname? Ember Flynt _worked._

All things considered, it felt terribly stupid of him to have ever lingered on Amara when Ember was available and so damn perfect for him. Shite, he had to be even worse off in his head than expected to have dragged his feet with the performer. Then again, with his admittedly terrible habits, he still ran the risk of losing interest in the performer. It made a bastard of him but was true nevertheless. There _could_ be too much of a good thing.

The fact that he had kept his hands off her since their first exhilarating flings was indicative of potential problems. Then again, was _any _lover irresistible anymore? Doubtful. He had been around the block far too many times to lose his head over any particular person. Promiscuous as the fire dancer also was, he didn't doubt they would remain open to other hookups. _That_, combined with her ability to accept his madness, would be their saving grace.

_What is wrong with ye? _demanded his inner voice, annoyed by his indecisiveness. _She's one _hell_ of a woman. Ye should be hittin' up the chapel an' then hittin' that pussy _hard._ Who cares if she's _technically _a wee bit young fer yer crusty ol' nuts? Ye _like _that._

Yes, indeed he did. He had a string of significantly younger lovers to prove it.

Ember really represented a particular compulsion of his: finding strong women who weren't afraid to be the head bitch in charge and falling head over heels for them. He _loved _empowered, fearless, and liberated women, and it showed in his history of wives. The deadlier they were, the better, honestly, and he was weak for being led around by a tight leash…at least until his Flynt nature took charge.

Lasses didn't need to have it all to have _him_, evidently...at least up to the point when he grew restless and disenchanted. Then, it was time for him to get the hell out of dodge and prance off as though nothing had ever happened. Honestly, he was just impossible, and the perpetual cycle he followed proved it.

For as much as he liked the performer, even she might fail to keep him on his toes. If anything, she could be _too _permissive. She could certainly keep him hard, but then so could Moxxi, and they had gotten _that_ over with quickly. Did it matter that Ember was more of a love interest than an actual friend? So long as she wasn't a teammate, he decided it didn't matter. That meant she wasn't necessarily a fighter like him and his fellow vault hunters. As accommodating as she seemed, she didn't _really_ mesh with the particular lifestyle he was destined for, even if he shouldn't mind having someone standing on the sidelines. Probably he had been spoiled by having a partner he could both fight alongside _and_ feck.

Yep, that was definitely it.

What could he say? He was a Pandoran. He didn't like anything handed to him except maybe the head of an enemy. He craved a challenge...which Ember wasn't. And yeah, he couldn't deny he liked easy women because he absolutely did - but only casually. He reserved them for quick pickups and most certainly didn't keep in touch with them.

Probably his concepts of relationships were fecked up, if not outright contradictory. Some would regard what _he _considered marriage-worthy arrangements as being noncommittal. He supposed it _was_ strange to enter some outdated contractual agreement for sex, particularly as they could screw without it. To him, it was more like signing the dotted line in mutual agreement for what their dynamic would entail.

And what was that? For him, marriage represented more than a compulsive lay devoid of emotion. Instead, he cared about his spouses, liked them as people, and enjoyed having sex with them. It was a mutual decision to drop expectations that might lead to resentment and just _go for it _while knowing something bound them.

Then again, _his _style of matrimony wasn't encumbered by obligations, as backward as that was. There wasn't any illusion about the carnal side to it...just the acknowledgment that he and his spouses were individuals who accepted each other, respected each other, and liked to feck. He supposed marriage was one way of announcing that with pride, but open as his relationships were, they denounced that creepy aspect of ownership over another human.

Probably more than anything, getting hitched was his way of doing something stupidly fun and over-the-top romantic. That sounded more fitting than anything, even if it was reserved only for the special few who wouldn't take it too seriously. That didn't take into account the many times he had gotten blindly shitefaced and unexpectedly woke up with a sudden spouse whose name he couldn't remotely recall. He had plenty of those intoxicated and impulsive experiences, though that surprised nobody.

All in all, he didn't see _why_ he shouldn't marry like-minded partners. He supposed he was too hedonistic to care. Granted, the spouses he maintained contact with were folks he had been sappy over at one point in his life or another. Sometimes, his nature as a loner simply won out over everything else and made him leave behind the lovers he most enjoyed. God forbid he keep _connections. _Truth be told, he was undecided whether he ditched more lovers out of relevant concerns for their safety or because they might have actually started to _know _him.

Truth be told, most of his relationships had been relatively predictable. As for whatever in the hell his thing with Amara had been, well…it had come entirely out of the left field. He could write it off as them being teammates with benefits, since it deserved its own category. After all, their affair had been _different. _That was all he could say. Then again, maybe it didn't need its own title, given that he sure as hell wasn't going to try it again. Talk about baggage.

Feeling like he was gearing up to die was a decent reason to beckon over their server and order something stiffer, right? Of course, he inquired if Ember desired anything else before she dismissively gestured for him to order.

In respect to their classier meal, cognac was his spirit of choice. It wasn't his usual choice, given how swanky it was. He had nothing against incinerating stacks of cash, and that selection was a surefire way to do it. Honestly, he would have preferred chugging down an entire bottle of cheaper whiskey, but he had that on-hand every day.

Still, cognac seemed fitting, given the elegant restaurant and his stunning date. Technically, it began as a white wine that was elaborately distilled into bandy. It was specific to a distant planet and boasted an appropriately outrageous price tag. That single shot likely racked up the highest tab he had carried in quite some time, and _that_ said something. Then again, what good was money without spending it?

More for show than anything, he swirled the snifter and did the whole _formal _thing - for one sip. He savored all those complex notes of fruit and spice with its long, lingering finish. Seeing Ember gaze at him with intrigue, he gave a shrug and offered it to her. She picked up her flute of champagne instead and tapped their stemware together in a quiet cheer. Off to the races he went, chucking the cognac back as casually as any shot. He merely winked as her eyes bugged momentarily, earning her quiet laugh and the flirtatious shake of her head.

The more he considered Ember, whose mouth he watched shape words blending into the background, the more he saw her appeal. Apparently what he _was_ involuntarily looking for was another trophy spouse. Adding to his collection had to be some means of satisfying his ego. If the right person impressed him _and_ sexually appealed to him, then the crossed wires in his head decided they were marriage material. Ember clearly ticked all the marks.

_Wait, _interrupted his inner voice_. Remind me why yer analyzin' this? Curious consciences want to know. Are ye lookin' to settle down, boyo? Are ye feeling yer age now?_

_No, and kinda sorta, and ahhh what does it matter?_

Ember wanted to know, if the way she was repeating his name and squeezing his hand to earn his attention was any indication. "...Zane?"

Finally registering her, the operative abruptly snapped out of himself and perked up in his seat. "Yes! _Yes_. What can I do fer ye?"

Studying him with obvious concern, the fire dancer guided his hand atop her metal one and continued caressing it gently. As pleasant as that contact was, he preferred that she _didn't _do it out of worry.

Ah, shite. It was time for blunt honesty.

"Ah, sorry. Me head started yammerin' on 'bout some nonsense. It does that. Can't seem to help meself sometimes! Must be from all the brain damage I have!"

Ember appeared to have some doubts, but then how would she know him well enough to get a read on him? Then again, she was one perceptive lass - perhaps more than he was, so far as he was aware of himself.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" she asked sincerely, though she seemed to anticipate his reaction. She flattened one brow when he flashed her his perfectly straight teeth.

"Nope!" he laughed - and belatedly barrel-rolled into some charm. "I mean aye, _you_. _Definitely_ you. I mean, I don't even listen to the shite in me own noggin' - or what's comin' outta me mouth, obviously! Phew. Alrighty, what were ye sayin' again?"

After spending a long moment staring, Ember decided to spare him. What else did they talk about? He could hardly say. Some of this, some of that. He could remember specifics if he _had _to - women loved a man to prove he listened to their every word, after all. And he had. He just _loved_ her sexy voice.

Still, his mind really lent itself to nothing but the elegant curve of her long, slender neck and the scar bifurcating her left brow. Not for the first time, it made him wonder, who or what had put it there. Rather than seeking such personal answers, he appreciated the artistry of her makeup - specifically her smokey eyes and winged liner that emphasized their shape. The way her shadows accentuated that cyan glow of her pupils suggesting she was anything but human.

Feck, it said a lot about him that he didn't have a care in the world what she was. She could have been a cyborg and he would have wined, dined, and sixty-nined her...if anatomically applicable. At least so far as her limbs were concerned, she was roughly half human and half man-made. Some onlookers might see his own hardware and mistake him as such - and he might be, in time. In defense of his age, he always told his crew that he wouldn't be the first to retire, and that would guarantee it. So long as he was capable of his best dance moves, Robo-Zane would put FL4K to shame! If he couldn't, well, then he was better off dead. What a sad existence that would be.

Until then_, everything_ was fine by him. He had no reservations about loving technology and bedding a woman with her own. Besides, Ember worked it. Wearing the dress she was, she proudly flaunted damn near everything. Her right arm and shoulder remained that same bare metal it had been when their team had first encountered her. Her left leg was identical, though it hadn't always been that way. She had told him, previously, that her synthetic flesh had been burned away during one of her fiery performances.

Nope, he definitely didn't care any. He had gotten off with full-fledged bots in the past so yeah, he _definitely _didn't have any complaints. So long as she tantalized his mind, the rest of him followed both accordingly and eagerly.

His sexuality was human-centric but not _specific. _After hopping around the galaxies as he had, he had encountered too many alluring lifeforms to not have indulged in a bit of sampling. The chemistry still had to be there, same as always, and he did limit himself to his preference for bipedal and consensual species. Even a man like himself had to have some limits. Needless to say, his chances of breaking a record or two were promising, given the extensiveness of his conquests. They certainly proved he had no qualms whatsoever about penetrating a partner whose holes felt good or offering his own.

Ember, despite her enhancements, was _all _woman. Distractible as he found himself, he still intended to reacquaint himself with that fact when the time was right. For now, she was asking about his recent work as a vault hunter. He told her what she wanted to know - nothing more, nothing less. He had to satisfy his lover, after all, even if it was far sweeter to romantically coo at her and make her laugh with whatever joke wet his clever tongue.

In effect, he nailed all the proverbial dance steps he had performed with desirable dates time and time again, his methods masterful and memorized. He knew how to ensure that everything delighted her, which was the only mission he cared to have and one he charmingly exceeded at. In fact, it didn't matter to him that their night was reserved for sex. Classy women like her deserved all the wining and dining before getting it good and hard. _That_ had her tittering as they indulged in dessert, her face tickled pink from his endearing nonsense.

God, was it far better sharing the warm companionship of a gorgeous woman than hunching over his workbench aboard Sanctuary. Had he not been wooing her, he would have been holed up in his cold, dark cabin and tinkering with some project.

Disinterested in checking his ECHO, he had no concept of what hour it was aboard the vessel. For all he knew, he could have been stuffing himself at Dynasty Diner while being ribbed by his teammates about his ketchup consumption for the eleventy billionth time.

They _never _failed to start smartarsing him the instant his eye targeted his favorite condiment. By the time he reached for the bottle, they broke into full-blown teasing. It wasn't his fault ketchup made most meals palatable. Besides, how could they justify getting on his case? Tomatoes were a fruit, weren't they? That meant ketchup was _healthy_ \- full of vitamins and shite, except with actual flavor!

_"There he goes _again. _Leave some for _one _other person, Zane,"..."Bet he bleeds ketchup,"..."Ketchup isn't it's own food group, old man,"..."Try having some burger with that sauce. Geez"..._

It had been a shame to waste that blessed substance that time he had "_accidentally_" misdirected the bottle at Moze while pounding the end to dislodge its contents. With a _thwack_ of excessive force, he had sent half the payload splattering across her chest. Naturally, he had failed miserably at maintaining the shocked O of his mouth, his face instead cracking with outrageous amusement.

Evidently collapsing into obnoxious laughter, accompanied by his mocking "How's that fer sharin'?!" had been an unacceptable apology. He had nearly tipped backward in his chair as the ketchuped gunner snatched the bottle from him and tried to strike him over the head with it. Amara, not one to participate in their child's play, had easily intercepted the blow.

Simply recalling that event had him smirking, even if he dropped it the second he noticed it. He must have had good timing, as Ember was giggling at something she had said. The sound was verbal velvet.

"Say, love," he piped up, genuinely reminded of something he had yet to bring up. Despite his piqued interest, he returned his lips to her hand again so that he could bestow another series of tickling kisses along her knuckles. Lingering on her ring finger, he laid on the charm _thick._ "Ye wanna be me date fer a weddin' an' use the practice fer our own? I mean, if we don't get hitched 'fore that! 'S up to _you_ how much plannin' ye wanna do fer ours - 'course if ye wanna elope, I'm into that too. Whatever me wifey wants!"

Blinking momentary, Ember gazed at him through her veiled, mink fur lashes and pleasantly smiled at him. The way her plump lips curled made his heart get all thumpy-thumpy again.

"Monsieur _Adorable_," she cooed to him, running that metal finger along the underside of his tufted chin. At that, he was pretty sure he melted.

"Only fer you, my love. Only for you," he ardently professed.

That sweet laughter of hers was sonorous music. Goddamn, she was something. As always, he was all over that accent - or he wanted to be. And had been. And was going to be again, soon, and he would damn well prove it.

Maybe he shouldn't have been looking ahead, given how much he enjoyed this doting and playful romance. Few things in life were better for the soul than the agreeable attention of a gorgeous woman. Even better was sharing the company of one delighted by him hamming it up and laying on all his cheesy love. Doing this, with her, felt so good, it seemed sinful

There was nothing fake about it, he told himself and put his proverbial foot down.

"Is that so?" she hummed, raising her chin to encourage his lips to return to her skin. "I will have to look at my availability. I am a very busy woman, you know." And then she gave a soft click of her tongue, her features lit with curiosity. "Who is tying the knot?"

With utmost fondness, he answered, "Jus' those perfect ol' fooks, Wainright Jakobs an' Alistair Hammerlock."

She appeared confused before making a quick mental connection. "Jakobs, as in the famous weapons manufacturer?"

"Right y'are, sweetheart," he affirmed with a nod. "Same Jakobs - or at least the current heir to the biz. Positively lovely couple, those two, with Hammerlock bein' one o' _the _most dignified an' dashin' adventurers in this whole galaxy. Seems he's always askin' me team to wallop some rare an' crazy critter so he can include it in his almanacs." With that, he gave a short and manly chortle.

"Anywhooo," he went on, momentarily dazed as she gave his beard a few affectionate pulls and then rested their interlocked hands atop the table, "those two are _the_ most adorable couple. They're actually havin' two shindigs, those lovebirds - one fer us wackadoo vault huntin' types an' another for their more behaved, fancy pants friends. They aren't givin' us much detail regardin' this mystery destination event they're havin' first, but I did find meself lassoed into bein' a groomsman fer the traditional ceremony.

"I wasn't thinkin' so much as _knowin' _ye'd look positively gorgeous on me arm," arrived his official pitch, the mustachioed operative smirking fondly while imagining it with a starry eye. "Only a lass as lovely as yerself'd do the trick for this handsome ol' man. So, whaddya say? After tonight, ye'll be tired _from _me, but not _of _me. Promise!"

_"Mon amour_, you are so_ precious_," came her sigh of glowing flattery, followed by her throaty titter. It was really too bad she probably didn't love him as much as she did his infamous charm, but then he was steadily working on that. "So then there is no one else you would rather ask?"

Was that a hint of suspicion? And why was that? It had his prominent brows furrowing before he slowly rotated her hand with his and grazed his fingertips sensually along the skyward front of her wrist. Feeling her involuntary shiver, he shot her his most dashing grin.

"I would _never_ dream o' it, sweetheart," he promised, favoring sincerity over mock offendedness. "Ye truly are the one fer me."

And he meant it...for now. For this moment. For this dinner. For this evening? Or however long their affair would last. The same could be said for their marriage whenever she finally, and officially, entertained his proposal.

In time, the meal ended. The same could be said, soon, about his self-directed patience. What in the hell was up with him? He was having a great time with Ember - when he managed to be present. What excuse did he have to be so disconnected? It was because he had been out of the loop for far too long, he reminded himself, and his style was cramped from it. That was all. _Simple._

One thing was certain: he needed to get a handle on himself and began by offering his arm to Ember, who graciously accepted it. With her hugged against him, they exited the restaurant and headed toward the nearest club, passing endless rows of slot machines and players immersed in gambling. Some cursed their losses while others laughed in reward, his own chuckles sounding so _off_ in contrast. To his knowing ear, they sounded so forced and unlike him. Thank Christ it wasn't obvious.

What, he demanded again, in the feck was _that? _Just because it was Ember hanging on his arm and not some dark-skinned siren didn't make him half the bastard he felt convinced that he was. He was allowed to have companions other than his fellow vault hunters, goddamnit. It wasn't like Amara had branded his flesh or laid a legitimate claim to him. Most irritating of all was how he felt conditioned to look beside himself and see an entirely different woman than the one he actually _wanted._

Mindful of his visible expression, the grizzled operative refused to expose how perturbed he was, and it must have been effective. He registered a number of passersby who marveled at them like they were the most handsome couple - and they were. Among them were more than a few admiring gazes regarding him as an impossibly lucky man to be with someone as bold and beautiful as the fire dancer. How far would their eyes have bugged out of their heads if she had been a fully-tatted siren?

Damnit, _damnit, _he inwardly snapped in irritation._ Stop this nonsense_!

He needed to, so he did. At the next alcove, he eased Ember to the wall and pressed her against it with his taller body. Cupping the back of her neck with just the right pressure, he felt her purr as he brought his mouth to hers, desiring contact.

Kissing, for lack of a better word, was delicious. There was no better way of determining chemistry than by tasting someone so sensually. One could learn a great deal about a potential lover by partaking in the act and feeling how they responded. If sex was addictive, then open-mouth kissing was a gateway drug. What _wasn't_ appealing about the wet heat...the suggestive tongue strokes...and all that sensitive softness? Granted, it wasn't _always_ good, but when it was? Goddamn, it got him hard enough to cut glass.

Swept up in his unexpected maneuver, Ember salaciously hummed as he indulgently eased into her. He felt her vibration on his tongue as he curled it around hers, allowing proven skill to dictate his every adroit motion. Breathing evenly, he tilted his mouth more deeply against hers and worked in ways that captivated her senses and had her body arching against him, making herself _very _available.

Feeling her hands glide up his back and draw him closer enticed him to further consume her...to put his arms around her slender waist and tell the part of his brain that said she smelled and tasted all wrong to feck off. Just because she wasn't Amara didn't mean she was bad, right?

She _wasn't. _Not at all. In fact, she was _perfect_ for this. She was a skilled professional. He didn't need reminding. Gradually pulling back from her kiss-swollen lips, he cast his gaze down to her cleavage where it was on clear display. Her breasts were firm, yet soft. _Very inviting_. They would feel so nice in his hands. Would taste good on his tongue. He couldn't wait to get her out of her clothes. He was going to, soon. He really wanted to. He could release her from that skimpy dress with a flick of his wrist, he was sure. They needed to go to his room so he could prove it.

Apparently Ember, like every woman in the history of the universe, needed to freshen up at the least opportune of times. After rejecting his own absurd desperation, he had no reservations about standing nearby and awaiting her return. However, hanging out with a potted plant and absently overhearing two blokes excitedly plot their plan of attack against a seafood buffet wasn't his idea of quality entertainment. For that matter, neither was having his thoughts wander into forbidden territory yet again.

His mind fed him assorted images, instead, of himself expressively rambling at his teammates while scraping up the spoils of his winning Poker hand. Or he was kicked back and admiring yet another promising fan of cards. Throughout each scenario, he was pitching back ale between bouts of chuckle-laden conversation. Sometimes, he was taking jabs at Moze. During others, he deflected jokes off FL4K's denseness. As far as Amara was involved, she was intolerantly existing in the same space.

Okay, so the thought of the siren glaring at him ruined every scene, but it wouldn't _always_ be that way, he told himself. It wasn't _his _fault if she convinced herself he was taking the wrong lass out for a night on the town. Even in theory, it was a challenge to assure her that he had always intended to take their team out before things had gone haywire. And he _had_, damnit. Why did his mind keep nagging him about it?

Because it was mocking him, that was why, intent on reminding him just how much he had fecked up. Evidently it liked tormenting him with expectations of how things _should_ have been between them - and the moments he might be enjoying had he not let Amara down. He definitely wouldn't have been there, at the casino, unless he had been with his boyos and _not _his intermittent girlfriend.

And it would have been _fun,_ goddamnit. Hell, it would have been nice enough to treat the gang to food that wasn't from Dynasty Diner. The fancier the restaurant, the more memorable flicking crumbs at each other could get. And he already knew, without a doubt, how he would like to cut loose with them at a club, whether it was one on one or all of them getting their groove on together.

In Happy Vault Hunter Land, Zane was pretty sure he and Moze would trip and wiggle all over each other while laughing like total idiots. She never failed to get the goofiest with him, especially when drinks were involved. Despite their solemnity, he was sure he could persuade FL4K to _pretend _to dance. Seeing that would be something. Zane couldn't decide if the sentient bot would be absolutely terrible at it or if some AI process would adapt to patterns and precisely calculate movements.

If the robot _could_ dance, then he certainly wouldn't mind following along. Leading was his usual role, not that he minded any. He was good at it but he could appreciate some variety. He found it amusing how his mind defaulted to technicalities, since it wasn't like cutting loose and shaking booty involved any of that. With all those hard angles and metal surfaces, FL4K probably wouldn't be too comfortable bumping and grinding against. That didn't mean he wouldn't try! Besides, he always enjoyed playing the 'Where the Feck Did This Bruise Come From?" game.

Annnnd then that awkwardness with Amara complicated matters yet again. His bastard mind refused to skimp on reality, if only for a moment. Before things had taken a sexual turn between them, he would have had no problem brushing up against her and getting all physically playful. Sure, he wouldn't have had a choice but to notice all her curves, but he would have behaved.

After giving her the ride, he wouldn't be able to get that close to her without his body advertising his attraction. Now? It didn't matter how silly he could shimmy against her, she would probably knee him in the nuts. He figured it was worse to be arse-up on the floor and trembling as he cupped his ruptured testicles than drunk and face-planted.

That would be how things would _really_ turn out, he was sure of it, for as much as he tried to shift into a more positive gear. Mindset was the key to everything, and he was particularly adept at gleaning over problems with humor. Even if she mangled his nards, it was better to think of himself morbidly chuckling whenever he managed to breathe again. And honestly why was he thinking about any of that? He was already out on the town! With a very lovely lass, no less, who would take quality care of his _very_ studly balls.

He could worry about _appropriately _getting on Amara's good graces again now, he was on a date, and not just that but sharing the company of a woman who was going to enjoy herself like that locked up lass who had gone orgasmic over durian ice cream. He hadn't been joking when telling the prisoner to marry that dessert, since she honestly reminded him of a few of his wives during their honeymoon. Now, he really_, really_ wanted to see how much Ember could get worked up.

Sure, it wasn't like they _needed_ to tie the knot for her to be that into him, but where was the harm in trying? There were a _lot _worse things he could do than marry Ember. He was sure of that because already, he had committed plenty of those acts at one point or another...if not many.

Of course marriage kinda implied he might stay the night. Maybe even _multiples_, if he could manage it while resuming his vault hunting. With how flexible Ember was, it should be easy enough. He didn't see a reason why he had to be aboard Sanctuary in the morning. They did hold those routine meetings too damn early, but he could send his clone to attend on his behalf. He could personally make the more imperative, mandatory briefings.

Either way, his rough plan seemed doable enough to him. Maybe waking up alongside Ember's unmistakably shaven head and metal limbs would reboot his mind and stop him from expecting to see Amara resting in bed alongside him. Unpleasant as that recurrence mistake was, it had to feckin' stop. Whenever he woke from those nocturnal fantasies of her and felt disoriented by their fading seduction, one thing was certain: he still wanted her so much it hurt.

Whenever it happened, the operative found himself lying on his bunk and engaging himself in a tug of war. One half of him wanted desperately to cling to the imagery that had so deeply tantalized him, while the other vehemently tried to drag him from its influence and bitchslap it out of him. Often, pressure filled his chest and made him feel like he was suffocating from a necktie that was knotted too tightly. Sometimes, his knee-jerk reaction was to simply accept it and slump into his mattress, feeling like death.

Unfortunately, it took a hefty sum of minutes for him to fully come to his senses and recover his perspective. The absolute _last _thing he needed to recall was the sensation of her voluptuous lips scorching against his. That was a surefire way to drag himself straight through hell. When in the feck was he going to realize that what was done was done and that there _was _no alternative? Not soon enough.

It was Zane's iron willpower and Flynt stubbornness that saw him through the worst days. Most nights, before he uncapped the first of many pints, he congratulated himself on making it through another day without causing more irreparable harm to one of the only people he actually cared about. As of now, he really wasn't interested in a life without the siren and _that _kept his impulses in line.

He knew that if he touched her again, he would lose her for good. He was too much of a selfish bastard for that. That simple knowledge was enough to keep his urges at bay, but it didn't stop his sleeping mind from betraying him almost nightly. Since ending things, he had started dreaming about having sex with her with such shocking regularity, it irked him.

Dumb feck he was, he still woke up to his hand reaching out and grasping at the sheets where she should have _\- would have _\- been had he never taken the coward's way out. To that day, he was convinced that staying overnight with Amara was his worst decision aside from dropping his pants for her in the first place.

Unfortunately, he was human with a dick. What man wouldn't miss waking up to a siren like her nakedly straddling him? Or to the sensation of her hugging those soft, beautiful lips around his morning erection? Or some of the first sounds he registered being her aroused purr amidst the wet glide of her sucking? Or having the eridium fragment of her necklace tease his beard while she rubbed against him like an animal in heat?

Him, that's who. Because of _reasons._

_That_ was when shame, foreign as it was to him, had the gall to try and set in. If only it had intervened in the first place, it might have stopped him from wanting her. He really had no right. At the basis of everything, he was her partner and her friend. Not just that, but throughout their journeys, she had become family. He would slaughter _anything_ to keep her safe, and that included brutally killing anyone who ever tried to touch her in a way she didn't want. It wasn't like she needed it, but that didn't stop him from deciding he would early on.

Despite how attractive he had acknowledged Amara being, he had never, _never_ thought of her like a lover before she had made her move. That he had, even after the fact, made him want to tear both of his eyes out. He needed to do everything he could to ensure that would never happen again. The real hell of it was recognizing how futile his efforts were. Even after months, the realization of what they had done hadn't faded away in the slightest.

Adding his lasting desire to the already tangled mess of feelings he had for her was almost more than he could handle. The whole of it succeeded in shattering the hard-won peace of mind he had achieved aboard Sanctuary

It was his own damn fault, he knew. He should have learned to keep it in his pants forever ago. Involuntarily, he had gone so far as to develop some audacity to feel more for her. Hadn't that been his biggest failure? It hadn't been all that evident to him until he had experienced visceral disappointment upon learning from Gaige that Amara and Moze were attending the Hammerlock-Jakobs wedding. That discovery had hurt like a bad tooth until he had gotten drunk, and even then it had gnawed at him. If anything, he should have been relieved.

Being the free spirit he was, he really shouldn't have minded feeling like a third wheel. Hell, when had that ever bothered him, particularly in a casual sex arrangement? He figured it only hit a nerve because of all the nonsense Amara had tried to feed him about _not_ being with Moze. He hadn't bought into it, really, but he still didn't appreciate being lied to. It had almost made him jealous.

Admittedly, the shitty attitude he had given Axton had also suffered from that. The other half, well - that resulted from straight-up territoriality. As much as he scoffed at it, he couldn't continue denying what it had been. At the time, he couldn't wrap his mind around why he had felt _bothered _by potential competition. _He _had been the one filling her up on the regular and fecking her better than they could even dream of. Still, he had felt insufficient for the first time _ever _and holy hell, had he struggled with laughing that off.

Ahh, it figured though. Fifty-three years in and he was bound to encounter that eventually. So long as he wasn't _actually _losing his game, he shouldn't mind others boldly trying to get with his partner. She was a highly desirable woman, after all, and he never declined a sexual challenge.

Maybe he had indeed been rusty. Maybe he was meant to be at his age. He hadn't played the field for a while before that. Now, after that whole mess with Amara, he was back on the field again. Or was he, really? He was sorta, kinda contemplating cashing in some of his chips and doing his equivalent of settling down...if having something semi-steady with Ember indeed qualified. That was him _almost_ acting his age. Then again, he only had it in his head that he was going to tie the knot with her because his penis blurted it out when they met and she didn't say _no._

Come to think of it, wasn't he technically already hitched in the nearest star system?

The last he checked, it shouldn't legally matter since the casino was in open space. Who decided to park that thing by a black hole anyway?

_Clearly we've never found out what's wrong with ye, Zaneboy, _sighed a voice in his head, to which he responded: _Nope! Not enough time in life fer that! I'm Pandoran _and _fecked in the head! Let's leave it at that. I know one thing: I am _definitely _not hitchin' up to Ember to do somethin' silly like, ah, provin' I'm over Amara or anything. More like I'm makin' her get over me! Baha!_

Ouch. There went his head again. Why wasn't he drinking heavily? Oh, right, because he was still waiting for Ember to emerge from the washroom. Sparing his watch a glance, he identified that only a few minutes had passed since her posterior swayed beyond view. He had little choice but to scowl at the racing pace of his mind.

It was time to get back to thinking about the wedding again - and not his own, but Alistair and Wainwright's. If things didn't pan out with his lady friend, he would manage just fine. He was his _own_ plus one, and besides, he technically had responsibilities. If he wanted to celebrate by getting laid, he could swoop up someone at the reception. Good. _Great. Fannntastic._

Either way, the fact that Gaige had been the messenger about Moze and Amara's arrangement still didn't sit well with him because he felt cut off from a prime opportunity at teasing them. As far as he was convinced, taking that from him was both unfair and criminal. _That_ was what grated on him now.

It wasn't like Amara had turned him down, not that he had ever gotten around to asking. Probably that was for the better anyway. Besides, there were _plenty _of people who would love to join him. He just had to want the company first.

_Forget ye asked yer wife in trainin' already?_ tutted his thoughts, to which he inwardly snorted._ Oops, that I did! Damn, I'm officially senile now._

He was still physically shaking his head when Ember stepped into view and tilted her head at him. Chuckling in the maw of his chest, he gave her a roguish flash of pearly whites and extended his hand. Accepting it, they shared a salacious kiss before she confidently led him to the nearest club.

It was exactly as expected: a destination pounding with popular music and flashing with enticing displays of lights, the venue pulsing like the heartbeat of the casino. For them, it was just another place they could command attention with their assertive styles and self-assured presence.

It was a feeling they both knew well: to have all eyes upon them. He was, after all, an impeccably stylish bastard and had a garishly forward personality to boot, and Ember was so stunningly gorgeous, fluidly graceful, and alternative. Without a doubt they were a sight to behold for most, and they were both performers. Not only were they out for a night on the town, but they had the extra strut to prove it.

Perceptive as the operative was, he hadn't missed the faint disappointment that flitted through Ember after their kiss failed to progress further. Possibly she expected them to retreat to the VIP suites and devour each other like another dessert. Now, she appeared thrilled by his intentions. His light tug of her hand toward the bustling dance floor had her wickedly grinning, her fingers tightening within his as she sashayed along after him. She was more than eager to invite the press of his body as he drew her flush against him and eased them into the rhythm of the music.

Like hell it mattered that he was the oldest guy out there. Heartbreaker he was, why would he care? He only had the sexiest partner and he could dance better than the rest of them. He had both experience and a great deal of formal training to enhance his natural finesse, even if the pop genre playing really wasn't his style. Thanks to Ava, he was more familiar with it now than ever.

Age was the _last_ thing to cramp his style. Next to nothing could. He loved to cut loose, and God knew he needed it. More than that, he could benefit from lightening up - so he did. His groove started off playful at first, which was often his favorite kind of foreplay. Nimble and quick on his toes, he dodged to her left and sailed to her right, then gracefully spun before she could catch him, her laughter musical. _That_ only encouraged him to shimmy against her and suggestively roll his hips, and when he went to smoothly hook his elbow with hers, preparing to spin with her-

He instantly decided against it, suddenly reminded too vividly of doing the same with another woman. The same one that he, like a slap to the face, abruptly realized he was envisioning. One so different from Ember, he didn't know how his mind played that trick. He only knew that it had, his ears equally accentuating the mirage.

The shock of it wasn't unlike swapping places with his digi-clone, his body consumed by coldness and his gut lurching with a sense of instantaneous displacement. For as brief as that event was, his disorientation was compounded by the sense that someone had engaged his responder without his knowing.

Registering Ember's confusion, he jerked on the reigns of his senses and focused extra sharply on reality as it surrounded him. He managed a cocksided smirk and attempted to cover his arse with a lofty chuckle.

"Wee glitch there," he told her, giving an exaggerated roll of his eye as he hugged her hips closer. That cop-out would suffice, right? He did have tech in his head, after all, and Ember knew it. She gazed at him a moment longer before he wound around her like a frisky feline, slyly avoiding her scrutiny.

Embracing his swift recovery, he simply allowed the bass of the music to guide his body. He pressed to his partner's alluring contours and rolled with her, their motions as smooth as fluid. True to her trade, Ember was one hell of a dancer and didn't need fire to heat his blood. Who could compare to her and her effortlessly sensual allure?

No one. _No one_. He was a damn lucky man to be with her. Just as he told that All-In-Allan feller in that same casino, Lady Luck _loved_ him. He needed to act like it.

So he danced, even as he tempted her to the bar. Keeping her flush and purring against him, he paused only to order a stiff drink, knock back its burning contents, and beckoned his partner to the dance floor again. Within the embrace of his arms, Ember turned her back to his chest, brushing her ass against him while he cupped the broad flare of her hips and accentuated that lewd friction.

_Delicious. _Tilting his head down to kiss the back of her neck and trail others along her scalp with a husky growl, he invited the wave of her along him. With a sultry tempo, she worked herself around him like a silk ribbon. There was no way in hell he could resist rolling his hips into hers with sexual motions they knew so well. They were two partners who embraced their needs, lived for pleasure, and promised it with the bump and grind of their bodies.

This, he could get used to. At least that was what he told himself. All he wanted to do was drink, dance, and feck with abandon, so everything was _perfect._ He didn't mind that the air in the club was becoming sweltering or that his shirt was beginning to cling damply to his skin. He couldn't prevent his body from responding to all the pheromones thickly permeating his senses. There were lots of horny folks in that club, courting and humping and groping.

Naturally, he and his lass were no exception. With coquettish fingers, Ember stood on tiptoed heels and teased open a couple buttons before reaching his undershirt. In pouting disappointment, she scratched at it with selfish fingers.

Still, there was no relief from the heat and the drink in his belly only furthered it. Everything gradually hazed over as he looped an arm around her waist and swept her back to the bar, enabling himself to gulp down another double shot. Her coy giggles tickled his ears as she hugged one let around his and indulgently clung to him.

_Still got it_, he announced to himself with accentuated confidence. Of course he did. There had never been a doubt in his mind...right?

Now, nothing mattered but her breath as it ghosted across his shaven throat, her full lips caressing his skin. He chuckled, low and baritone, as he shivered. He was wrapping his arms more snugly around her slim waist and leaning down to plunder her avid mouth with his own. He was bending her backward against the bar in ways that got them waved away. He was making it good for her. He was playing his part. But all in all, he wasn't feeling much, and that was strange.

Instead, Zane felt like an automaton. He fell into step. He responded to his date in all the right ways. Jokes rolled effortlessly off his tongue. His clever wit had his lover's shaven head falling back in laughter that also shook her slender, bare shoulders. But did he hear himself? Not a damn word. He knew only disbelief as it intermingled with his inner scorn.

Well, that would change when he pushed himself inside her and made her neck elongate in pleasure. Just the thought of what he could do to her made his hips press more closely against her - except as time went on, and the booze flowed and the songs changed from one to another, they still lingered. Enjoying themselves as they were, there was no real reason to change that just yet. He wasn't _desperate. _They had all the time in the world. Besides, it wasn't often that he got to live like that.

Unrepentant, his mind was relentless in comparing the performer to the partner he formerly had. It was convinced that had a certain siren been pressed against him, there would be no denying his desires. He would have damn near tore her clothes off right then and there on the dance floor. Had she been there, smiling and teasing his mustache, he would have been lust drunk.

Overtaken by the feel and scent and sight of her, he wouldn't have cared for the music, or the nights, or the bar, or the other occupants. There would have only been Amara and his deep need for her. Fecking would be in order _immediately_, so much it would have been a miracle if they made it to their suite. Chances were, he would have shoved her into some random closet or restroom - not that she didn't deserve better, nor even be receptive to that, but the fire in his blood wouldn't wait.

Sure, it was simple enough to _think_ that, he considered with derision. Not because it was _true_ but because it was recent. Aye, he had fecked the hell out of Amara a number of times. His body vividly remembered it. He was a frustrating jackarse because he always wanted what was forbidden...except he'd already had it. That made everything so much easier to envision, useless as it was because he knew how the story inevitably ended.

He reminded himself yet another time that there was no damn reason to think back on any of it. By bothering, he was only doing himself a disservice. Not only was it a waste of headspace but it was a waste of _fantasizing_.

As if he needed to bother when he had one hell of a woman working herself against him and tilting her neck in offering. He obliged of his own volition. Not just that, but his _very _willing one. Bowing to her, he pressed open-mouthed kisses along her skin and sucked soft bruises to that sexy surface, feeling more than hearing her moan as a deep beat dominated the club.

When she leaned up to close the distance between them, he eagerly kissed her luscious mouth. The way he parted her lips with his own, he proved to everyone in the whole damn room that he was going to feck her. The swift way he seized the lead, combined with his expert skill, had her submitting to him with a simper. Ensnared by his passion, she melded her body to his, her breasts bunching against her chest and her pelvis stroking against his.

And god_damn,_ were they sexy. Her plush hips were perfect for babymaking, even if his palms expected to fall on broader arches. To slide down thighs thicker with dense muscle as though searching for markings radiating ethereal energy.

_Wrong woman_, his touch was convinced. _All he needed_, he obstinately corrected.

Across the floor from where he and Ember reluctantly separated, he couldn't help but notice a couple that was positively magnetic despite the other activity about the room. The pair was simple enough: a man and woman, with nothing particularly special about them. At least, upon first glance that was what he was assumed.

That was, until he took notice of how intensely their eyes were fixed on each other like no one else in the entire casino had ever existed. Even from as far away from them as he was, the operative could see the chemistry and attraction sparking palpably between them. It looked like they would positively sizzle to the touch.

It made him think again of Amara.

_Damnit, damnit, damnit, _he repeated, that indignant mantra cursing his traitorous mind. With valiant effort, he forced her out of his mind yet again and refused to let her back in.

Zane _knew_ he was a fool for falling into bad habits. That had been his problem in the first damn place. Spending so much time fecking the same woman sometimes did that to a man. It was utter bullshite that it ever happened but was still nonsense nevertheless.

Even as he returned his gaze to the generous view of cleavage his vantage gave him, he noticed that his loins were unresponsive. God knew he should have been hard as a rock. He had been before he had gone all stupid. He wanted to be now. Still, he wasn't, and he blamed himself for that.

He didn't need his conscience to perform a cursed experiment by comparing reality with yet another theoretical scenario. He refused to acknowledge how being there, pressed flush to a siren with a taste for violet, would have made him as randy as a teenager. Simply looking at her, despite how modestly he expected her to dress, would have sent his blood rushing south and filled his mind with sinful desires. Getting so close to her would have made him a goner...even if he could more clearly see them bumping together like fools and laughing.

Endearing as that alternative was, he could practically hear his own voice spewing giddy nonsense just to hear Amara giggle and futilely try to hush him. They would have been a wonderful mess together, likely tripping over each other's feet despite their sync on the battlefield, if mostly because he enjoyed falling into her and bringing a smile to her features.

Damnit. Back to the bar he went with Ember in tow, waving on another strong drink. He had to give his date credit; even if she didn't know his high alcohol tolerance, she would have never suggested he refrain. Ember wasn't bossy, unlike many other lasses he had hooked up with. That made her so hot, it just wasn't fair. And her eyes were...what color now? Blue? He tried to squint at her in the flashy darkness. Right, her pupils were, but as for her irises, he couldn't tell. That electric blue of her cybernetics made her resemble a siren. All she needed were matching tattoos.

She was tough - but tough enough? _Stop it._

Another double shot went down the hatch quicker than the barkeep had poured it. Then they danced some more and he returned to drink again, inviting the top-shelf whiskey the staff now associated him with. _That, _combined with the performer fondly hanging off him, made him laugh. He heard himself as though from a distance, the ruckus of his voice gruff against the background of smooth, catchy melodies.

Damn, they poured the good shite. Of course they did, as Moxxi didn't skip. Still, he didn't feel particularly sottish yet and he remained confident that he wasn't going to go over the edge. Being buzzed, though, that was fine. Being tipsy was _great. _He hoped Ember would join him, though she was more prone to savoring her liquor, so much that they detoured to the nearest table and sat her glass down atop it for safekeeping between tips. Despite being a gentleman, he never thought twice about knocking back whatever booze found itself within reach.

Ember far from minded lingering on the more private perimeter. Instead, she smiled sultrily at him as she twisted her fingers into his shirt and pushed him down onto an available chair. With wetly parted lips, she eased herself down atop him and more firmly stroked his clothed cock with an erotic stir of her hips.

He _loved a _good lap dance, and damn, was Ember a perfectionist. Like a snake, she slithered along his body and fit her every lewd curve against him, her hips riding against his with pornographic rhythm. Her slinky dress, as she smoothly straddled him, more than treated him to glimpses of her smooth breasts and inviting hints of her nipples as the loose fabric shifted with her motions.

With a glint in her eyes, she turned and treated him to the naked expanse of her back. Purring, she leaned forward and accentuated the lewd concave of her spine, giving her hips an arousing shimmy. It didn't matter how conflicted he had previously been - there wasn't an arse that fine throughout the six galaxies that wouldn't get him hard.

It took every ounce of control he had not to peel that dress up and expose those luscious cheeks - and prove once and for all that she wasn't wearing anything beneath. What he would have given to pull his cock out and slap it against her bare ass. That urge, combined with her slutty display, made his blood run thick like magma along his veins and caused his shirt to feel even more cumbersome. He wanted their clothes off _now_, but that wasn't part of the tease.

Then again, neither was mouthing at the back of her neck as she laid back against him, he supposed. His lips tasted cold metal and skimmed barcode, making the fire dancer throatily hum. The more lidded he let his eye become, the more he could linger on the sensation of her...and felt his hand, of its own accord, brush her shoulder as though to reflexively move aside hair that wasn't there.

Drawing his fingers and mustached mouth sharply away, Zane reminded himself that touching wasn't part of the traditional tease. It was easiest to blame his reluctance on that because damnit, there was no other reason for him to resist the temptation. He _wasn't_ going to detach from the moment, unable to see how that would even be possible.

Instead, he let Ember do her thing as long as he could stand it. It felt like she was trying to get him off in his pants, which was _not_ gonna happen. Could it have? Doubtful. As much as he could get in on that, risking it probably wasn't a good idea. He had a lot built up, after all. There were far better ways for her to enjoy his load and _far_ more satisfying methods of giving it to her. It would be a waste, otherwise. Besides, he didn't want to be the old guy pent up enough to jizz himself from dry humping, a testament to Ember's skill that it would be.

Eventually, he eased her off him and spent a good, intense while bending her back across the table and fucking her mouth full of talented tongue. His aggression left her moaning and flexing her hips in lust, the sides of her dress parting to better expose her pebbled nipples. Her shameless display had him easing his hands up her exposed front and cupping her tits, his thumbs brushing firmly across those dusky peaks. Only when she moaned did he glide his hands into her dress and seize two palmfuls of ass, using it to draw her closer.

Zane often prided himself as a man who lived in the present. Furthermore, as one who didn't physically compare sexual partners. Each had their own appeals, and he definitely didn't feck anyone he didn't find attractive. There was nothing about Ember's body that wasn't perfect on _her_. She was a dancer and had the curvaceous hips and legs to prove it.

The fact that he grasped the meat of her hard, like he expected more, made him feel a bit like a bastard. Evidently his hands were far too accustomed to the posterior they had formerly known so well. That wasn't to say Ember was insufficient but she didn't have as much muscle on board as-

-_As who? That's rhetoric, by the way. Take a feckin' hint, self._

His own warning was enough to have him sufficiently withdrawing his wandering touch and avoiding committing that cardinal sin. Instead, he switched gears and played his abrupt retreat like a tease. To that effect, he grinned wolfishly as he spanked her on that arse and used that moment to spin her before whipping her back into his arms.

Of the many talents he had, he was a bonafide smooth operator. He knew it, even if his innards felt like they were grating together like tumbling gravel. Probably that was from something he ate during dinner. He knew he should have ordered a cheeseburger.

Sensing a change of pace was in order, he unfurled Ember toward the open dance floor with a graceful snap of his arm and performed a quick solo rumba toward her. A familiar song spun by the disc jockey tempting him to start boogying, effectively lightening his own mood in the process.

Really, no man his age should have known the words to that "Rock Your Body" pop song sung by some young pretty boy. Just because he knew the tune didn't mean he could identify the artist, but that didn't stop him from singing along with the lyrics in the most gratingly effeminate falsetto possible. His horrendous vocal performance, combined with his silly shimmying, had Ember practically collapsing against him in laughter.

That just made him worse. He happily punted his sex appeal aside for making her giggle. That was fuel for an even better show, proving he didn't need to be wasted in order to dance ridiculous circles around her. He was more than willing to ham it up and do whatever he could to keep her laughing into the back of one hand, even his booty-shaking antics distracted the couples around them.

So his back would probably bite in the morning. Was he supposed to care? Because he didn't. The way he saw it, he had long legs and natural rhythm for a reason, and he liked to make the most of them. Having a great time meant using a whole lot of theatrics and switching up sides on his partner, keeping her guessing where he would pop up next.

Truth be told, he didn't need a reason to switch things up. He _liked _being unpredictable. He could flip the switch and bring his sexy back in an instant. For now, he was entertaining himself and Ember was clearly enjoying herself. Alas, she couldn't keep giggling forever. Eventually, she grew breathless and reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, looking up to him with twinkling eyes and flushed cheeks.

Yeah. _Yeah_, this was so much nicer than wasting his life on a cold, metal spaceship. Why didn't they do this more often? He was his own damn party and didn't need anyone cramping his style, but Ember certainly didn't. Her expression suggested she was very much enamored with him. Serious or silly, he did it for her. He was _going_ to do her. What were they doing in public again?

Fitting her body flush to his, the performer drew him down into a passionate kiss. He was willing to mirror her but...but didn't take it further. It didn't matter how sweet her mouth still tasted with champagne and her chocolatey dessert. Or how sexually her tongue stroked against his, curling and caressing in ways that submerged his nerves in wet, warm sensation. She was _fire _and made a point to remind him of that.

And him? He was feeling sort of shitty for feeling like he was giving her a hundred mixed signals and leading her on - because he wasn't. There could have been a dozen pisspoor reasons why he kept hesitating. Maybe it boiled down to how the strobing blue and purple lights glowed in ways he associated with a much different woman.

Damnit, he was _not_ guilty - not for what he was doing _nor_ the great time he was having. He knew he had no reason to be. _Knew_ he hadn't ended things with Amara just so he could turn around and do this. It had been months since he had decided what was best, so even the thought of that was preposterous. He was _not_ cheating on the siren. That wasn't even in the same galaxy of possibility. The truth was, he was just getting back to living his own life again - specifically the one he had neglected long before joining the Raiders.

Ember was the kind of woman he had always gone for. She wasn't a one-off but instead, she was _exactly_ what he wanted. He didn't _need_ anyone, but if he did, she would be as ideal of a fit as they came. If anything, they were too like-minded to _not_ work out.

Tolerant and independent as she was, they would still have their own lives and hookups. She wouldn't be all up in his shite more than he wanted her to be, and it was guaranteed that she wouldn't hold his balls in a tight fist. Her spacious penthouse would be a place for him to call home to before going off on another adventure. By now, she knew what vault hunting was about. She found it hot, didn't she - or was it simply_ him_ she found sexy? Him. Definitely him. And she wasn't clingy. She didn't have any qualms about him sleeping around as long as he did it safely. Above all else, she was _amazing _in the sack and a natural performer. Leave it to him to fall for a fire-wielding stripper.

It was an ideal setup. He could go wherever his wiles took him and return to a bed occupied by a very sexual woman and maybe some of her kinky friends. Sure, neither of them could cook worth a shite or run a household, but would they have to? Feck no! There was plenty of room service at the casino! Booze, too!

Convinced as he was, a voice in his head still insisted on saying, _What in the feck am I doing?_

Damnit, he _hated_ that invasive niggling in his mind. Persistent sonofabitch it was. _I am not havin' a motherfeckin' midlife crisis_, he vowed before his ballsy conscience could even suggest it. Wait, wasn't acknowledging the possibility of it just that? Feck. Nooooo, no it wasn't. What were the qualifications anyway, and who came up with that bullshite? It wasn't like he had ever lived a standard life. The concept of normality was pointless and unobtainable for him anyway. Besides, it wasn't like he was throwing his riches at purchasing some phallic-shaped space yacht! And he had _nothing_ to compensate for.

If he had anything to say about it, he wasn't going to age out of having a good time. It wasn't like he was going to lose his spark overnight on some specific birthday. The folks who figured him for a skeezy old guy could go feck among themselves or feck off - and miss out on having the time of their lives with him. He figured it really didn't matter who considered him expired until _he _decided he was a crusty old coot. Only then might some adjustments be in order.

Somehow Zane didn't see that happening. He wasn't the type to judge anyone, including himself. Regardless of age, he wasn't into taking advantage of anyone or toying with people's emotions. If the mess he had made with Amara had served any purpose, it was to make him more mindful of such mishaps. Which was _exactly_ why he was better off addressing his libidinous urges with people more like himself. And _exactly_ why he was there, with Ember, having a damn good time.


	24. All Roads Lead to This [Even on Interspace Casinos]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -This story isn't dead yet! As glad as I am to post this, I wish I'd managed to do it far sooner. I know how I practically die while waiting for my favorite fics to update.  
-This chapter has a HEFTY dose of Zane in it. I found it to be a treat.  
-I pumped up the French accent this chapter because...I felt like it.  
-To think Zane wanted to knock Axton's face in for being perfectly behaved with Amara. SIGH. For him, this is a pretty important chapter.  
-Sure, Earth nationalities aren't applicable in this universe, but they convey accents we can relate to. The same goes for probably 99% of the foods we know. Totally ignoring those details.  
-This fic is officially over 400,000 words, all off which were written on a cell phone (hence all the typos). Go me, maybe?

Zane's determination to have an entertaining evening was evident when they left that particular club. From there, they hadn't headed toward his room, as Ember's wandering hand expected, but to a nearby lounge spilling out smooth soprano saxophone and polished, rhythmic trumpet.

The operative couldn't help himself - that alluring groove was too smooth to pass up. His ears appreciated it, as did his sense of style. The melody had him wondering if Digby Vermouth was playing tonight. One glance at a nearby sign and he recognized they had missed his set while enjoying dinner. Dang.

Meanwhile, the libidinous part of him was disappointed by his spontaneity. It convinced itself that he was using their new destination to further postpone them seeking some much-needed privacy.

_Ye ain't putting off the grand finale, are ye?_ it accused suspiciously, earning his inward scowl.

Was he being defensive of himself? Nonsense. Against what?

_Always do!_ he chuckled, knowing he could appreciate a quality edging and fecking until his balls were uncomfortably heavy. Ah, he was intentionally misinterpreting himself. How quaint. _Ye know how feckin' ridiculous yer bein' by insinuating I'm _avoidin' _hittin' that pussy?_ _'Cause I'm just buildin' _anticipation.

_Right-o_, responded that niggling voice, clearly unconvinced. _That ain't what yer doin'._

_Sure is! I'm bein' meself! Sheesh, how'd ye forget? It hasn't been that long since I got laid!_

And it hadn't been, particularly for a man who convinced himself that those six months having sex with Amara had amounted to an eternity.

Whatever. Maybe he just wanted to confirm that Digby wasn't due to perform. A fan could hope he would make an unannounced appearance! But alas, it only took one glance at the main stage to realize that the band peddling soulful tunes wasn't headed by the rotund, raspy feller with a penchant for Junpai Jump-Starts.

That was sure to be his one and only disappointment for the night, Zane decided. He doubted the musician was ever far from that same stage. He figured he could ask Ember if she had an inkling of Digby's whereabouts, but his tongue felt stuck when he noticed her looking to him for direction. Instead, he used a soft touch against the small of her back, along with the sweep of his other hand, to invite her toward one of the small, intimate tables dotting the joint.

Even as the vault hunter fell into step with his relished role and helped guide his date into her seat, his eye was guilty of darting elsewhere. Maybe if he mosied around, he could find ol' Digby hunched over one of the bars and buy him a drink. Not just that, but he could have one for himself while chatting up the husky soul brother. After all, he couldn't feel empty if he was full of whiskey!

_Ain't who yer on a date with, now is he? _his mind pitched in. Indeed, the musician and all his extra heft was no Clay.

Chuckling at the thought, the operative swung himself around to the other side of the table and, as an afterthought, drew his chair alongside Ember's. Realizing his near-fumble, he mentally kicked himself for almost overlooking a prime opportunity to hug up on his date.

Giving him her sexy smirk, she leaned forward to invite the curl of his arm behind her. Obliging with relish, he drew her close and allowed the live music flow through him. He felt his lips and mustache brush the smooth side of her neck before he made the conscious decision to allow it.

_That _was more like it. Much, much more. In fact, it had him kissing her there again, more lazily, and feeling her murmur at the contact. For an all-too-brief moment, he felt breathless in the best of ways. Even the way his facial hair tickled her neck had him entering a daze...until the moment the tip of his nose brushed barcode. The mark was far from the supernatural sapphire that had responded so magically to his touch.

Mentally cursing himself, Zane drew back with a lighter, slower kiss. The moment he parted from the performer's sensitive skin, she leaned to chase his touch. Only when she relented did she nestle happily back into his supportive shoulder. Pleasant as she felt against him, he found it feckin' pathetic how sacrilegious his stomach was convinced that was.

Grinding his molars together, the Pandoran-Irishman mentally growled. In stubborn rebellion, he held her more closely within the embrace of his arm and gently grazed his fingers along her side. He very much tuned out everything but the performance designed to inspire and entertain.

When he finally opened his ears, he admired how catchy the music was. He was, after all, a bit of a jazz connoisseur. Beyond that, he didn't have to understand technicalities to know he liked the way it resonated with him and enticed his foot to tap along. The tunes were so _damn smooth, _just like the drinks he ordered from an attentive waitress and soon tipped to his lips, the songs flowing through him in wonderful ways.

Between enjoying such classy entertainment and cuddling up to his lovely companion, everything felt...nice. _Really_ nice. It was nice to hold a woman in his arms and pretend, in that moment, that life was normal. Ember was firm and warm and she leaned into his shoulder in a way that was pleasant**.**

Amara, though, she wasn't nice. She was a lightning bolt that went straight through his chest. It seems he had grown so accustomed to all of that nonsense that he forgot not everything had to feel _electric._

As for Ember, she felt great against him. She smelled feckin' amazing but then so did he. That was all a part of the game. She tilted her head into him whenever he nuzzled into her aromatic skin and kissed her bare shoulder, openly receptive to his advances.

He could _clearly _do worse than being involved with the fire dancer. Like him, she appreciated the finer things in life. She allowed him to lavish her in attention. He found her madly attractive...even if the sight of her pale complexion and shaven head made his gut drop, just once, when he opened his eye and expected bronze. That meant his head was being stupid again. It made him miss his eye patch and the full field of view it provided him.

And he should have, given the migraine that was starting to brew. That unwelcome ache had him deeply rubbing the back of his neck to relieve tension. His date took notice, that beautiful lass, and turned to regard him with concern.

Ember was aware of everything that went on in her district, so she sure as hell noticed him being amiss. She asked, sweetly, "Are you alright, mon fraire?"

"Gettin' a bit o' a headache," he grunted. He could have ended his explanation at that, but that seemed even too terse for him. "'s been a while since I've gone without me patch."

He was far from the only single-eyed lad suffering that affliction, which was a pretty common one. That didn't make his splitting skull any less miserable. Not only did the medication that alleviated it lay him flat on his arse but mixing it with alcohol was contraindicated. He had really shat the bed on that one, not that he was ever truly sober.

Truth be told, his affliction likely ran deeper than that. Like a brutal curse, migraines had become increasingly common for him over the last couple of months. Needless to say, he wasn't thrilled. Still, he had effectively signed himself up for them by having cybernetics installed in his cranium. The threat of severe cephalgia, despite having countermeasures implemented to prevent it, remained relevant.

Up until recently, everything had functioned properly. Whenever embedded sensors detected the onset of irregular brain impulses, it activated deliberate shocks designed to correct them. In fact, the system had worked like a charm, not that he could discern them...at least until he had taken that last credible knock to his head. Quite possibly, the blunt force trauma that had concussed him on Pandora had caused that invaluable implant to malfunction.

Among other complications, the connections between the electrodes might have been damaged, disrupting the device's efficacy. Now, it seemed, he was paying the price for not having it examined since. Not only did the agony of his migraines make him intolerant of damn near everything, but they made him particularly abrasive in ways that just couldn't be helped.

He really didn't have a choice but to add that repair to the list of work he needed to have performed the next time he felt like having his scalp slit open and the metal panel in his skull unscrewed. Oh, and the side of his head shaven. _Fanfeckin'tastic_. Superficial as that aspect of recovery should have been, tarnishing his glorious head of hair was the worst of it.

Ah, at least he didn't have to be put under for all that. He never came out of anesthesia gracefully. Instead, he got to catch up with the trusted lad who did the work and hear himself blurt entirely strange, random things while the surgeon poked around in there. In fact, he found it funnier than being plastered.

"Do you need something?" she inquired with a thoughtful frown.

_New brain in me feckin' head, _was his immediate reaction. Short of returning to his suite and retrieving his ECHOeye, what would help? It might have been too late even for that to stave off his migraine.

What he needed more than anything was a full-body massage and a damn amazing one at that. Unfortunately, that was probably the last thing he was going to get. Aside from when he was blackout drunk, being reduced to a relaxed puddle and kneaded to incoherence made him the most vulnerable he could be.

Chances were, there wasn't a single joint in his body not afflicted with arthritis. That was just the life he lived. Age aside, he had broken about every bone and dislocated everything else. Hypos actually did a shoddy job of healing bone. Not only did hastened healing render them brittle but it often caused irregularities. Not only had utilizing Zed's "magical treatment" resulted in him developing some degree of resistance, but he had suffered enough complications from them to wisen up. That meant he didn't resort to them as often as others could, and boy, was he often left feeling it.

As much as he could let his guard down with Ember, her metal fingers weren't exactly the best for performing massages. As it was, he tensed in alarm whenever her augmented hand touched him. Given his background, it couldn't be helped. She could, after all, light him aflame if she felt so inclined. That kept the blood flowing, certainly, but not in the best of ways. It failed to matter how consciously he tried to correct his reflexes or how often she proved herself to be a passionate lover, he couldn't stifle his instincts. At least she was understanding. To her credit, she had been sympathetic even before he had shared a short story or two about his being a human torch

Perhaps later, he would arrange for a masseuse to drop by his suite in the morning. He couldn't think of a better way to start his day than having someone work out all his knots and adhesions...and provide him with a happy ending. Talk about _complete _relief. Just the thought of having his aches stroked away by a pair of hot, oily hands was enough to convince him that it had to happen. He wouldn't settle for anything less.

For now, that wasn't an option. As much of a shame as that was, he suspected _something_ that might take the edge off.

"Jus' need a minute an' a smoke...an' maybe some crushed ice fer the back o' me neck," he grumbled, prepared to excuse himself. What he didn't expect was for Ember to guide him to his feet and lead him to the nearest couch lining the dark and sophisticated space. The way she gracefully moved and looked expectantly at him, as he trailed a step behind, was all the encouragement he needed.

Once there, she lowered herself onto its black cushions and drew him down to join her. At the same time, she nodded to one of the scantily clad waitresses and made a gesture that Zane didn't quite catch. Instead, he was temporarily distracted by the quality leather shifting like butter beneath them.

He found himself a little less troubled by the constriction in his head when it settled atop Ember's lap. After all, she had luscious thighs that were perfect for it, soft yet firm as they were. Settling there, in that slice of heaven, he sighed in appreciation and allowed his eye to drift shut.

He barely stirred as a waitress miraculously arrived with a towel-wrapped bag of ice and handed it to Ember, who helped lift his head and arranged it against the base of his skull. Moaning gently at the pressure, he eagerly waited for the chill to seep in and gave a grumbling thanks to that angel in skimpy disguise. He would have done more if not for the fingers dancing slowly through his hair, the lass bending over to bestow a sweet kiss on his furrowed brow.

As close as she was overhead, Ember's purr was clear over the flow of live music. "Light up zen," she urged while snapping a finger at another server. Within a matter of moments, a petite hand was offering him a clipped cigar. To him, that was one _hell_ of a beautiful sight.

Zane didn't hesitate to accept it, feeling much like a king of the castle as he wielded it. He thanked the second server with a handsome grin and his date with a deep, appreciative kiss before his condition caught up with him. Even then, as agony struck his cranium like a cleaver, he inhaled the pungent scent from that glorious gift.

"Ohhh lass, I love ye," he sighed...and then instinctively flinched as she flipped back that metal fingertip and produced a flame freakishly near his face. Damnit. Someday he had to get over that. But shite, what better could a smoker do than date a human lighter?

Ember and her lil' trick made it easy, and pretty damn sexy, for him to light up. During their earlier rendezvous, he had made use of it. Every time he tipped a pack of cigs to his mouth and withdrew one with his lips, she was there flipping back her index finger to lend him some ignition. When he wasn't being a fecking pansy, he _loved _that and demonstrated it now by humming as he puffed that delicious cigar to a perfect glow.

In his not-so-humble opinion, it had been too long since he had filled his lungs with that much blissful heat and nicotine. Nothing compared to the richness of a fresh cigar. The rich mouthfeel, the retrohale of that distinctive scent, and the full-body flavor of that hand-rolled luxury had him practically swooning where he lounged. It was enough to have him chucking throatily where he rested, aromatic smoke pouring from his nostrils.

Honestly, he wasn't too keen on anyone taking care of him. More than anything, allowing it just felt_ wrong. _But having a beautiful woman providing him with a sumptuous cigar and her alluring lap as a place to rest,_ well_...he could see how a fella could get used to that.

" 'S official," he told the dancer, delighting in the feel of her fleshy fingers combing soothingly through his hair, "'m retirin' an' doin' this every day 'til I croak."

Though she giggled, Ember knew he was full of shite. And that he was since such a simple lifestyle would quickly drive him stir crazy. Like hell he wanted to grow accustomed to one of life's finest luxuries: a fat and rich cigar. In his experience, they were more precious than eridium. There was no way in _hell_ he was going to watch one vanish in a cloud of smoke unless he was the one puffing on the end of it.

Needless to say, he savored every drag and let that warm fumes permeate him. He exhaled perfected smoke rings, his eye half-lidding as he delighted in the instant buzz of all that nicotine. The combination of _everything_ was rapidly working its magic. His headache was dissipating, soothed away by good times and better tobacco. No one was nagging him. No one was lecturing him. No one was upset with him. He was accepted just as he was and _that_ was seductive...like the glimpse of tits so near his face.

Zane could practically hear himself now, hailing Sanctuary and giving his official resignation - provided Ava was nowhere within earshot.

"Sorry boyos, but this ol' man's officially callin' it quits! Gonna spend the rest o' me days feckin' hookers, drinkin' meself blind, an' smokin' cigars! Trust me, I thought _real_ hard 'fore makin' me decision...to get a lapdance after this! _HaHA!_"

Ahhh, if only he could.

Eventually, his cigar burned down to a stub. He reluctantly had to toss it. Despite his satisfaction, he passed on having a second. He was in the mood for something else. Even then, as he pulled Ember against him with renewed hunger, she pressed a teasing finger against his lips. Instead of placating him with what he _wanted_, which were her sexy lips, she stroked his beard until he murmured in submission. Only then did she stand and force him to sit up in the process. From then on, she led him by the hand to the Cherry Club - a destination well worth the faint skip in his step.

To think, before that, he had thought their good time could have ended there - not without sex, but he had finally contemplated them heading to his suite rather than indulge in the Vice District. Ordinarily, dens of inequity would have been some of his first stops. What in the feck was up with him nearly skipping them?

God, what were the Crimson Raiders doing to him? Clearly he was brushing boots with too many do-gooders. Somehow, they were _almost _making him behave, those wonderful wankers. He never dreamed of feeling displaced in the environment he was in, surrounded by kinks and filth. And now here he was...feeling kinky and filthy in ways that weren't exactly pleasant. Where else was he supposed to be, back on Sanctuary, twiddling his thumbs?

Feck that. He and Ember were making tracks and delving deeper into the embrace of a place promising ecstasy in every conceivable form.

He had formerly been intrigued by the casino's purple fountains and pools, but now, despite the color having been tainted, seeing them full of scantily dressed bodies made them that much more entertaining. So many ladies had such long, glorious legs and there were tits on display of every shape and size. He liked the lads too - particularly the two filling each other's faces with fucking tongues and stroking each other off - but something about the graceful way the lasses poured the fluid down their bodies and flaunted themselves was...Just. Fecking._ Mmm._

Forget Aquator, he was going to retire right there and drink mai tais while spending the rest of his golden years watching dripping cock and titties. Geezers were supposed to vegetate and drool, weren't they?

Ha. If only he knew what was good for him. It was a shame how he was too batshite for that. He appreciated eye candy like every man but he preferred chaos and mayhem. He would much rather go out with a bang _than_ bang and leave only those as barmy as himself thinking _Brilliant._

Before he could think more on it, Zane found himself surrounded by an all-too-familiar environment of stripteases and suggestive gyrations. An assortment of dancers whistled upon seeing Ember, in all her shaven glory, saunter into the club with him in tow. A few whistles permeated the deep bass that pulsed like sex from the speakers, encouraging the Frenchwoman to blow kisses at adult entertainers who proudly flaunted their goods as while grinding metal poles and crushing paper credits underfoot.

To his surprise, she had no intention of them lingering in the main club, where dancers swiveled their bodies around stage props and worked their flashy stages while putting their alluring nudity on display, shame as that was. Each he saw, as Ember led him beyond them, was a delicious sight. Just having the performer pulling him along garnered him all their flirtatious attention. Some women blew kisses and sucked their fingers at him. A man stroked one hand up his impressive cock and winked. The robot flashed a series of lights and rotated its hips at him. Everything rendered him chuckly and giddy as he was led to the VIP lounge.

It was somewhat difficult not to feel cockblocked when Ember left him seated on another amazingly comfy couch...alone. With a glittering smile, she had ensured he was comfortably settled before slipping from his advances like mercury - hard to hold and able to drive a man crazy. At his pout, she promised to return and punctuated her vow with a lewd kiss.

Patient as he was, the operative was beginning to think he would never get laid. Just the thought had him feeling perturbed. It wasn't like him to get restless about such things. Besides, it wasn't like he wasn't responsible for stringing them along enough already. He didn't doubt that Ember would oblige him if he had been eager to get his dick wet. Somehow, neither of them had made any earnest move to get down and dirty. And who said they couldn't feck right where he sat? That synthetic leather would wipe clean. Without a doubt, it wouldn't be the first time someone had jizzed all over them.

How was he so certain? Because he was well acquainted with rooms like these, lined with seats and nary a stage in sight. It had a whole lot of black lights, though, and one gorgeous waitress wearing a scrap of fine, glittering fabric that barely constituted a thong. Small as it was, a thought could have torn it. She was all cherry-lipped smiles as she strutted over in six-inch heels and brought with her a tray topped with amber-filled shots.

Graceful and leggy as she was, Zane wondered where all the big gals were at. He wouldn't mind sinking his fingers into someone meaty and grip all those glorious curves. Give him chubby chicks with dicks - synthetic or otherwise - and he wouldn't be able to contain himself. Then again, far be it for him to judge beauty in _any _feminine form, particularly when it was made oh-so-available to him.

"Thanks, love," he said in greeting, nodding in appreciation both for her liquid gifts and the nubile body she put on sexy display. He liked her petite tits and her little pink nipples. They were_ far_ nicer than plastic, he decided as she placed the tray down on an armrest and proceeded to seat herself atop him.

_Well_ then, he wasn't going to complain. Instead, he sat back and enjoyed the sight of all that smooth, porcelain skin. There wasn't a blemish on the girl that the dark lights didn't conceal. What a graceful, sweet thing she was...and so willing to tuck herself beneath his arm as she angled that perky rack of hers at his face and draped her slender legs across his lap.

...Huh. Of all things, he didn't expect that to seem so strange. Then again, it had been a while for him. And he was supposed to be hooking up with Ember, who had gone off _somewhere, _leaving one of her girls to keep him company. What was weird about that again?

Nothing...except he felt like he should make friendly conversation with the lass as she teased her perfectly manicured nails along his shirt and flicked at its small buttons.

"Ye come here often?" he offered with a crooked smile, the stripper flashing him her stunning own. Or was she a hooker? Were they all hookers? Probably. She certainly giggled like one. He liked that.

"I love your accent," she cooed with a sweet flutter of her eyelashes. Eh. Without that, he might have thought she actually meant it.

A little more conversation and maybe he could have said the same about the way her hand played along the zipper of his dress pants. Okay, so she was definitely a prostitute. Did he have a problem with that? And how did he not know?

Whatever-Her-Name-Was was looking at him now in a way that suggested his air of confidence had slipped. Her blue eyes twinkled with amusement as she turned toward him and straddle his lap, her dainty breasts barely making cleavage while she maneuvered his black belt out of its buckle. Somehow, the sight had him blinking long before he actually registered her intentions.

"Ahh, no," he gruffed gently, grasping the separated halves of leather as opposed to gripping those slender wrists of hers. The street went one-way, usually- no touchy-touchy. "I mean, no thank ye. I'm good."

The lass appeared as confused as he did, clearly convinced there was some miscommunication between them. He was an odd client, this one. In fact, he might have been one of the first to resist her advances, but what did he expect in the back lounge?

"Oh," she responded with a pout and then reconsidered him with another glossy smile. "You want a man then?"

_Aye, _his mind replied. Zane tamped its voice down before it could travel to his tongue. Yeah, lads usually sucked dick better. They had the home team advantage, after all, but weren't nearly as lovely doing it. Of course, none of that mattered since they weren't the one he was there for.

Feck, he felt ridiculous, and why wouldn't he? There was no denying that he could _really_ use a blowjob. He should have been all for having such an attractive lass working her pretty mouth around him until he unloaded down her throat. What better way was there to kick back and enjoy some much-needed relief? There weren't many, but then he had bigger and better plans he preferred saving his payload for.

"Nah. Jus'...sit here, sweetheart," he told her, but not before securing his belt to ensure everything was in correct order - and then suggested something less proper. "How 'bout ye make yerself at home an' keep an ol' man warm?"

Zane decided that definitely wasn't the oddest situation he had ever been in. Far from it, in fact. Still, he had doubts of how he was going to survive this night of debauchery if he was already holding back. Particularly with how pent-up he was, he _knew _he could blow a load or two and still have something left in his balls. Given how Vice City was _made _to drain them, the same as wallets, he just had to play it smart. Fortunately, the hooker making herself comfortable atop him seemed placated enough.

_He _certainly wasn't disappointed. To him, it felt plenty nice to have that fine piece of arse perched atop him. She made the situation even nicer when she began handing him shots, probably underestimating how they appealed to his _real_ needs. Sometimes hard liquor was as good as sex and whatever she served him was top tier - no doubt about it. Real smooth, real strong. In fact, high proof as it was, he would have to pace himself to ensure he didn't end up stripping and dancing on the stages. Thank God it wasn't tequila.

Come to think of it, the operative realized he hadn't seen a single older gent performing among the entertainers. Maybe he should protest the lack of representation without volunteering to fill the void. That kind of explained all the young lads panting after him, not that he wasn't a treat. Still, for a club that had damn near everything, they were missing gems like him. Some customers might have a taste for someone more seasoned, even if Vice District also had bots, midgets, trannies, and a gal with three tits.

_Needs an Eridian_, his thought and then laughed, vivid memories overtaking him. _Shake it_, _ye staff-wieldin' bastards. Work that pole an' stop teleportin' so I can kill ye!_

Surely his scantily-clad companion was curious about his amused outburst but like a professional, she didn't ask about it. After all, escorts weren't paid to talk. In fact, he wasn't currently compensating her at all. The operation was an electronic one based on credit exchanges. Patrons were given access to a system cataloging their every encounter and allowed for payment then. Transactions were cleaner that way. Currency exchanges were automatic, accommodating every avenue of wealth across the six galaxies. And it was easier for folks to lose track of their spending when they were pushing buttons instead of emptying cash from their pockets.

It was all part of the game. There were oh-so-many ways to make folks drain their life savings. In that way, the casino truly hadn't changed. Moxxi didn't take over the venue without the guarantee of pulling massive profits. It wouldn't be worth the headache of running it otherwise. And it was the players' responsibility to budget themselves. Unlike Jack, she wasn't forcing them to stay there or trapping them indefinitely.

_That_ was an odd thing to be concerning himself with while he had a sexy lass practically sitting on his dick. Eh, well, he wasn't a randy teenager anymore, not that he was too old to hustle. He was still getting back into the swing of swinging, he supposed. He _was _there for Ember. And wasn't like he hadn't been fecked and sucked a zillion times. Sex was absolutely nothing new to him and hadn't been since he had been a kid. Now, far from that, he sometimes needed a lot kinkier shite to get his blood flowing.

Sure, he would physically enjoy getting off with that dollish babe, and he bet her snatch was _sublime_, but he preferred a less obligated partner...and maybe one who was a bit older, much to his own dismay. The lass teasing her fingers the nape of his hair _might_ have been twenty. That meant _legal_, he reminded himself, wondering how in the feck he suddenly had a conscience. Chances were, the do-gooders he hung out with were ruining him. Most likely, some subconscious part of him related them to Ava and-

Oh _no_, goddamnit. Not_ that. _No no _no! _Feck, that was one surefire way to mentally castrate himself. Zane found himself laughing despite everything yet again, convinced he was doing a bit too much of that these days. But for as much as he wanted to redeem his pride by grabbing the hooker by the back of her neck and making her swallow his cock until he filled her belly, _like he should have,_ he didn't.

But he did kiss her, turning his body into hers and tracing his swift tongue along her lips until hers parted in permission. That slick penetration did resonate through him, thank feckin' _god_. The more he focused on the sweet taste of her mouth and the feel of her returning his kiss, the better it got. It wasn't anything heart-pounding but had his cock taking interest, stiffening against the press of her mound.

The way she shifted more closely against his chest and rolled her hips against his lap proved she took notice - and that maybe she was getting something out of it. Her flawless little hands were cupping his face just how he liked, and she was making kittenish sounds in the back of her throat that proved he was just as skilled as ever. He would have her creaming her skimpy excuse for panties in no time.

His internal voice had the motherfeckin' _audacity_ to have a problem when it practically demanded,_ Remind me what yer doin' with a bunch o' cheap sluts?_

_Ohhhohoh_, came his huffy laugh, _they _ain't_ cheap. 'Sides, ain't ye ever heard the sayin', "If ye can't beat 'em, join 'em?" O' course ye have!_

Inwardly rolling his eyes, Zane ignored that internal disdain. Goddamn Pandoran schizophrenia. How dare he judge his own actions! He sure as hell wasn't getting paid to, so why bother? What was all the worry about anyhow? Already, he knew he wasn't gonna feck her. It was best he save that for Ember. She was the star of the show, after all. For now, he simply wanted to sample the fresh meat that had quite literally fallen into his lap...and chase away the lingering essence of the partner he had formerly limited himself to. To remind himself how sexuality should be: fluid and free.

The way he figured it, it was better to remember that than feeling like a conundrum in his own body. He quite liked the way the lass guided his hands up to her breasts, inviting him to play, and hugged her arms around his neck. He palmed at her firm, perky mounds and pinched her little nipples until she gasped against his lips and arched into his twisting caresses. So much for not touching, then. Where were the lines drawn again? Were there any rules? Not for a VIP.

Provided she was willing, he wouldn't mind showing her some appreciation. For whatever reason, he didn't _ask _as he should have, but the way she relaxed as he rotated her to face away and eased his dominant hand along her smooth abdomen suggested she didn't mind his wandering attention.

Gentleman he was, Zane gave her plenty of time to change her mind by occupying himself with tracing his battle-worn fingers along the edge of her lingerie. The way she drew in her flat stomach to encourage his advancement was all the permission he needed.

Even then, he proceeded more autonomously than anything, his interest rapidly depleting. Whatever feeble urge he felt to prove himself had waned and left a whole lot of nothing in its place. He certainly lacked the cocky determination and desire he ordinarily would have had. Any other day and he would have _loved_ subjecting a beautiful lass to his sexy mercy.

Now, he felt past the point of no return, obligated to continue. More than anything, he was determined to recover the sense of lust he _should_ have had. It was easy enough to blame his absent enthusiasm on having gotten off countless women before...but when was there ever a reason to stop? Since when had making lovers come themselves cross-eyed ceased being his favorite activity?

It hadn't. Zane knew that. By easing his hand within that flimsy triangle of fabric and grazing his fingertips past her smooth mound, he trusted his passion to flourish. For whatever reason, his libido was simply late to the show. Maybe he _had_ drunk too much or too little. Had he been dipping into Ember's delicious snatch and feeling her breath hitch against him, his arousal would have been undeniable - he was sure of it.

Still, nothing could deter him from gently tracing his thumb around the hood of her clit, using it to bring that tiny bud to a stiff, pleading peak with only a few deliberate caresses. Feeling her warming in erotic excitement, he reached to trail his expert touch along the whole of her, guiding gentle strokes along her petals. He found her so soft and open for his touch

What a picturesque little peach she must have had, yet that neatness always left something to be desired. The prettier they tended to be, the less there was to play with. He personally liked a woman who offered a little bit more of a mouthful. A pussy with personality, as it were, that bloomed like a flower when all hot and bothered. One that gave him more territory to explore and fondle...and look thoroughly fecked after he had his way with it. If a synthetic pussy was what he went for, then he would have dicked a fleshlight. And honestly, after seeing so many, all pornstar pussies started looking the same.

Shaming his own mental meandering, the operative focused on the task literally at hand. He didn't have a clue how he could be distracted from actually _feeling _the silky nectar of a willing woman coating his dexterous digits. Like hell he wanted to miss the way her body responded as he used her arousal to charm that pink skin and entice her slit to greedily squeeze him as he sank in.

In no time, the lass was gasping and clutching his forearms, needing purchase as his impeccable fingers went to work between her legs. She went from spreading her trembling thighs wide and whimpering to bowing against him, her sweltering pussy clutching him like a vice. For as much as she gave pleasure to customers, she seemed desperately primed to receive. Lucky her, he was just the man to provide her that sweet release.

Pressing a bristly kiss behind her ear, the operative let his skill dictate his motions. His digits busied themselves with what they did best, his thumb slickly circling her clit. How tiny it was and so, so very sensitive, her breath catching at the hot pleasure roiling through her. Sinking a second finger to the knuckle within her sex, he was surprised by how snug she was.

In his mind, getting off such a sweet lass was the least he could do. She felt so nice around him, his cock begged to sink balls deep into her welcoming snatch, and still he made it all about her. Actually, who was he kidding? He got _plenty _from feeling her hump like a nympho between his lap and his touch. The generous gent he was, he was more than willing to put his skill to proper use. Even a sex worker deserved to get hers, and besides, he wanted to prove to _her _that he could put fellas her age to shame.

Either the young woman in his arms was one hell of a convincing actress or she didn't need further convincing. She certainly seemed to enjoy his precise swirling and the way he crooked his fingers while pumping them into her. She was, after all, swearing so pretty as she rolled her hips and clutched at him, her cunt audibly overflowing.

As quick as she was to release for him, it seemed she was in need. When it hit, she lost her voice, her moans ceasing abruptly as her head snapped back against his shoulder. Her mouth parted wide, her entire body contorting as her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave breaking shoreline.

Seeing a woman lose herself to ecstasy was a sight he never tired of, the same as hearing the authentic sounds that spilled out of her. His position gave him the perfect view of her flushed breasts heaving with her sharp intakes of breath. Better yet, there was nothing fake about any of it. The thunderous moan that shook her, as everything crested and her walls closed around him like a vice, was perfectly suited to that environment.

Given her panting and the spasms continuing to wrack her cunt, Zane expected the way she bonelessly sagged against him. Like hell he would protest supporting a lass exhausted in the best of ways. Somehow, as she tried to calm her respirations, she reached for his face and limply caressed it, a smile curling her lips as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"You're _sure..._you don't want anything?" she managed, unable to resist squeezing her own tits with her free hand while still so flushed and sensitive from her high.

Physically, he absolutely did. Mentally, he couldn't explain his detachment. There was no fog of lust and none of the invigoration sense of pride he usually felt from making a partner orgasm. Overall, it left him with a sinking sense of dread. Truth be told, he preferred being the one grappling with disappointment instead of the woman still rubbing against him like she was in heat.

He supposed he didn't know what in the feck he was doing anymore - but of course he did, as he had just demonstrated. What did it matter anyhow so long as he and his sexy company were having a good time?

...He was enjoying himself, right?

Swiftly convincing himself that he was, his masculine chuckle made the woman shiver - or was it the way he patted her thigh in assurance? Feeling the smear of her juices across her firm skin, he offered his fingers to her mouth and felt her accept them like the good whore she was. With suggestive lips and tongue, she sucked him clean, using the opportunity to further tempt him. When _that _didn't work, she turned around to straddle him and aligned the bridge of her nose with his, her brown eyes aflame

If she ever had reservations about getting down with a much older man, she didn't _now. _Instead, her limpid gaze was full of wonder and craved to know what else he could do to her. Maybe she would learn by the end of his visit - who knew? There was no denying that his cock was undeniably willing.

For now, she hugged and thanked him. Admittedly, that was quite adorable and softened his old heart. In fact, it was almost enough to change his mind. All things aside, she would certainly be nice to cuddle with. For now, he gave her an affable pat on her pert arse and allowed her to settle like a satisfied cat against him.

..._ Alrighty_, came his inner voice, evidently as confused as the rest of him. _So snogging with Ember screws ye up but yer fine with finger bangin' a prostitute? What kinda brand o' fecked up is that?_

That wasn't to say he didn't feel like shite for all of it, because he did. In fact, it felt like his heart had sprung a leak into his chest cavity and had filled it until his organs felt pressurized. Granted, he had felt worse, but there was nothing pleasant about that or the way his constricted throat made it difficult to swallow. Dry as it felt, he ached for another stiff drink. He wasted no time in polishing off the two remaining shots awaiting atop the armrest for his consumption.

Refusing to linger on the subject, Zane decided his time was better used giving his companion another delicious finish. This time, he involved both hands, using three expert fingers of his right hand to fill her and stretch her open. At the same time, he gently pinched her pearl with his left hand. Applying just the right amount of slippery pressure, he jerked her with practiced motions, the rhythm of his wrist following the stuttering buck of her hips.

As she turned her head, seeking his mouth, he met her with hunger. Felt the tremors as they tightened her snatch and arched her back, tasting pleasure as he drank her sensual noises. There, consumed in the moment, he moaned in lewd approval and fucked her with his skillful tongue.

Distracted as he was, he didn't register the dual sets of footsteps that sounded beyond that heated makeout session. Under any other circumstances, he would have recognized Ember's gait, the sound of her little laugh confirming her presence. The other? He didn't feckin' care, he was _busy_ sucking on a kiss-plump pair of lips and getting his groove on...except when his eye lazily opened.

The absolute _last _person he expected to see was Amara, the shock causing him to choke in furious shock and forcibly spit out the tongue down his throat. His violent jolt sent him falling sideways on the couch, the hooker straddling him nearly tearing his shirt as she toppled with him.

Zane couldn't hear words over the deafening pound of blood in his ears or feel his fingers or register anything but the ice lodged sharply in his chest. After such an abrupt overdose on adrenaline, it took a solid moment for him to make sense of his sharpened perception and realize he needed to catch his breath before he had a bigger fool of himself.

Reality shouldn't have set in so belatedly. Feckin' _feck_, that woman was _not _Amara. Lady Luck hadn't turned on him. But boy, did this new lass resemble her - at least enough to startle the absolute _shite_ out of him. Upon further inspection, he realized her appearance wasn't all that uncanny, but _still_.

"Feck, give a man some warnin' 'fore ye spring on him," he croaked, his voice utterly hoarse even after he swallowed. The lumpy swelling in his throat had nothing to do with the fact that he'd been having his tonsils orally removed. He _definitely _couldn't hide his edginess, making it clear he didn't appreciate the heart attack he had been given.

In contrast, Ember was amused. She laughed a bit longer, sounding very pleased by his rattled composure. Knowing her, she likely found his cantankerous self _adorable._

"Feckin' cruel prank, that one," he managed, still trying to breathe away the panicked spike of his blood pressure.

Not having expected his reaction, the pyro crossed her arms and continued smirking. She appeared pleased, though whether that was due to him seeming so thoroughly into the girl atop the couch or the sexy new addition at her side, Zane couldn't be certain. Regardless, his lover pursed her proud lips at his visible reaction and lifted her bifurcated brow. Much like her instincts were tingling, she lingered on the intense, revealing way he studied the bronze woman.

"What, did you think she was your siren?" the performer crooned, one of her hands now propped on her hip and the other elegantly poised. Internally, Zane scowled at her choice of wording while Ember gave a considerate shrug toward the stripper, still regarding her curiously. "I suppose I can see it. Amara _is _a sexy woman, but do you truly think she would mind her teammate having a bit of fun?"

"Heh. Not like this!" he admitted before breaking his own tension with a barking laugh. Then, when he could manage, he scoffed, "Me boyos are an uptight bunch."

_That's right, remove the focus from the _only _one she asked about, Zaneboy. Smooth move! Feckin'_ classic_!_

With a small shake of her shaven head, Ember tutted gently. There was a particular gleam to her eye that he wasn't inclined to like. "I would hope zey wouldn't mistake you for a dead old man. I suppose, mon ami, that means you won't be able to talk her into working here, zen?"

Zane was pretty sure his one remaining eye bugged out a bit at that. Christ, he hoped she was kidding, but then he understood her trying to do her job. She managed the Vice District, after all. Arranging attractions and luring people in was part of the business, and it would be far from the first time she looked to book every star attraction she could. God knew Amara and her celebrity status could pull in a crowd.

From where he sat, he could tell Ember was working a certain angle in her mind, her chin tilted in thoughtful consideration. After studying the exotic dancer alongside her, she looped an arm around her hips and proudly displayed her. She then asked, with an attractive glint of teeth, "Knowing ze siren as you do, could you _imagine_ what customers would pay if zis girl wore convincing attire?"

He could, however much he didn't want to. Had it not been for Ember's insinuations, he would have craved the way she stroked metallic fingers up along that feminine body until she curled one along the underside of her chin. Like that, she appraised the young woman much like a prized possession, her luminous eyes lidded with desire.

Focusing on the Amara-lookalike with surreal curiosity, Zane still couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. Had the woman worn a thicker ponytail instead of two french braids and had whimsical artistry painted across her, she could have played the part decently enough. He didn't have much time to think on it further before Ember turned the dancer to face him and whispered in her ear with a tempestuous purr.

Obedient as ever, the exotic woman obliged the fire dancer. With a sultry smile, she approached him with that same sexual strut all the prostitutes had...and he was too distracted by the sight to stop her. His mind struggled with how wrong her walk was or how the sway of her hips was completely off. Still, before he could fathom _how _to protest, she slithered onto his lap and looked to him expectantly. Her eyes were pitch brown like straight coffee, not at all violet - but then whose were beside _hers_?

Inexplicably paralyzed, Zane struggled to swallow. He hoped his conflict wasn't half as glaring as he expected it to be but then there he was, physically stuttering. To some dumb, horny feck looking to get off, the lookalike would work well enough. The drunker, the better, and would they honestly care or even _notice _the discrepancies between this lass and the real deal? Absolutely not. Surely there had to be _droves_ of fans biting at the bit to have a taste of their idol. For those craving some Tiger of Partali action, she would work well enough if given the right attire.

She certainly _intended _to work it - with him, specifically, even as the first lass allowed her adequate clearance to more comfortably mount his lap. Gnashing his molars, he realized he couldn't deter or refuse her without raising suspicions. Chances were, Ember misconstrued his hesitation as him feeling conflicted about receiving such intimate touches from someone so uncomfortably familiar.

Knowing Amara as he did, he shouldn't have been as indisposed as he was. Particularly while having the woman so up in his face, he found himself recognizing every inaccurate detail with self-defeating conversance. Whatever similarities the lass shared with the siren, combined with the wrongness of that environment, caused a strange sense of dissonance to form in his gut. At the same time, he found himself aching with desires he had done his damnedest to conquer. Yet again, all his efforts were laid to waste. It seemed there was nothing that could stop that desperation from welling inside him.

If only he could have used his loathing and ignited his Flynt-given temper. Reverting to that degree of arsehole would have put an end to all of this nonsense and spared him...except it would also ruin everything between himself and Ember. There was no way she would stand for that and he certainly wouldn't want her to. He reserved that _lovely _tool in his arsenal as a last resort. Hell, even considering that was too petty for him.

Besides, he couldn't get pissed at a gal just for happening to have that same dark coloration and curvaceous build as his teammate. He definitely couldn't blame her for doing her job, particularly with how oblivious she was to his plight. As for all the customers she would undoubtedly draw if she put on an act, he couldn't justify hating them either. He _absolutely_ couldn't blame fans for wanting a piece of what they could never dream of having.

For the first time that night, he wasn't the only one thinking of Amara. However, he found no comfort in that.

"Mmm, your teammate is very _impressive_. I've heard she has quite the following," sighed the fire dancer dreamily, stepping forward to stroke down the woman's spine as though she were a pet. "She's certainly a star here, given how she helped save the universe _and _zis casino. Lucky you for having such a sexy partner."

"News to me," he uttered but didn't dare say more. He didn't want to agree with any of it, but Ember was anything but wrong. He couldn't otherwise find his tongue at that moment, and more than that, he didn't trust it. He simply stared at the lookalike stroking his beard, doing all he could to downplay his interest.

"What do they call her again, the Tiger of Partali? What a fitting name for such a fierce woman," sighed Ember with no small degree of admiration. "Sirens are _made _for fantasies. I suppose you must know ze allure of a woman who could crush you, mm?" And then, licking her lips as though in sensual anticipation, she purred, "Haven't you ever desired her?"

_All the feckin' time, _came his unspoken answer before he could crush it like a crunchy insect.

Ordinarily, for them, that would have been a harmless question. She knew him as the man he should have been: shameless and uninhibited. She didn't think twice about voicing her curiosity, and usually, he would have played along with her. Aside from that one exception, he had no qualms about being forthright with his fantasies or exploring them with his equally kinky company.

Now, there was no way he was going to reply. At least, not with words. Instead, the damn fool he was, he found himself staring more avidly at the stripper atop him. Following the fullness of her lips, he felt his throat grow thick. It turned out that _he _was as foolish and gullible as any.

He didn't _want _Amara, Zane told himself. Not anymore. He couldn't. He'd had her, and then everything had gone awry. It didn't _matter_ if he hadn't stopped desiring her - she had gone over the line. Because of that, he had ended it. It was over. And now he was here, feeling like the arse end of some crude joke, and he was trapped in a tug of war between wanting the lass to be Amara and also appreciating that she very much wasn't.

That girl, though she resembled Amara somewhat closely, _wasn't _her. She didn't have any of her elaborate tattoos. Didn't have that cosmic glow and ethereal aura. Her skin wouldn't be so static and hot to the touch. She didn't have that vault symbol branded on her back and awaiting his languid tracing. She wasn't a vault hunter and, more importantly, she wasn't a _siren._

And her arms? They were too slender, just like the rest of her build. Of course they were, since the training she devoted herself to was far more lewd than combat-oriented. _No one_ had a body like Amara's, chiseled to feminine fighter perfection. The stripper didn't spend day in and day out landing punches with siren force and that ruthless Partalian intensity. Her abs _tried_ to mimic that definition but were only halfway there. And her hips weren't as vivaciously flared from her slender waist, nor were they so packed with muscle.

Even her hair, lacking that mysterious blue, felt wrong when he inevitably touched her. As he cupped the back of her neck and leaned to kiss her, its length felt strange in his hand. The texture was all wrong and smelled like foreign shampoo - fruity instead of floral jasmine. But in that moment, persuaded by unsatisfied hunger, he couldn't care because he was a fecking eejit. Now, more than ever, he couldn't deny it.

Everything screamed at him not to give in and still he did, in a willing way that betrayed his need. He couldn't hold back for another second, his needy hands wasting no time in encircling her waist and pulling their bodies together. The fact that the lass was so warm and willing in his arms did nothing to assuage his guilt or prevent him from tasting her more fully, his tongue pressing deep.

It made no difference if he kissed the copy like she was Amara - with sensual twists and passionately brushing lips - she didn't respond the same. They didn't share the harmony of practiced lovers who had best learned how to pleasure the other. _She wasn't her_ and would never be. And it didn't matter how much he wanted that to change.

Maybe had he been more inebriated, he could have done better at convincing himself that the stripper was what he wanted, perhaps - the same as he had lied to himself about everything. As caught up in his fantasy as he was, he was feeling disoriented in the best of ways. In a sense, he was thoroughly intoxicated by his needs.

By now, wouldn't he have ordinarily slept with a number of lovers? Wouldn't he have done so much more with such alluring women than finger and kiss them...and why had he even allowed that? Because to him, it was harmless and meant nothing. Foreplay was his means of searching for that spark he had come to expect...and instead, he found virtually nothing.

In locking lips with that lookalike, he was no different than some pathetic bastard wishing the woman in his arms was authentic. When had he ever been that man? And when had he ever settled for something that wasn't _exactly_ what he wanted?

The answer was simple: since he got hung up on someone he couldn't allow himself to have. Who he'd had but who had become too much, even for him. Because when he had done this with _her, _he had felt far too much. Even now, he continued to, so long as he tricked himself into believing such weak mirages. Without them, this other woman's touch did virtually nothing.

Feeling a lurch of dread in his chest, the operative chastised himself even as he twisted tongues with that oh-so-willing participant. This was wrong, _wrong, beyond_ wrong, he knew, and still, he grabbed her arse and pulled her closer. He reminded himself again that it failed to matter if she didn't smell right, or if she didn't stroke his facial hair as divinely as his partner did, or if she didn't make the same velvet sighs. No matter how long he waited for it to catch, the fire of unrivaled attraction remained absent.

Now, he happened to notice how her face was too narrow, as were her hips and lips, and yet he didn't let that stop him. He _swore _all the alcohol he had consumed gave her a more convincing blur...or was it from sure willpower? It was damn hard to tell and he wasn't trying to decide. Instead, he poured himself into her, tracing teeth with his tongue and stroking it along her slick pink as she tried to follow his lead. He paid little mind to the sounds he heard in the background or the way the hooker sitting alongside him avidly watched them.

Ember was purring where she stood and observed the scene, her expression one of satisfied suspicions. The woman in his arms was moaning softly and yet her sexual sounds didn't hit the right notes. They didn't warm him throughout or make him growl with lurid need. He didn't ache with visceral lust and feel that he _had _to have her, whatever the cost.

Zane was gasping as he drew away - not because he had forgotten to breathe but because his composure was waning. His confusion ran so deep, it felt like vomit churning in his stomach. His chest was tight in the worst of ways, and he felt like a total disaster - and not for the reasons Ember desired.

When it came to sex, he wasn't into second-guessing what he was doing. How in the feck was that supposed to get him off? That was the only thing he should have given a damn about. He should have been fecking someone and not kissing Amara's lookalike while wishing it was her.

Wait, no. _No_, he corrected with a contemptuous snap. He did not want to do that. That was not at all what he wanted. What the feck.

Fed up with himself, he guided the first prostitute further to the side and dismounted the other form his lap, valiantly protecting his actions from the aggression welling inside him. He then separated himself from both by standing from the couch and distancing himself a few steps further, almost as though he doubted his own moral resolve.

"That's as far as _that's_ gonna go," he managed, clearing his throat and pulling the neck of his shirt away from his skin in the process.

Cursing his nervous fidgets, he then busied himself with scrubbing the tension from the back of his neck with a heavy hand and hoped the look he gave the hookers was more bashful than frustrated. All things told, he probably looked constipated. Ah, well, it was better than punching something like he truly wanted to do.

Appearing more amused than disappointed, Ember smirked at the disheveled operative. What she didn't expect was for him to round on her with a hint of scorn directed at the idea she had formulated.

His expression turned stalwart, a sigh escaping him. He sounded conflicted but, at the same time, undeniably resolved - like he was firm in his beliefs but didn't want to make a misstep. His single eye silently appealed to her for understanding.

"I know sex sells, love. Trust me, I do. But that ain't the way to pay yer respects to one of the women responsible fer Moxxi gettin' this casino," he reminded her.

Flattery it wasn't - or at least wouldn't be to Amara, who didn't share their sexual mindset. While business was indeed just business, the Vice District was far from struggling. Measures he considered drastic were absolutely unnecessarily, even if he could appreciate the shrewd businesswoman Ember was.

Should he have felt like an arsehole for discouraging her? He doubted it. Even then, he had ended up on enough people's bad sides to nearly put him on edge.

"Honestly, even Moxxi isn't gonna go fer that," he pointed out. "At least not without Amara's permission an' she sure as _hell_ ain't gonna give that. Besides, I've already busted in the heads of fellas disrespectfully wankin' over me teammate. Ye don't want that much blood in this casino again, do ye?"

He didn't feel inclined to point out that What's-Her-Face could do just fine as a prostitute. He could see as much, given he likely would have hired her at one time or another. Needless to say, he'd had his fair share of sex workers. Hard-working men like himself didn't always have the time to hit up bars and snag himself a feck any time he wanted one. Fortunately for him, many of the corporations he had done business with provided prostitutes as a form of payment. All he'd had to do was ask and one catered to his needs would be sent wherever and whenever he wanted.

Other times, it was simply more convenient for him to order a lover and focus on enjoying them rather than picking up folks at random. Casual crapshoots often led to disappointment. It was consistently better to go straight for the men and women with proven talent. For a high price, those dealing in sex trade never did him wrong. They had wanted repeat business, after all, and made their living with wet pussies and stiff dicks.

_She's close enough to what ye want, ain't she?_ his mind sneered, judging him for allowing himself to be fooled so easily. _Why don't ye just shell out the cash to buy her an' take her back to Sanctuary? She can be yer lil' plaything. Jus' imagine yer boyos faces! Ohhh wait, that would be _too_ obvious now, wouldn't it?_

He told himself to hush. He wasn't interested. And to ensure Ember wasn't, and wouldn't reconsider, he looked at the dark-skinned lass as though in productive scrutiny. Everything he said was designed with deliberate intent.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he told her - and he actually sort of was, because she truly was lovely and didn't need _any_ work done. "If ye wanna be Amara, yer gonna hafta go further than this to be convincin'. If by some miracle Moxxi's all in fer it, ye could demand a higher price if ye went official doppelganger on it. An' by that, I mean goin' the _whooooole_ nine yards - DNA splicing, voice modulators, reconstructive surgeries... Moxxi's _gotta _have the dough fer it, expensive as it is, though I'm sad to say none'a that's gonna nab ye those nifty siren powers!"

_She might get some wannabe siren _plowers, he thought sardonically. Saying it aloud might make him laugh and that wasn't what he was going for. Instead, he was _trying_ to be serious.

Was what he mapped out an honest suggestion? No, of course not - he didn't want them to have that success. Instead, he spoke as someone who knew Ember's personal disgust for what Timothy had undergone. In effect, saying what he had was his underhanded way of discouraging it.

It certainly worked, if both women's expressions were honest indications. The fire dancer nodded for the two prostitutes to excuse themselves while at the same time, she stepped nearer to link arms with him. With that, she steered him from the club, commanding the casino grounds with her sensual strut. He could only assume she sought to keep his hunger simmering after watching him put on such an erotic display.

And that was _fantastic. _He was ready. He didn't need anyone else to get him randy for _his _woman - the one he had wanted to indulge in for so long. He could feel her impatience in the way she, just shy of the club entrance, pressed close for a searing kiss. It seemed a fire had flared within her while watching him with another woman. In her arousal, she groped one hand along his groin and stroked in lewd interest. It was enough to have him tipping his pelvis into her palm and offering himself to her avaricious touch, his teeth catching firmly on her lip.

Releasing a sound of feline hunger, she hastily hooked two fingers within his belt and commanded him to follow her. Nothing, save for one sign in particular, distracted the operative from her possessive urging. There was simply no mistaking the scene the Steel Dungeon catered to.

As fun as he knew BDSM to be, his experiences determined that not every domme could do it for him. In order to relinquish his control, he had to be selective. More than anything, and despite how much of a horny feller he was, chemistry mattered most in getting him off. He couldn't just hand himself over to anyone - at least, not safely, and not with just any hired professional. Maybe if Ember could suggest one, he would take the plunge. Of all people, his most sexual lover wouldn't guide him wrong.

Generally, he reserved sex for pleasure, but sometimes the lines between overstimulation and pain could delightfully cross. He certainly didn't mind some thorough manhandling. Sometimes, he needed to be strung up and fecked like he had no say in it, whenever the mood struck him like a whip. As a Pandoran, he was _made _for violence.

Depending on the person wielding the switch, he could use a fierce and quality flogging. He had experienced some horrific emotional relief from that in his day. The thought of blubbering like an idiot was never an inviting one but receiving some tender aftercare was. Maybe he could hug Ember's tits while he was wrecked. She would be glad to comfort him, even if it meant petting his hair and feeding him sweets while he bled.

God knew it had been damn near forever since he had bowed to lick someone's boots...and he had no reservation about letting a stunning woman tease his cock with heels. If she played him right, he saw no reason why he wouldn't let her step on his balls with stilettos or submit as she sank them into his chest. It took a real man to let a woman walk all over him, didn't it? Besides, what a view he would have.

Shivering in an unexpected surge of desire, it took everything he had not to drag her into the Dungeon. Feeling as he had for so long, he could _taste_ his need for punishment. Surely it would have been cathartic to allow any woman to leave her vicious marks across his flesh and make him confess what a bad boy he had been, even if she wouldn't be the one deserved to rail his hole and make him beg for forgiveness.

For the first time that evening, lust hit him like a punch to the dick. In an instant, it seemed half of his blood had rushed to it, leaving him lightheaded and filled with raw need. And that was _precisely_ why he needed to swallow down that imagery and forbid it from returning again - because that could lead to more trouble, and revealing injuries, than he needed.

If only it were that easy. Returning his focus to Ember did little to distract from his fantasies. Without a doubt, she would participate, willing as she was to fulfill his every need and give him release. Maybe having her running the show and wielding the switch would distract him from envisioning someone more _forbidden._

Instead of cocoa skin and azure accents, Zane chose to envision the fire dancer's paler complexion and metallic limbs. Without a doubt, she would don a sexy leather number and dominate him like the dirty Frenchwoman she was. And oh _feck_, did he get off on latex. He might disobey and cum just to see it covered in his splatters and then welcome whatever punishment it earned him.

What he wouldn't give to have a ball gag shoved in his mouth and his head jerked back by his hair so hard, he gagged, while a sexy woman kicked him in the ribs...and another sharply slapped his dick while calling him every derogatory name in the galaxy. They could both spit on him, bruise him, and abuse him so delightfully, his eyes rolled as he flinched and raggedly sucked in air.

And what he wouldn't give to have a lass press her foot to his face and grind him into the floor while sneering... while a second spanked him and fucked his hole raw with a studded strap-on. God, what he wouldn't give for that.

Truth be told, domination didn't have to be sexual, but he definitely wouldn't mind it. Any day of the week, he would gladly allow himself to be smothered by a hot pussy. He _loved_ feeling a lass sit on his face as she tore her nails across his skin or ran a blade over him. The harder she bore down and crushed her cunt to his mouth and nose, the better. It had been too damn long since he had been left dripping and gasping.

Good Christ, that scenario promised to hit the spot. Fuck, he wanted that. And he wanted her to choke his throat as she fecked his ass as hard as she could. She would do it, too. She would do anything he wanted. Anything he needed. And that was _exactly _why she was perfect. In fact, it was fecking ridiculous how badly he wanted to get punished and pounded. It took all of his willpower not to sling her over his shoulder and carry her to that kinky destination.

Instead, the final fingers of that reverie slipped from his grasp and left him abandoned. Disappointed to see it go, the veteran operative prevented his brows from knitting together and exposing his frustrations. As though sensing something amiss, Ember spared him a glance as they neared the elevator leading them up the VIP tower.

On reflex, he grinned - and reinforced it before it faltered. Finally focusing on the golden doors ahead of them, he noticed their location like an afterthought. When it dawned on him exactly where they were, he found it necessary to kickstart his heart, reality threatening to bring it to a screeching halt.

Only when Ember nodded to the bellman did the Pandoran-Irishman give himself a mental right hook. What in the everloving feck was wrong with him? He was forty floors away from getting his dick wet! Whatever it was, it made being alone with the fire dancer in that broad elevator feel unusually claustrophobic. He suspected he would have felt more comfortable facing a chainsaw-wielding psycho or an anointed.

_No reason to play stupid, boyo,_ he told himself, unfortunately aware of his reservations. Protesting them with vehemence, he inwardly yelled at the whole unreasonable mess of it, _I can have fun with other people, damnit! I can feck 'em too! I'm not with _her_ now! Wow, this is _beyond_ feckin' ridiculous._

How tempting it was to turn around and hammer his head on the crystalline wall behind him while unleashing a plethora of colorful curses. Unfortunately, that behavior would have raised brows - specifically Ember's.

As they rode the glass elevator to the 43rd floor of the VIP tower, the operative felt a chill at the back of his neck. Reaching for it with feigned casualness, his palm smeared through heavy beads of cold sweat. As much as he wanted to scowl, flick it off, and dry his hand on his pants, he refrained. He had an image to uphold, after all - one that didn't involve him fidgeting and tapping his heels in anxiousness.

Still, as increasing numbers flashed overhead, maintaining his composure became a silent form of torture. Somehow, all the practice he had at doing _just that_ failed to register. They were almost to his floor and then they would be _there,_ toeing that line of no return - and of never looking back - and why the feck wasn't he ready to get the show on the road? He just wasn't himself if he wasn't dancing past boundaries and ditching his clothing with finesse or flooring his own gas pedal with reckless abandon.

What _he _wanted to know was why any of it mattered, _particularly_ what Amara would think. The last he checked, she wasn't there and she sure as hell had no place perching on his shoulder like some fecking angel - especially with matters she would never understand.

Since when did he have a conscience? He didn't. Of anyone, he was the last man to deal with that bullshite. He didn't feel guilty. Feck that to hell and back. He swore that was not the reason he was holding back, even if there was no other known cause. There had to be one. _Had _to be. Oh, right. He couldn't feck Ember right then because they were still in the elevator, nevermind that he had christened many before. There, that was it, damnit.

What he did know was how big of a mistake it would have been for him to ruin their date. What in the feck would _that_ accomplish? Absolutely nothing! Truth be told, he would probably end up killing someone if he didn't get laid.

Nope, he had no reason to feel guilty - he was sure of that. He wasn't even capable of it. Besides, he had extended Amara the _courtesy_ of ending their affair, which had been non-committal since the beginning. He was perfectly free to move on. _Shite, _their arrangement hadn't ever been serious - as if he needed reminding.

For the record, he didn't. In fact, _he_ had been both unwilling and incapable of compromising. It failed to matter how much he had enjoyed banging his teammate. How in the feck would that have worked, anyhow, with Amara wanting more? There were no other options. _Maybe_ they could have opened themselves to others, but his partner had ruined that by catching feelings. He just wasn't into that.

He was many terrible things but - feck, was he about to say he wasn't a heartbreaker? Because he was. He never had reservations about adultery - _and he wasn't feckin' cheating. _Even being the jackarse he was, he imagined he would feel worse than he did if he was actually betraying his partner - and only because he really did care about her. He supposed he had sometimes felt a wee bit bad for having slept around on his favorite spouses, but that had never stopped him from doing it. Not even _close. _Even losing some of his best lovers because of his promiscuity hadn't changed him.

And _that_ was why he couldn't..._be_ with Amara, as crazy of a concept as that was - because he was a dangerous man to catch feelings for. He was too impulsive and unpredictable even for himself. Just because he hadn't strayed with Amara didn't mean he never would. That was always a matter of time and opportunity. He didn't quite trust himself. And emotionally he...just wasn't. He wasn't _emotional._ He only knew anger, really, and he internalized even that. Others who knew him had called him _self-destructive. _He preferred to view himself as him not giving a shite about much. Weren't they wrong if he hasn't gotten himself killed yet?

Sure, there were times he experienced onsets of self-loathing and voluntarily sought dangerous outlets, but that was him testing his luck. Probably some do-gooders would consider his more recent decisions as being detrimental in one way or another. They just couldn't understand him, and he couldn't blame them. He was a difficult man to grasp _in more ways than one._ And honestly, who would give a flying feck if his teammates found his cold corpse discarded in a ditch? Even his own kin had wanted that fate for him.

Call it a _habit_ that his outlook remained grim. After all the shite he had been through in all his years, he remained convinced that his fellow vault hunters, chummy as they were, might still stab him in the back, nevermind that they had only ever aggressively protected it. Probably some therapist would have a heyday analyzing him. What could he say? Having his own brothers torture him and inflict permanent damage fecked with a man's head. Some quack would definitely decide he triggered his own paranoias in order to detach himself.

Damn right he was. He was far from oblivious. Straight up, he was too fecking old for that kind of nonsense - and too experienced to make those same mistakes. Then again, he was systematically standing there poking his own nerves and agitating himself. Shouldn't he know better?

First and foremost, he needed to get his head on straight _before_ he sabotaged himself. Having experienced similar bouts of self-disgust throughout his life, he could easily predict the aftermath. He couldn't claim to have struggled during them so much as _accept_ them, which ultimately wasn't productive. Come to think, it had been some time since he had last chipped away at himself. Something had to have set him off. Possibly being in the company of someone who _enabled_ his questionable propensities has been the cause.

Quite possibly, just being there, doing what he had done and planning to go _further,_ weighed on him...but it wasn't like he had expected Amara's hurt to hang over him. He thought that by challenging it, he would get over it. Despite his stubborn stance on _inevitability_, he didn't _want _to disappoint her. If anything, it made him even more of a heartless jackhole to intentionally further the damages. He wondered, again, how he convinced himself that risking her respect was worth any of this.

What he needed...truly needed...was to make things right with her. There was no other way of moving on, nevermind the fact that Amara should have never been that important to him. Their relationship certainly shouldn't have controlled him like a marionette, but there he was. Come to think of it, he had screwed himself from the get-go because _he _should have been the one to keep himself in check. Aside from being remarkable, Amara wasn't responsible for him getting stuck on her. That was on him, and even though he didn't like it, he had the balls to admit it fair and square.

If only his clone had done its damn job and recognized her as a threat. What he would have given to have had it brutally slap some sense into him and reject his compulsions. He should have never slept with that woman and, more than that, he shouldn't have _continued_. A substantial part of his problem was that he has known better. Honestly, there was no guarantee he would have actually listened to his more critical digital self. Trouble arose when he felt too reckless to listen to logic...and when he was too fecking horny to care about circumstances.

Annnnd now he was being difficult, _again, _because his digi-clone wasn't currently engaged to correct him. That meant he had made worse decisions than the ones he was set up for. Surely him redirecting himself by pulling Ember close by her waist and brushing his lips along the side of her neck wasn't a poor choice. It was far better to act his part than have her address his inaction.

...Wasn't it? No. _Yes. _Damn, why was he being so fecking wishy-washy? There he was again, wishing he could slam his head into something solid. Frustrated by himself as he was, he didn't think he could stand having someone else try to analyze him.

A shiver ran through the performer and had her melting back against him, her metal hand rising to cup the fringe of his cheek and thumb at his mustache. She released a velvet hum of relief, as though having waited for him to take some initiative. The excited frisson that ran through her was encouragement enough to have him concentrating on her skin as it passed beneath his lips. He growled deep in his chest as he trailed suckling kisses upward until the texture of scalp tantalized his senses. A hint of his tongue trailed along the faintest rasp of stubble, striking the match of his interest.

_That_ was good. Better than good. Goddamn, he loved a hot, shaven woman. He didn't know why but sure as hell didn't question it. Instead, he rumbled against her scalp like a hungry lion and tightened his hold above her shapely hips. In return, she combed her cold fingers up through silver spikes and gently tugged. She often teased that he had enough hair for both of them, and he couldn't deny it, nor could he refuse the frequent attention she gave it. The sensation of her fondly raking along his scalp had him lightly setting his teeth into the skin behind her ear, earning her throaty chuckle.

It was all sexy and fun until he allowed his eye to drift shut and his perception to wander away. Closing everything out but the warm press of a willing body helped put him at ease. It had him drawing in a deep breath and taking in all the pheromones that tempted his senses. At the same time, he savored having a beautiful woman tip her head to invite the brush of his beard, her unspoken desire enticing him to nuzzle in.

Even distantly knowing who he was with, it was a shock to his system to suddenly register smooth metal passing beneath his lips, his eye instantly opening. The tan complexion he took in was a far cry from the warm cocoa he had envisioned.

At that, Zane drew back and cleared his throat. The fire dancer said nothing as he resumed leaning against the glass wall behind them. It might have been less awkward had the elevator slowed to a stop and allowed someone else on...but that didn't appear to be in the cards. Despite the bustle of the successful resort and all the bodies visible so far below, everyone seemed actively engaged in entertaining themselves.

The operative found himself wondering what percentage of occupants were actively gambling versus how many were in the suites fecking their hearts out. Despite the Vice District being a major attraction to the casino, he suspected it accounted for the minority of clientele. More customers were there to blow their credits on slot machines and traditional gambling than spend their savings on blowjobs. Lone wolf he was, and proudly eccentric to boot, he had no reservations in being an odd man out. He sure as hell would have acted like it, too, if being his lust-driven self wasn't sitting so awkwardly in his gut.

Goddamnit, he was still being..._like this. _In recent memory, he couldn't recall anything being so aggravating. Nothing throughout the war with the Calypsos had remotely come close. Considering their team had been subjected to constant caterwauling and incessant taunting from the two most annoying twins in history, that said something. Detached from social media culture as he was, being a lad in his fifties, he hadn't appreciated that brain-numbing nonsense. Being consistently one step behind those two grating twats hadn't even gotten all that far under his skin.

Now, Zane thoroughly felt like he had two left feet and couldn't stop tripping over himself - even when he wasn't in motion. Somewhere along the line, his swagger had been sucked down the black hole looming beyond the casino. Since when did he lose his finesse and carefree attitude anyhow?

He didn't, goddamnit. He _didn't_. And he was never going to start.

Surely, he wasn't half the disaster he felt he was standing there with Ember resting back against his chest. Despite being well on his way to sleeping with her again, which was the entire purpose behind their get-together, he couldn't grasp securely onto reality. Instead, his mind insisted on ruining everything by injecting thoughts of Amara into everything instead. In a sense, it seemed his internal conflict about her had played throughout the day like annoying background music. Talk about sabotage at its finest.

Was he a mess? Aye, but so was the entire feckin' universe, basically. Sure, there were planets with religion and all that nonsense that sometimes kept societies in line...but also prevented them from experiencing life to the fullest. What a shame that was, but then it was their mistake for allowing themselves to be constrained! He supposed some folks were happy behaving. Most weren't complaining - or they remained oblivious to what they were missing. Some people simply clashed with rules and orders...just like when two dissimilar individuals tried hooking up. Having too many discrepancies was a recipe for disaster. One way or another, trouble was guaranteed.

That would be him and Amara, no doubt about it. And that was _precisely_ why he was wasting his time thinking about her. The Partalian wanted _commitment_, which was one hell of a dirty word in his vocabulary. Not having truly given it a chance ever, could he really be sure how he felt about it? He liked to think so.

Sure, he was a romantic sometimes. He at least enjoyed playing the part...and then shamelessly fecking around when he grew bored of it. He just wasn't made for it, or so he had always been convinced. Where was he going with this again?

As much as he would have liked Amara to share his mindset, he respected hers. Her standing out and being different made her exciting. Still, he recognized his loss. Part of his disappointment hinged on the fact that he could have been just as attached to Amara if they'd had an open relationship. That wouldn't have changed how much he valued her or lessened how important she was to him.

Getting off was just another hobby of his. It was something he enjoyed and regarded with nonchalance. Truth be told, there wasn't anything he loved more than having satisfying sex. And, probably, he had loved having it with Amara. Okay, in all honesty, he definitely did...but he didn't need sex to…

_..._to feel some strong way about her.

Of fecking course he couldn't associate _that word_ with her. He absolutely would not, could not. However, that damn term was safe enough in context. He had few problems with acknowledging when he loved _things. _People, though? That was different - as in, it was far too much for him.

But yeah, he...he liked Amara a lot. He liked her more than most people. Him liking her that much tended to make him act stupid. Without a doubt, he would do more for her than any other person - except maybe Ava. He adored that girl and felt fine admitting it. And now he was getting off course, and distracting himself, because he _really_ wasn't going to compare the two. He wasn't a big enough man to do that.

Zane realized then, and possibly even before, that he could have very well accepted Amara's attachment to him _if he had allowed it._..which didn't make much sense. Even still desiring what they'd had, he had bounced out of their affair like he did everything else. Good as he was at living his lifestyle, his actions seemed inevitable.

It wasn't the first time he had felt disappointed when he'd had to leave his most promising lovers. What separated Amara from the rest was how much he missed having her. Everyone else, he had gotten over. Granted, he never had to cross paths with them again, and he and Amara did share living spaces…

He wasn't there with her now, was he? No. Instead, he had spent his night dirty dancing, making out with sexy lasses, and...well, he hadn't yet fecked any of them. Why was that again? What did it matter if him getting his dick wet could put Amara off from him permanently? How would she know, anyway?

She wouldn't, plain and simple. He didn't kiss and tell. He rarely fecked and bragged. He handled his personal affairs like a gentleman - at least mostly. Besides, he wasn't going back. There was no chance in hell of that happening. In fact, he should _advertise _all his filthy debauchery, knowing it would indelibly end everything. After all, that was what he was going for!

_So feck, be merry, and get on with it! _insisted his mind much like it was the easiest solution in the six galaxies.

But he couldn't. Or he would - eventually. With Ember. That was the plan. He wanted to. He needed to. He was a horny fellow. He was pent-up, damnit. That was why he couldn't make sense of much.

_So if ye _don't_ care so much about gettin' laid, why do ye give a shite if ye never give it to Amara again? 'Cause that's gotta be what's holdin' ye up. C'mon an' admit it, lad. Use yer balls!_

No, his stubborn arse wasn't going to admit _shite._ In fact, it sort of pissed him off to know her limitations were weighing on his. Even then, he couldn't be mad at her. He never could - at least not in any way that actually mattered. Instead, he rightfully hated himself for what he has let her do to him...even if he sort of liked it. Did that make him a masochist? Even if he wanted everything to hurt, it mostly just confused him. His better Zane self sighed as if exhausted by his indecision.

_Prooobbbbably something ye need'ta discuss with Amara, _it suggested in a last-ditch effort. Instead of bringing him clarity, it mainly succeeded in disturbing him.

_Oh feck no, _actual Zane panicked.

_Oh feck _yes_. Gettin' to the center o' this is light-years better than thinkin' 'bout it over and over again. Ye don't need any whiter hair!_

_Wouldn't mind it._

_Not me goddamn point! Feckin' christ, ye arselick, why don't ye humor me by givin' it a try instead of settlin' fer this headache ye have brewin'?_

Desperate as he was to shut that grating voice up, he humored it. What else could he do? He couldn't drink or drown the bastard out, as it had proven all along. However, he would die of old age before he would admit it might have been onto something. Besides, it wasn't like there was a siren currently reading his mind. Whatever stayed in its confines remained safe - and he was pretty sure he could write it off as a moment of madness.

_Look, 'Mara, I don't know how ta say this. I s'pose I wanna keep doin' ye...an' I'm pretty sure I'd like to do it 'til I'm too old to. And clearly I've lost me bleedin' mind 'cause I don't think I'd miss dippin' into other holes all that much - as in folks, an' that kinda bothers me. See, I have some funny feelings for ye an' I'm fed up with try'na deal with 'em naggin' me. Ye see, they kinda scare me. I'm a big ol' coward like that. An' I'm probably gonna, ah, wish that ye wouldn't put up with all me bullshite like I know ye would. Ye make me wanna be better than I am, an I _definitely_ don't agree with that. But it is what it is, aye?_

_I probably should add: I've done a lotta shite ye'd never agree with since we've been apart. Like I said, I'm a bloody coward, and I _really_ don't wanna feck things up more than I have. All I know is that I don't wanna hurt ye. I wanna feck ye all soft an' cuddle ye. I wanna wake up an' kiss ye with morning breath. I wanna keep hearin' ye nag me 'bout me drinkin' an' - okay, not 'bout me smokin' but _maybe. _And I probably ain't ever gonna think 'bout marryin' ye 'cause yer _far_ too good fer me an' I'd have to take all that seriously. C'mon, can ye see I'm a feckin' mess? So let's screw already an' get messy!_

Yeah, that was absolutely not a conversation they were ever going to have. Rambling as he would, he might end up blurting _the word_ and ruin himself. In that event, he would have to feed himself a bullet and end what had been a long and wild run at life, all because he was a fool with a big mouth.

With a horrible lurch, Zane realized he could no longer ignore the undeniable feelings he had for the siren. Crystal clear, it dawned on him that he had been fooling himself all along and now he was choking on it.

_Yer too old for this. Too crazy. You know better, Zane boyo._

One word and Amara would know how much he felt for her and that was a secret he was determined to take to his grave. He needed her too much to do that to her. He would rather cut out his own heart and feed it to himself, provided he even had one left.

_This is so many ways of fecked up, I can't even count 'em, _he thought in agony._ I gotta get me head on as straight as it goes. I gotta get out of here 'fore I do somethin' stupid. 'Fore I do somethin' I can't take back._

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Too belatedly, Zane cursed his traitorous mind, refusing to heed its better judgment. With a concentrated effort, he forced Amara out of his thoughts again.

He _finally_ found himself in his suite, somehow, with Ember, because that had to be the answer to all his problems! He didn't even remember how they got there, having blanked that part out. All that mattered was that he was going to get lucky and use filthy pleasure to force everything else out. As far as he was convinced, sex fixed damn near everything. He was going to cash in his chips and go all in. The performer's mouth was hot and willing on his, demanding he did exactly that. It offered him some reprieve from everything tormenting him.

He had _no_ reason to feel guilty, he swore again. Ember was more than willing to help a man forget his problems. So what if she hadn't managed with Timothy? That lad was one busted can of trauma. What mattered was that she was what _he _needed. He was enough of a pro at using sex to distract himself, so between the two of them, how could they not succeed?

He would feck her until he forgot everything and be on his way. He would be the tried and true Zane Flynt again. _Maybe_ he could spare some time for some post-coital cuddling if she was so inclined. That was only polite. He at least _tried_ to be a gentleman with people he might want to feck again.

No, that wasn't right. Not right at all. It was clear what he was doing - how he was trying to bush off what he had done with Amara as normalcy. It wasn't. _It wasn't. _Feck, did he do anything normally?

Back in his suite, everything but his head was a bit quieter...and a lot cooler. _Just right_. They barely made it through the door before Ember tugged his shirt from his pants, his own fingers fumbling to release buttons. She obviously wasn't wasting time and neither should he, particularly with how damn nice it felt to feel some airflow. His relief was even better when Ember's hands pushed the offending garment off his shoulders, sending the smooth fabric fluttering to the floor. He smirked as she helped peel his underlying tanktop up his flat stomach and he finished drawing it overhead, chucking it carelessly behind himself.

This was going to be good. It felt like he hadn't gotten laid in ages. Ember was stellar in bed and he damn well knew it. He wanted to do her in the arse if she was still into that. She had come so hard the last time he had. It really had been so damn long ago. Well that was gonna change. He was brushing his calloused hands up her bare back and along her elegant shoulders. Hoping her dress wasn't deceptively difficult to remove, not that he could see how it possibly could be, his fingers took hold of that halter neckline and maneuvered it around her head. Obviously it wasn't with how effortlessly Ember shimmied the slinky fabric down her mismatched legs.

With a purring smile, she watched him take everything in before pressing herself flush to his front. Her hands were on his belt buckle as she kissed him, her tongue stroking hot and wet against his. Her enthusiasm had him returning the favor, instinctively seizing the lead as she pulled on his beard and ate from him like a woman who knew exactly what she craved.

As for him? He was...he was reaching for the intensity he had been craving, but he couldn't fecking find it. Not in her, not in the others who he had made out with since arriving there. His stomach dropped from it, disappointment creeping up the clammy back of his neck. Ember was getting so much more out of this and that just wasn't fair, not that he could blame her. He was damn stellar at what he did, even if he wasn't feeling it. Maybe he'd really had too much to drink. That had to be it. So he pulled her closer and angled his mouth deeper against hers, their noses grazing wonderfully together. He growled in his chest at the feel of her, hearing her lustful moan in response, and willed himself to listen.

Even as he maneuvered his lover to the grand bed and pressed her onto it, using his mastered skill to accomplish the task with panty-soaking finesse, he felt at a loss. He couldn't help but notice, as he pressed himself flush to her and kissed her firmly into the pillows, that he was only half hard. Needless to say, he couldn't quite fathom it but was somewhat glad he still wore his pants.

Having such an alluring, and naked, woman spreading her legs for him should have had him busting out of his pants, _all systems go. _Instead, he really wasn't getting much from it. Where was his feckin' head again? In another solar system, clearly. It felt like he couldn't even pay attention. Maybe it threw him off that he didn't have his full field of vision. That might do it.

Leaving Ember kissed into flat submission atop the bed, he tapped at his eye patch and excused himself to the restroom to handle business. After scrubbing his hands in the sink, he pried open his eyelid with two fingers and used his others to pluck out his corrective contact. Out of practice as he was, it took him a few tries before he succeeded and inserted it back into its container.

Detaching his titanium eye patch was just somewhat easier, followed by him reconnecting his ECHOeye. The task required more precise maneuvering but he was fully adept at it. The instant the connection registered and the device activated, he sighed in honest relief. Appreciating the restoration, he spared a moment to frown it precisely into place before he focused on the member flagging between his legs.

Despite knowing agitation might exacerbate matters, Zane silently cursed. Then, gripping the counter in one white-knuckled hand while jabbing an accusative finger at his foremost problem, he turned his glaring frustrations on it.

"Don't do this to me, ye ungrateful bastard," he hissed, hyperaware of his volume to ensure that talk remained between him and his misbehaving dick. "Ye've never given me trouble before an' so help me God, yer not gonna start."

As tempted as he was to take his anger out on his genitals, he knew that would accomplish nothing. Instead, he grasped his shaft through his pants and began handling it, willing it to obey. Then, thinking better of it, he kicked that article of clothing to the ground. Even before it settled to the tiles, he began squeezing along his length through the smooth fabric of his boxer briefs. The strength of his grip forbade his nerves from ignoring him, forcing blood and sensation to fill him.

Soon, he backed off, his eye easing shut as he focused on his breathing. He used what little time he could afford and focused on teasing himself the ways he knew best. He thought of all of Ember's lovely curves and smooth skin, her nice breasts, and the little flame trimmed on her mound, cleverly on-brand and maintained to perfection. He imagined tracing it with his tongue before tasting lower, knowing how it would feel on his nose as he nuzzled in.

With great relief, he felt his erection respond, growing thicker and more rigid with his coaxing. Unwilling to linger and draw suspicion, he limited himself to a few more firm strokes, the fabric concealing him thin enough for him to enjoy the heat of his hand. At that, his member stiffened further, familiar pleasure warming his blood and causing his heart rate to rise. With it, his carnal needs intensified - just as they should have.

Crisis averted, the operative gave himself one last satisfactory squeeze and smirked despite himself. Who had performance anxiety? Ha, not him! In fact, he'd never heard of it.

Unwilling to delay a moment longer, he rolled his shoulders, puffed out his chest, and backtracked to the bed with a strut in his step. Grinning roguishly, he clambered back atop the smirking performer with renewed prowess and resumed passionately kissing her like he had never left. Aside from trusting his skill to give her a night she would never forget, the best thing he could do was shut off his head.

What pornographic mischief they could have gotten into had they invited the two ladies in the club to join them. Without a doubt, he could use three delicious distractions. Even a man of his skill could have kept himself constantly busy surrounded by so many mouths and pussies. He wouldn't have stopped working his magic until everyone was thoroughly spent and satisfied.

Then again, his trouble wasn't in taking three naughty beauties to bed and having his way with them. Instead, his reluctance revolved around the aftermath. After all, he knew his chances of waking up surrounded by feminine bodies and _still_ thinking only of one woman. Without a doubt, that would succeed in putting him in a foul mood and possibly leave a lasting sourness in his stomach.

Damnit, damnit, _damnit. _Was he _ever _going to learn? Just because he was hard as hell didn't mean he had to stick his dick someplace wet and soft and make it feel better, right?

Wrong, because that worked every time. At least he swore it did.

Zane wondered, again, if he'd somehow had too much to drink...or if he should have had more. There wasn't a chance he was actually intoxicated. Okay, maybe he was buzzed, but he had performed when far worse. Ember was sexy as feck and there were no two ways about it, and she was hotter than fire in the sack - not to mention she had danced all over him, those memories fresh. That always got him, and he was an easy lad _to _get. He was just a wee bit out of practice was all, especially when it came to actual dates. When was the last time he'd had one anyhow? In fact, when was the last time he'd had some kinky fun?

Goddamn vault hunting - that had to be to blame. Like any job, it was perpetually on his workaholic mind. Then again, hadn't he retired? _Retirement_ \- 'cause he was old? Feck, maybe that was it. God no, he sternly corrected, reminding himself he wasn't _that old_. He had plenty of miles left on him. He was probably just tired. Yeah, that was definitely it. After all, he'd had a long week and practically no damn sleep to show for it. Now, he was setting out to feck himself comatose.

"Ye still take it in the arse?" he asked gruffly between kisses, their mouths swiftly clashing and separating before wetly colliding and melding again. "'S been a while since I had one."

That was a reasonable question, right? It certainly couldn't hurt to ask, especially since he had screwed her backdoor before. He could easily say that of all the women he had taken anally, Ember's puckered fuckhole was second only to Moxxi's, so _of course_ he wanted to pound it again. It wasn't like he was overlooking the rest of her or forgetting her womanhood - hell no. Christ, he didn't need to be so critical of every damn move he made, _right_?

The way she bit his lip with just the right amount of pressure and sucked at it had his mind stuttering. Ah, feck yeah, that was exactly why he wanted her - because she was a professional at everything she did. The confident intensity of her kiss was more than capable of proving it.

Her oral skills, combined with memories of their former experiences did the trick and had his cock tingling in lurid anticipation. And that was _great. _Whatever got the job done, right? It clearly remembered the pleasure they had last shared. Eager to relive the experience, it only grew harder, his consuming kisses becoming hungrier because of it. Truth be told, he couldn't imagine how his langer could have forgotten all Ember had to offer. Her body was a playground just waiting for his taking. How could he not want to claim every inch of it?

_'Cause it ain't Amara's arse yer thinkin' 'bout,_ supplied his mind oh-so-helpfully.

Why lie to himself? He didn't have a chance to make excuses with how voraciously that did the trick. He instantly felt dizzy from the blood dumping straight into his dick. Maybe he did need to have his heart checked, dramatic as it was behaving. Then again, it was just like him to insanely desire something he couldn't have. He was vividly reminded how he should have tapped her backend at least once before he called it quits, even if he didn't believe in regrets.

Oh well - an arse was an arse. As a matter of fact, some _were_ too tight. He fully expected Amara's to be, but it wasn't any of his business. For certain,_ he knew_ every hole Ember had fit him just right. That was why he had gone back for seconds and was there to pound her cross-eyed again.

"If you have lubricant," she confidently purred, knowing just how she liked it. A hot lover always did. Even a perfect woman could have limits.

Zane nodded, suddenly mindful of exactly what he had stashed securely in his utility belt, not quite burning a hole through but close to it. "Ye bet I do, gorgeous."

He certainly didn't forget Ember requiring rubbers for vaginal. Openly promiscuous as they both were, he supposed it was smart of her to protect herself. Eager as he was to sample every part of her, he didn't have a choice but to respect her boundaries. At least she barebacked up the arse and took his load in her mouth.

Fun as that was, it still couldn't compare to raw dogging a snug pussy. After all, they were made for a man's pleasure. Though he didn't take her rules personally, he couldn't blame his cock for being disappointed. He was clean, but still, he had been around a lot. Plenty of people used protection, and it wasn't like he carried around papers certifying he couldn't continue the Flynt family legacy.

No man liked condoms, and that was a solid fact. Unfortunately, it didn't matter how thin barriers were, they always dulled sensation. Nothing was better than skin on skin, but beggars couldn't be choosers, even if pleasure was why most folks had sex to begin with. He supposed he shouldn't complain, since anal with a lass was more mental than anything. Even experienced as he was, fecking a woman's arse still seemed taboo. Just the visual of his cock being squeezed so tightly was perversely satisfying.

In hindsight, he recognized that he should have laid out everything in advance and been better prepared. Holy moly, was he rusty. Chuckling despite himself, he rushed to do just that, oblivious to the expression of intrigue following his scrambling. It wasn't like Ember had asked him to _prove _his inventory, but that didn't prevent him from tackling the task. The fact that he did so almost literally had him fumbling strips of prophylactics and dropping the lube with numb fingers. He almost stomped on the tube in his haste to retrieve it.

Phew, at least he had bought condoms in advance. After chucking the ones he had formerly owned in the rubbish bin, he counted his lucky stars he had remembered to replenish his supply with his latest booze shipment. After having spent so long spreading the legs of a woman who hated rubbers as much as he did, he had practically forgotten they existed. Why was it, again, he didn't go straight for someone who went without them?

Right, because there was still time for that. Amara wasn't the only one who went without, and that meant he didn't need to go back to making mistakes like he had. In hindsight, he actually started feeling bad that she had intimately trusted him. Didn't she know the places he had been and all the people he had fecked? Shite, he couldn't imagine her ever actually wanting to touch him if she did.

_It's a little late for that, boyo,_ he kindly reminded himself. He had no reason to think poorly of his decisions anyway. They hadn't been taking chances and there hadn't been any risk. He was _clean. _Now, more than ever, he just _felt_ like a filthy bastard.

Zane tried to smirk like one and succeeded, didn't he? Everything she expected was now laid out on the bed and he was pushing her down alongside it with delicious impatience. He growled playfully as he crawled atop her, settling his pelvis against hers so he could rock his hips _just _like he wanted to take her. Pressing his cock against her, he savored that lewd friction and felt her lift her hips to further it.

The thought of pounding her nice, tight arse tested his patience. He could hardly wait for it. He hadn't been lying - he had gone too damn long without. Feeling like he had to have it _now_, he wondered how much prep Ember actually needed. She was experienced, after all, and had taken it so willingly before. Somehow, even inundated with intense memories, his focus faltered. Even grinding her as he was, it dawned on him that he should have been feeling more.

Damnit, damnit, damnit, he _was _feeling it, he swore. And he would feel more when he got his cock out. Did he _really_ need reminding or has some wire come loose in his head? Either way, his mind raced with a desperate chant.

_Don'tfeckthisup'don'tfeckthisup,don'tfeckitup!_

He couldn't _wait_ for lust to overtake him. It was only a matter of time, he told himself, as he furrowed his bushy brows, concentrating on that naughty friction. It wasn't until he grasped a breast and opened his eye to watch himself grope at it that he noticed the look Ember was giving him. Ohhh boy, her expression was among the last he wanted to see when gearing up to feck a woman. With the way he rubbed and fondled her, how could she seem so confused?

"What," Ember asked rather suddenly, her lush voice suspiciously curious, "no more kissing?"

What in the feck was she talking about? He hadn't just kissed _her_ throughout their time together - he had also made out with others. A moment of reflection had him dropping his abrupt defensiveness and realizing what she truly meant. The upset purse of her neglected lips was a dead giveaway.

Discombobulated, the operative blinked at her, only now noticing the grip she had on his beard, her hold tightening as she fixed him in place. As it turned out, he had spent the last number of minutes dodging her attempts to taste him. Even worse, he had been oblivious to her frustration, too stuck in his own finicky head to notice his own avoidance.

Having that dawn on him had him leaning back and shaking his head at his own brand of nonsense. His offhanded attempt at a lighthearted chuckle fell painfully flat, so much that his pinched expression acknowledged it.

"Sorry," he offered, breathing a sigh as he rolled his shoulders and used the moment to try and recalibrate himself. "Seems I'm a bit off me game! Huh," he added, giving a flippant shrug, "must'a had a wee bit too much to drink."

To him, that seemed as good of an explanation as any. _Anything_ was better than having Ember insinuate he was - that he was what, possibly using her? God, no, he wouldn't do that - at least not in any way she didn't want.

Oh great, what was he now, paranoid that she would start second-guessing him? Or that she had other intentions for him than them having a nice, casual feck? No, no, _no_, there was no reason to get cold feet, goddamnit.

Narrowing her backlit eyes at him in a way that was more concerned than critical, Ember placed her organic hand against his sternum. She didn't push. Instead, she just held him there as though forcing him to see the worried furrow on her visage. Without a doubt, she could feel his heart as it percussed rapidly inside him.

In that moment, Zane was suddenly that much more aware of the proverbial wound in his chest. What troubled him wasn't the searing pain of a new affliction but instead the incessant ache of a deep scar.

"Love," she began, speaking like a woman with unfair intuition, "is zer something on your mind?"

He really had no intention of pulling back and submitting himself to her scrutiny. Instead, he pressed further against her - and then decided to refrain, deciding that maneuver was _too _intentional. So he lifted his brows at her, shot her his best dumbfounded expression, and then grinned frivolously - and incredulously - at her.

"Noooo, no. _Never,_" he assured her, deflecting her speculation with a dirty chortle.

_That_ had her planting him flat onto his back. There was a lot of strength in those arms of hers. It helped that he was a bit of a pushover for women he wanted to screw, even if he wasn't really keen on this turn of events - at least not until she followed after him and straddled his hips. As sexual as his interests were, she appeared more determined to pin him there and scrutinize him from her new vantage point.

"Mmm_hmm_," she purred wryly and stroked her skin hand thoughtfully along the speckled underside of his jaw. Despite himself, he stubbornly frowned at the gesture. Then further, his bushy brows knitting together, as she sighed wistfully at him. "I know a troubled man when I see one. And," she continued, but not before pausing to roll her pelvis firmly against his, "when I _feel_ one."

Glowering, Zane cursed his own body. As it turns out, his langer definitely didn't care to play this game. "Ye do, do ye?"

Ember sighed as she thumbed his chin and then repeated that tender stroke along his lower lip, her expression saddened. She then leaned forward, draping herself more comfortably atop him and intently balancing her chin on both overlapping hands. Such a lovely, focused audience she was - for all the wrong reasons. That was _not _the attention he desired.

"Come on, my vault hunter lover," she crooned in encouragement, "what is on your mind?"

Resisting the urge to dryly snort in her face, the operative crooked another mustached grin. "Do I even need'ta say it? Ye got me wonderin' why this is turnin' into a therapy session! Gotta admit, the last one I had on Nekrotafeyo didn't end so well!"

Ember's curiosity gained a finger hold before she realized she was falling for his diversion. "Nekro- nevermind. Come on, handsome. As cute as it is for you to play stupid, we both know better."

"Nonsense!" he countered, wishing he could cross his arms while rolling his eye at her harassment. That didn't stop him from exaggeratedly huffing at the ceiling. "_Shite_, I try to wine an' dine ye and yer first assumption is to assume I've gone all Timmy? Jaysus!"

Ember smirked at him now, though there was a hint of sympathy to it. "If by Timothy you mean a broken and lovesick man, zen perhaps."

The treble of his growl was displeased. "Don't go callin' me _broken_. _Christ_! Or - or that other nonsense! Y'know what," he grunted and sat up, taking her with him. "Ye got me! Maybe I've been wonderin' if yer gonna marry me. Tell me, this place got a chapel, 'cause me offer still stands!"

At his wink, she quietly laughed, though it was superficial at best. It was no surprise she wasn't convinced, nor was it any consolation when she tilted her head and dodged his attempt to silence her with a kiss.

"You are a horrible liar, mon fraire," she countered, now tapping her nails against his chest.

"Whaddya mean?" he groused, frowning at her discouragement. Weren't they trying to have a good time? This brand of interrogation wasn't his style of fun. "I ain't lyin'!"

If only she knew how honest he _was_ being. He damn well would have gone and married her if she allowed him the opportunity. He thought again how badarse Ember Flynt was for a name. It definitely suited her.

On an entirely separate page, Ember narrowed her eyes. Despite how coy she appeared, she maintained that air of sympathy - or was it pity? Neither was acceptable to the operative.

"No, I suppose you aren't," she answered calmly, reaching to cup his chin and brush the pad of her thumb across his lips again in an attempt to soothe his tension. "Not to me, that is. You are lying horribly to yourself."

There was no helping it - Zane began cackling, allowing himself to drop to the bed as he did. His hands went to his stomach as it shook with amusement, holding on until his harsh outburst died down...as if it _could. _Even after minutes of laughing interspersed with spurts of coughing, he could barely contain himself. Shite, his remaining eye sparkled with tears, he was so entertained. Even as he wiped at it, his final titters dying down, Ember gazed at him with such contrasting seriousness.

"What in the everlivin' _feck_ are ye talkin' about?" he managed, sounding positively and sarcastically dubious. That would have been rhetoric except he wanted to hear her nonsense, hoping it would set him off again. He always loved a good laugh!

And boy, was he going to get it - but not _get it, _as in _sex_. At least, not according to the way Ember was regarding him. She was pursing her lips, having lost some of her patience. She didn't play when it came to love or witnessing her friends suffer from the pain of it.

"Your lover - who was she?" she queried, and then specified, forcing direction on him: "Ze one you were with all that time."

Zane stared at her, the frost of his eye taking her in and calculating how to best convince her to drop her bullshite. He wondered, naturally, if he had any chance. With similar diligence, she returned that same regard, silently daring him to keep up his act. Instead of relenting, the operative flopped back onto the bed again. He directed his attention toward the ceiling like it spoke more sense than his companion.

"Mighty presumptuous to assume it was a lass, _lass. _An' _lover_?" He stopped to chuckle loudly, slapping his thigh as he did and behaving like nothing had ever been more preposterous. "Never heard of 'em!"

Compared to him, Ember remained terribly serious. "Well correct me, zen," she challenged but still appeared absolutely certain. "What else would you call someone you slept with for so many months?"

"Uhhh, try_ friend with benefits_?" he goaded, breaking into another sarky grin. "Ye can't tell me that's news!"

Rolling her computerized eyes at him, she sighed deeply and began walking her metal fingers slowly across his chest. There was something so casual about it. Almost irritating, sorta like her insinuations. And also kinda sexy.

All in all, he was a tad flattered. So she had been keeping count, had she? Of course, she could have referenced her ECHO logs and determined when they had last communicated. Then again, after so long, there was no mistaking that many months had elapsed.

Depending on how particularly bullheaded he was feeling, Zane knew he had options. He could play it off like he had been busy - and as a Crimson Raider, he had. Granted, their team hadn't been doing much vault hunting, but what did that matter? Last he checked, it didn't. What _did _was that he didn't put her off further. Instead, he told it like it was, because how would it be any better to insinuate he had spent all that time not wanting her?

More than anything, that wasn't what he wanted Ember to believe. Of course, he had been interested in her - he had simply been distracted and getting off elsewhere. If it hadn't been for Amara satisfying him sexually, he would have been getting the ride with whoever struck his fancy _and _hitting up the casino for booty calls.

Still, that hadn't been the case and they both knew it. His internal scowl must have eked out, given the way Ember was studying him. That, or maybe it hadn't, and she was waiting for his composure to crack. In fact, he bet money on that being the case, even as she trailed one finger along his right temple and down over the drop-off of his cheekbone. Following that, she began gently pulling along his sideburn.

"Let me guess," she hummed, her full lips lifting with a softhearted smile, "it was ze siren, wasn't it?"

How far could she read into his frown? Those artificial pupils of hers were perceptive. _Analytical_. How much of her was actually human again and how well could she read him like a book?

He should have gotten up and left, plain and simple. That would have been the most effective way to refuse her prodding and prevent her from overstepping her bounds. Maybe if he moved to leave, she would have dropped the subject. If he acted offended enough, perhaps she would never bring it up again.

Then again, he didn't really want to do that to them, either. He quite enjoyed himself in Ember's company, sexual or otherwise. The bridge between them was one of the few he wasn't inclined to burn. In fact, he was convinced even now that he would regret it if he did. Having made enough missteps in his recent past, he needed to second guess himself.

_Regrets. _Wait, he wasn't supposed to have those.

It wasn't that he _wanted_ to do any talking or subject himself to whatever the performer had to say. He definitely didn't want to explain what was going on between himself and Amara. He didn't want to admit what had been, or how badly he had fecked up, or account for every mistake he had made along the way.

But, if he had learned anything from his many decades of life, it was that unpleasant shite sometimes needed to be done. The man he was, he didn't invest much in self-reflection but didn't need to in order to recognize his flaws. More than anything, he acknowledged them so that he could avoid them. At his age, repairing them was basically out of the question. Besides, his feck-ups often provided him with sources of morbid amusement. Even in all this mess, there had to be something he could laugh at.

Keeping his tone even as best as he could, the voice that rose through his throat was low...and almost imperceptibly dangerous. "Why do ye think that?"

Fixing him in her searching gaze, the fire dancer tilted her chin toward him. She wasn't inviting a kiss now, but instead, she was adopting a posture of credence.

"Because a man like you," she began, her fingers absently toying with the tip of his beard, "needs a strong woman, and who is stronger than her? But _non, _I have seen ze way she looks at you, Monsieur Vault Hunter. She was very keen on you during ze heist. Why else would she worry about a trained killer like yourself, hmm?"

Alright, now he was befuddled. Ember_ was _entirely wrong about all that. She must have been projecting her own desires for him on Amara and reading into the attention she had paid him, overlooking the fact they were partners. As such, it was perfectly necessary for them to look to the other for unspoken direction, and they had done it all the time. Like hell his teammate had been into him way back then, _many _months before they had found themselves in bed together - not that it would have made a difference one way or another.

The more Zane reflected on his vivid memories, the more impossible it was for him to believe Ember's theory. Sure, he and Amara had been plenty friendly and he was naturally flirty, but any hovering or close attention they had paid the other had been protective.

_Nahhhhh_, he thought, and almost spouted his vulgar laugh. Almost.

Anticipating the twitch of his own tense brows, the operative caught himself. Just because he didn't know what Ember was talking about didn't mean he had to appear confused or react whatsoever. Instead, he hand-picked an expression of exasperation and wore it proudly.

Shaking his head and feeling it ripple the sheets beneath him, he gave a gruff exhale. "Lass, I don't even know what to say to ye and yer nonsense - an' that says somethin' 'cause aside from bein' deadly _and _dead sexy, dishin' bullshite is what I do best."

"Look at us," she hummed, looking between them to run her sights up and down the length of their touching bodies. "We are so close, yet you are not kissing me. What does that tell you? We are here, and I am ready for you, but you are not taking us further, mm?"

"'Scuse me?" he retorted in disbelief, raising up on one elbow to glare at her in an identically irritable manner. "Pretty sure that's what I was tryin' ta do before ye started interruptin'!"

Ember wasn't the type to break into argument. Instead, she pursed her lips before giving a composed shake of her shaven head. Still straddling him in all her naked glory, she had one hell of a point: he hadn't spared a second to appreciate his marvelous view.

Even then, despite having such a highly desirable woman suggestively posed atop him, he remained deflated. He supposed his body language suited the exasperated image he was going for. If it didn't work in his favor, then he might have to make it.

"Gorgeous," Zane crooned, giving her his best expression of attentive concern and added a pinch of pity in there to seal the deal. "No one's forcin' ye to have dessert with dinner. Me assumin' we'd get randy ain't you leadin' me on any, y'know. If ye didn't want ta put out, ye could'a jus' said so. It ain't gonna hurt me feelin's any."

Talking over him as women did - _goddamnit_ \- she looked upon him with palpable sympathy. With her resolve growing by the second, it was obvious he needed to find some way to effectively discourage her. That or accept things were going to get worse and he needed to be on his way.

"I did not take ze infamous Zane Flynt as having reservations," she went on, solidifying the fact that he absolutely needed to end this. "Zis must be a first for you, _non_? I think that says enough. Trust me, mon ami...I am _very _willing to have you, if you wish to continue...but I trust you are smart enough to know that you can't."

Zane couldn't help it - he groaned in agony, his head flopping to one side in defeat. Under his breath, he uttered, "_Jaysus Christ on toast,_ I am _nowhere_ near pissfaced enough for this."

"Seriously," he added after another bout of openly childish whining, "if yer gonna do this, leave me to me mini-bar. At least it'll show me a good time!"

"You will do no such thing," she declared, settling more of her weight atop him. Though it wasn't nearly enough to prevent him from spilling her to the side, he huffed and rotated his visible eye to the ceiling.

Only figuratively did Zane want her off his chest. Short of ditching the performer, which would be an arsehole move and one he really didn't want to resort to, he could only hope to outlast her audacity so they could get the _desired_ show on the road.

"Fine,_ fine," _he spat, appropriately annoyed. "Aye, I was hookin' up with Amara, alright? An' I'm only tellin' ye 'cause I like ye so much. I don't see why it matters, though," he added with a scowl, "'cause it didn't work out. There was nothin' _to _work out. The End."

Frowning further than she had before, the fire dancer hardly seemed satisfied. So long as those were the only circumstances she straddled him and appeared disappointed, the operative could accept it.

Despite his obstinance, it was clear she wouldn't settle for his short story. The split second she parted her pretty lips to speak, he interrupted:

"Have ye ever been aboard Sanctuary? No, ye haven't, so take me word, Scout's Honor: it's borin' as feck an' I was drunk! That's all there was to it. _Serious_."

Well, at least half of that was true. More than that, actually, counting all the times he had tumbled with the siren after a thorough boozing. Of that, there had been many - and not a single time had been necessary.

Raising and skeptically arching one of her dark brows, Ember narrowed her glowing gaze. Then, with one corner of her mouth curling coquettishly, she pointed out, "For eight months?"

If that wasn't a bullseye, Zane didn't know what was. Truth be told, her angle momentarily rendered him speechless. Had they gone on that long? Nah, that couldn't be true. Still, his face furrowed with defensiveness, not half as flattered as he should have been to know she must have missed him all that time.

"Do ye doubt me drinkin', love? It wasn't like I was keepin' track!"

Well, that much was true, though his reason for ignoring the passage of time wasn't all that intentional. He had been too caught up in pleasure to count days. And really, he hadn't been all that tipsy when he had opened his door to Amara that first fateful time, but Ember didn't need to know that. In fact, she didn't need to know any of it, but still, she insisted.

As self-satisfied and irritably _understanding _as Ember appeared, she had reached a clear conclusion as to why he had been behaving so erratically that evening. Convinced as he was that he had simply been enjoying his night on the town and making it last, the performer seemed to think otherwise.

Goddamn women. What a difficult lot they were with all their head games. The feck was up with them ruinin' his hopes for wild abandon? Needless to say, this turn of events wasn't helping his dour funk any.

Well then, that meant he had to take control of the situation, which he abruptly pushed himself up to do - until Ember gracefully caught him by the throat and forced him back onto the mattress by it. _That_ got a twitch from his dick, the spark of excitement her action elicited making him forget what his plan had been - not that he had one to begin with.

Tutting at him with her accented tongue, the Frenchwoman blatantly ignored his perturbed grumble before offering her earnest solicitude.

"I 'ave comforted many sad men, mon cheri. Slept with them when they needed to forget their problems, especially if their troubles are women. So tell me, who are you going to see when you are inside of me - ze beautiful woman I am or ze one you want me to be?"

Well then. If anything was capable of stopping him in the tracks he wasn't actually making, it would be _that. _He knew enough about her to know that she had indeed been the stand-in for others, and it was a shame for such a hot woman to be reduced to that. Still, she was as capable as any of making her own choices. Evidently, that included her offering him that same physical comfort.

Frowning, Zane didn't have it in himself to hide his disheartened attitude. And maybe, just a tad, he pouted as he uttered, "Now yer jus' try'na depress me."

What Ember suggested had _not _been his intention...at least not consciously. He didn't doubt he would have kept his eye open and seen her for who she was - but he couldn't lie and say he had never used someone else's body to satisfy a personal fantasy. He most certainly had - far more than once.

"Let's not play games, my love," she crooned at him, reaching to stroke her palms along his hairy chest and play her fingers through its thickest spread. "You have been using zis time to distract yourself from her, so...why don't we settle zis and talk about her?"

Eyebrows lifting his entire hairline, he felt like some wires were being crossed. On one hand, Ember sounded content to sit and have a chat. On the other, she continued running her fingers in a combing massage across his pecs and down his sternum, grazing along his treasure trail before pleasantly easing up along his ribs. Was this a therapy technique he didn't know of? It certainly kept his attention.

"There's nothin' to talk about," he grumbled, his attention aimed to follow her caressing fingers even as he repeated, "I said it was nothin'."

"Mmhmm," came her hum, her next pass raking across his nipples and causing him to jolt from the not-entirely-unpleasant sting.

Ah, so this was gonna be a test of wills. She was going to stare him down until he broke. _Well, _if she thought she was going to win that one, she was going to find herself sorely mistaken.

At least, that had been his stance until the silence damn near killed him. He was a lot of fabulous things but when it came to enduring the perusal of a pretty lass - particularly one who was undressed and sitting atop his dick - he tended to be weak-willed. And maybe he _did_ have the slightest something to get off his chest, particularly with a woman made for such private intimacy.

Maybe, for once, he was tired of lying. Though this hardly seemed to be an ideal arrangement to admit that, it appeared to be beyond his control. Already, Ember was convinced she understood his situation whether or not he agreed to it. Truth be told, he didn't think he could stand another argument with yet another gorgeous woman. Any more and he would fear he was losing his touch.

"We weren't...y'know, back then," he heard himself utter matter-of-factly, belatedly contesting what the performer thought she witnessed during the heist. Why he insisted on correcting her, he didn't know. Maybe he couldn't stand the nonsensical idea that he and Amara had potential that long ago. Even now, he refused to believe they ever had.

No doubt attuned to his struggles, Ember shimmied backward to settle herself just above his knees before draping herself along his chest. Folding one elegant hand over the other and propping her chin atop them, she positioned herself to attentively listen. The azure glow from her pupils had never been more pronounced from what he could remember, their intensity emphasizing her focus. He had certainly found himself under more blinding and unpleasant spotlights before. At least most interrogation tactics _progressed _to the balls, whereas Ember didn't hesitate to aim straight at them.

"Honestly, mon opératoire, it does not matter how long you two were together...only that you fell _in love._"

Well, that presumption caused a massive pileup in his head. He all but heard brakes shrieking before a deafening metallic _crunch _left him careening. Hell, there might even have been a rolling hubcap in there somewhere, and he definitely felt whiplash. And, as always, his head wasn't complete without all the usual screaming.

Apparently his expression said it all, as Ember promptly snorted through her petite nostrils and gave a pronounced roll of her eyes. Then, lifting her brows conceitedly, she regarded him with sordid amusement.

"God forbid, I have said _ze word_!" she dramatically gasped before reaching forward and wiggling his cheek by one mutton chop. The Flynt in him bared a single fang as she gave him an adoring pat.

When he said nothing, she repeated the gesture before giving an incredulous sigh. "So _zis _is the situation. Very troubling for a man who prefers to be all play, non? Let's say, zen, that you _care _for her. With you two having been teammates for so long, how could you not grow close, hmm? A better question: who else could you stand for all that time if you _didn't_ feel something for her?"

He didn't need to say it. In fact, he couldn't bring himself to make that commitment - at least, not aloud. In his head, he was aware that he _did _care for Amara. Similarly, he cared for his teammates. Cared about their safety. Cared for how they felt. But...did he care if _they _cared? That…that was different.

Zane knew he didn't give much of a damn if Moze ever glared daggers at him or flipped him off. He could say the same for FL4K, not that the AI was ever that opinionated. As for Ava, it was his responsibility to embarrass her. In fact, he made a point of annoying her by caterwauling her favorite tunes as off-key as possible - at least until she choked him off with a phaselock.

Picking on sirens proved to be dangerous business but damn, was it worth abusing his larynx and losing his voice in the process. On the other hand, earning Amara's disapproval often corrected his ornery behaviors the fastest. _Someone_ had to keep him somewhat in line, and her intense scowl had consistently achieved the best results since day one.

Then again, everything was situational. He hazarded to guess he might have thought twice about hitting on someone like Ember had Ava been around. After all, he didn't want to make the teenager gag and accuse him of being a dirty old man despite his unapologetically being one. He didn't see why he wouldn't be his shameless self around Moze even if it did disturb her, because that shite was hilarious, and FL4K could surely benefit from observing human mating behaviors. As for Amara…? Had she been there with disapproval showing in her violet eyes, he would have felt like the worst of all bastards. To some extent, it might even have killed him inside. He damn well knew that hadn't always been the case.

Even envisioning the scenario made his respect for himself wane, which was outright unfathomable. What in the everloving feck had happened to him? It hadn't been the war that had changed him any, as he had been through worse. Nothing like that would have affected him. And it hadn't been his age, or any alterations in his tastes, or his own damn decision that had influenced him because he _never _voluntarily changed.

Hell, even when nearing the end of his arrangement with Amara, he hadn't remotely cared about possibly being caught - and it wasn't like him dicking her had been any more legitimate than any other lay. That discrepancy led him to wonder...if he had been that stubborn, would he have ended everything if convinced he had actually had a choice?

Another sharp headache was rapidly congealing in him and it made him scowl. It had him wanting to withdraw from the performer asking all these damn questions and making all these shitty assumptions and coming to all these frustrating conclusions and he just…He couldn't say a damn thing about it.

That, too, was a first. He couldn't even deny or retort anything Ember had said, not because he was indifferent but more because...he just didn't know how to tell her she was wrong. Worse than that, he didn't know how to be persuasive when he couldn't even convince himself of anything.

Professionally, he could lie with the best of them. He could make himself out to be anyone his mission dictated. He could put on an act, play a sarcastic bastard, spout off disarming nonsense or insults or distractions...except now. For whatever reason, his fallback arsenal was absent. His head was damn near void of everything, and he was stiflingly unprepared. He was…too damn sober, particularly for all of Ember's accusations, and good Lord, how he needed to change that. The migraine now overtaking him helped _nothing._

"Ah yes, that is what you are afraid of," she diagnosed with insurmountable self-assurance. Then, she said as a means of pointing out his contradictory behavior: "And Zane Flynt does not fear, just as he does not fall _in love._"

There was no preventing his expression from darkening with contempt before a derisive chuckle finally left him, sounding hollow and edged with bitterness. Needless to say, he wasn't feeling all that friendly now. "Don't even go there, sister."

As if Ember had any other plans. Leave it to him to be attracted to fiercely determined women. She had no intention of sparing him - and despite being all-too-aware of that, he didn't understand why he put up with it. Maybe it was because she was so darn pretty. Most likely it was because he needed to hear how utterly ridiculous everything was from someone else's gob for a change.

"Okay, zen - if that was not it, zen why did it have to end?" she asked while crossing her arms against her bare breasts. Mmm, they looked so nice that way..._damnit. _"Was it not good for you, mon friere? Did she not _put out_ enough? Were you left unsatisfied?"

None of that sat right in his gut. In fact, he was feeling grumpier with each spoken word. Was she mocking him? It sure seemed that way. She appeared positively haughty as his remaining eye silently challenged her. The more it narrowed, the more she smirked, fully entertained by getting under his skin. Evidently, she was aiming to make it twitch.

"Let me guess," she persisted, judgmentally tilting her head to the side, "It was you who ended things…and now you are here hoping someone can make you feel better."

In a rare downturn of events, his tongue did the talking for him. If his reaction didn't say it all, what did? He couldn't have sounded sourer than he did when he snapped, "_Who else_?!"

And there it was: his Flynt disposition. _Lovely!_ _Irrational temper all the way, boyo._

With that, Zane sat up and took her with him. It was effortless, really, to inconsiderately dump her off to the side, particularly with how flustered he felt. At the same time, he began stroking his temples with rigid middle fingers and deeply circled through the immense pressure there. Despite himself, he managed to stand his ground, even as he sat on the far edge of the bed and cowered in physical distress.

"Look, I _had_ to be an arsehole, alright?" he defended, gritting his teeth all the while. Not even the sensation of ice being corkscrewed into his skull could prevent the rise in his voice. "It's never pretty but I had me reasons - an' I _don't _need a motherfeckin' therapist!"

"What you need is her," came Ember's fearless and equanimous opinion. Like _anything_ was that damn simple.

Zane couldn't stop himself - he gave a hard, ugly laugh - the kind that either meant he had it all figured out or that he just didn't give a damn about anything anymore. In reality, he was neither, and damn if his voice didn't crack at the end of it. For that and _every _reason, bowed his head further and hissed, fingers digging in to pull at his hair.

Sensing her chance, Ember seized it. Remaining perfectly poised as she was, she leaned a bit more forward at her waist and made her pitch, her flesh hand coming to settle on his tense back.

"You are not ruined, mon ami. Dare I say, zer comes a time when everyone must change. You have played zis role for how long now? Almost your entire life. Did you really think, over all these years, that someone wouldn't come along and inspire a little more, hmm? It wasn't as though zis thing between you and her happened overnight. And it's even harder for a man to miss that transition when he _refuses_ to see it."

Once again, Zane could only laugh. Had he ever quit? Possibly not. Honestly, it was impossible to tell. A mantra kickstarted in his head, and not for the first time. _This is stupid, so feckin' stupid_, viciously cycling over and over again.

It was about then that Ember finally pushed herself to her feet. Maneuvering nimbly to him, she seized him by the silver hair of his chin and held firm as though expecting him to be evasive.

"My love, why are you so convinced that you and her could go nowhere?" she demanded, a hint of sadness intertwined with her French accent. "What 'aven't you already done with her after all zis time together? What more does a pair of lovers need but each other? Clearly what you had with Amara was not meant to be temporary if you are still troubled by it. How long has it been since you ended it?"

Like hell he would give her the answers she hoped for. This, he was reminded again, was _not_ the direction he wanted their evening to take. In fact, it was the exact opposite. More than anything, his agitation tempted him to smash something in the suite just so he had a mess to clean up that _wasn't_ himself. Somehow, he held back.

Instead, he silently bristled. He didn't even know where his own mind was at. He only knew that he wanted to get away from the woman he expected to cut him some fecking slack, but instead, her hands cautiously settled atop his shoulders and began kneading at the knotting there. What a shame it was that her skillful touch failed to bring him any relief.

"My _very_ talkative friend," she sighed, her voice gentle with sympathy, "you've gone quiet, so I will talk for you. She _was_ your woman and now you are homesick. An old man like you...do you really want to spend your every last day not 'aving her again? You never know when you'll lose your chance…"

Yeah, he knew what she referred to. Her actual concern was more a matter of his bounty than his age. Still, what difference did it make? Having his life at stake gave him all the more reason to keep his distance from everyone.

"Oh, ye know," he managed finally, unable to resist his perfect retort, "Prob'ly soon, after ye insist on beatin' me over the head with this 'til I'm dead."

Giving a small and pleasant laugh, Ember responded with a fond shake of her head. "You are allowing yourself to be eaten up by zis _because _you are not taking a chance."

"It isn't as _simple_ as that," came his immediate snarl. And it wasn't. Rarely were things ever. "There're plenty o' other reasons that can't happen."

"You mean _excuses,_" corrected the Frenchwoman, amused by his persistent ambiguity. "I will never understand why you silly men _choose _to be unhappy. You can't tell me you weren't enjoying yourself with her or else you would have come to me," she said with all her alluring confidence. And damn, if she wasn't absolutely right.

"The sex was great," he defended, managing another threatening scowl despite the ongoing fracture of his skull.

Pursing her lips sternly, Ember chuckled again in that lyrical way of hers. Even before she settled down, she managed to tut at him, "You and I know how easy it is to find _that,_ mon ami. Try again."

Nope. He was _not_ going to do this. The chasmic glare marring his features proved it. Gusting out an infuriated sigh, Zane stood off the bed and took a _much _too belated detour to the minibar. Screw not getting pissfaced - he had refrained long enough. And it was _very much _in character for him to uncap and consume five of the bottles before he lined them up atop the refrigerator and proceeded to flick them off one at a time as a form of anxious target practice. If only it was as effective as planting his fist through a wall.

Moving to perch herself at the edge of the bed, Ember watched him with the hungry curiosity of a hawk. He could hear the slide of silken skin as she crossed one leg over the other and knew, if he could be bothered to spare her a glance, that she had naturally adopted a seductive posture. Instead, he shook his head and rifled through the available alcohol to make a more intentional selection.

"How 'bout ye get lost if yer gonna keep at this?" he threw over his shoulder, watching the plastic bottles hollowly collide with the wall. "I don't need ye layin' waste to the good times we were havin'."

She was on a roll that evening, wasn't she? If he knew she was going to be like this, he would have dumped her off at the club and been on his way. He could have had more fun recklessly gambling and setting a few million credits ablaze. In fact, he would have preferred that to the bullshite she was spouting. Why was it, again, that he hadn't put his foot down?

Evidently, it was easier to clamp his jaw shut. He almost didn't trust what would come out if he opened it. After all, he still had hopes of salvaging the night somehow, even if his actions suggested otherwise.

That wasn't nearly enough. He paced across the room twice before seizing the rucksack he had haphazardly tossed into a stylish chair. Yanking it up by its straps, he flipped it open and rifled through its contents before finding precisely what he wanted: a bottle of select 25-year-old bourbon.

He had _intended _to slowly savor it while recovering alongside Ember in bed, but instead, he violently chucked those plans out the window. Instead, he did the exact opposite: out of anger with the dancer, and with damn near everything, he uncapped the bottle and tipped it vertically to his lips. Overhead, the contents glubbed and drained as he chugged them without ceasing, the motions of his Adam's apple showing each hasty swallow. That familiar burn was like a waterfall of liquid fire - one that ran dry far too soon.

The moment there was nothing left, he pitched the bottle. Senses dominated by the sudden weight of liquor in his stomach, he hardly registered the crash as it collided with the minibar and broke in a dozen directions. Fine by him - he would rather stomp barefooted on glass than continue stumbling through sobriety.

Maybe in an hour, or maybe by morning, he would regret his hotheaded actions. For now, Zane embraced the potent alcohol fuming on his breath and willed the scotch to seep in. The sooner he felt it, the better. He might finally get some relief, especially if it compounded all the other alcohol he had consumed earlier.

If Ember thought that would floor him, she was wrong. He had flirted _way _harder with liver failure throughout his day. Even as quickly as he had knocked it back, one bottle was nothing. Now all he needed was another smoke...or another drink.

The way his date cooly regarded him, it was obvious she was virtually immune to his display. If anything, she was guaranteed to use his reactivity against him. He bet money that she misinterpreted him needing to numb his damn head as him being provoked. Hadn't the lass ever had a migraine before? Did she conveniently forget he had one earlier?

"Zis, you don't need," she decided firmly, gesturing between their bare bodies instead of referring to the accumulation of overturned bottles. "Instead, you need to go to your woman and get on your knees. Not to _marry_ her, you silly man, but beg for her forgiveness. Go and grovel for her...and make it up to her in bed."

A beat passed before the operative shattered the silence again with his exuberant barking. The saturnine quality of it had Ember regarding him with renewed concern.

"That," he practically wheezed, barely containing his morbid levity, "_that_ is jus' not gonna happen. Holy feck, gimme some credit here."

Evidently Ember couldn't, if the intense scrutiny she subjected him to was any indication. Those enhanced senses of hers were really trying to get a read on him. Yeah, well, he hoped she was making the most of it because even teed off as he was, he was still handsome.

"Do you think she would not take you back if she knew you came to me...even if you did not _come?_" she asked squarely.

"Could be a bit of a complication, aye," he admitted before tightly pinching the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stifle the relentless ache emanating behind it. Instead, he ended up burying his face in both of his palms and seethed a tormented breath between them.

_What am I even doin' anymore? I don't even feckin' know. _And that was the goddamn truth. Before she could say anymore, he reacted.

"Look," he snapped, resolutely throwing his arms out in a T-pose as though displaying his flaws for all to see. Both his volume and tone were louder than he wanted them to be, and even that elevated his distraughtness further. "I know I fecked up, _thank ye very much_, but I fecked up _fer a reason_! Now that we got that settled, would ye mind lettin' up? I'm try'na get over it!"

And _that_ was the truth. When he wanted something, he went for it without reservations or consideration for much else. The process wasn't always easy but that didn't mean it wasn't necessary. If anything, he had gone out of his way to be _on his way_. All he wanted was to stand solidly on his own damn feet again.

What was done was _done. _Already, he had recited that reality to himself upward of a thousand times by now. Honestly, he didn't need to convince anyone but himself of that. Ember didn't need to understand, and all the better given that she never would. For as similar as they were, she was a romantic at heart. It wasn't as much of a game for her.

"Something tells me you used _your_ reasons to end things," accused the performer with thoughtfulness, "but what about her? Isn't Amara a strong enough woman to make her own decisions?"

At that, Zane could only open and close his mouth. It was an effective attack, he had to give her that. From that angle, he didn't have much of a foot to stand on, and Ember knew it. Likely she knew his conscience had been chiseling away at his resolve with that same argument all along.

_Ah come on, ye wanker,_ his mind often hissed whenever he tried rationalizing everything. _Ye bloody well know Amara knows what ye are an' what she was signin' up for. Newsflash: maybe ye _don't_ actually know what's best for her! Ye aren't _her_. Stop try'na make excuses or worse, treat her like she's stupid. Ye know better!_

Shite. He was accustomed to having opponents team up against him, but for once, these odds didn't seem to be in his favor.

"You _must_ know why you are troubled by zis," persisted the performer, angling one exposed and attractive shoulder toward him. At any other time, he would have admired the sensual grace of her clavicle. Instead, he ignored both and the opportunity she gave him to respond - which he refused to do.

Expecting it, the fire dancer went on without hesitation.

"You know you did wrong by her and that you want to be better," she explained, "otherwise you wouldn't try to put her needs above your own. Tell me, when was the last time you prioritized anyone over yourself?"

She knew the answer. The way she watched him pitch back another shot of complimentary liquor provided enough evidence. She remained as equanimous as ever, posed there while he, in contrast, rounded the bed and fell back onto it. With his legs hanging over the edge, he reached up to forcefully grind his palm into his eye. Fearing he might rupture it, he grumbled beneath his breath and finished. Only then did he blink a series of times to restore his vision - not that he cared to see anything so clearly.

Seizing the opportunity, the dancer crawled atop him again. Possibly she both intended to prevent his escape and command his fullest attention.

"I can't do that to 'er," he groaned with anguish, his throat thick with it. "I can't...subject her to meself."

Humming and trailing her digits along his silver-dusted collarbone, she arched a curious eyebrow. "If she let you share other beds, would you have stayed with her?"

Zane discovered himself staring at her, hard, as he registered her words. Somehow, they just didn't sink in. Ember should know he wasn't _that _shallow. Assuming she did, he suspected she was testing to see how deep everything ran.

"That ain't what I said," he growled, his gruffness evidence that the situation couldn't be reduced to so little.

Those hands of hers trailed down his chest as though she was both bidding it farewell and trying to make sense of the organ confused inside.

"You don't have to be a good man, Flynt. You just "ave to be a good one for _her. _And I would say you've already done that, if you've stayed by her side as long as you have and 'aven't strayed. Mon ami, did you even _think_ of me when you were with her?"

As if it wasn't obvious what she was insinuating: that he was capable of monogamy. And what would it have mattered if he _thought_ of someone else at the time? He really...hadn't, and it wouldn't have been an admission of guilt if he had. He was human. A heavily flawed, psychologically damaged one, even if he was relatively stable in his own brand of madness.

Zane Flynt was _not_ one to settle down. Not with Amara, not with Ember, not with anyone. It didn't matter if he and the performer were promiscuously compatible. At least, he had every reason to assume they were. She had always had some naughty story to tell him when they talked - even back before he had tapped her fine arse.

Now, Zane wondered, when had he stopped living in the moment? What happened to hedonism? Hadn't hooking up with Amara kept him happy _and _sane? Indeed it had. Even as long as they had kept at it, he had been nothing short of satisfied. Why had he let that change again? From an outside perspective, his choices indeed seemed utterly foolish.

Discomfort squirmed through his viscera as Ember traced her fingers along one of the more prominent scars slashed low across his stomach. The contact instantly dredged up memories of catching a bastard with a knife a split second too late. With the blade sunk half an inch deep, he could vividly remember feeling the tip shuddering within his flesh while blood spilled and he violently resisted the feckhead determined to lacerate his intestines. What a fight it had been to prevent him from twisting his wrist and splitting his abdomen further. Needless to say, it wasn't the most suitable recollection for the bedroom.

Even after decades, the nerves remained permanently damaged and gave him the most indescribably eerie sensation. It made his skin crawl and tempted him to jolt away from her touch, but soon enough, she took to tracing the sunken bullet wound on his right side. Thank heavens, that particular scar wasn't as squicky.

Back to the obstacle at hand, Zane rolled back his head and stared at nothing particular in the ceiling. "Sorry to tell ye," except not, "but those are piss poor feckin' reasons to be with anyone. In fact, I can't believe yer even suggestin' it's fair fer her to deal with...with _this_," he said, stabbing a finger at his head.

Ember was not deterred. If anything, she smiled softly before gently poking him between his mismatched eyes. "Was _that_ a problem when you were with her?"

"It...it..._yes_," he practically whispered, favoring incomplete lies. Based on the look she gave him, Ember was anything but sold. It seemed she read far into his hesitation.

"Mm_hmm_," she hummed while trailing her fingertip along his brow, then down his prominent cheekbone, before tracing along his jawline so that she could twist the end of his beard. "If you change your mind, I will be here. My bed is yours, you know," she purred, leaning so her breasts pressed flush to his pecs and her lips whispered along his, proving how tempted he _wasn't_. "I know working zis out in your handsome head is the _last_ thing you want to do, but it is for ze best."

He wanted to laugh at that. Instead, as another bolt splintered his cranium and slithered to settle in his gut like a parasite, he made a sound of torment.

"Dunno where me head's at, honestly," he grunted, actively feeling himself shutting down. Less and less effort was being channeled into arguing and instead, felt like it was rapidly draining from him both mentally and physically. He felt as heavy as lead and sagged into the bed from it, wishing his shaven companion would piss off and let him sleep.

Perceptive as she was, Ember wasn't remotely convinced they were finished. Instead, she struck a casual pose by balancing on one elbow and propping her chin on her hand. At the same time, she began lightly brushing her bottom lip along the back of one graceful finger.

"Mon ami, have you ever considered, wise as you are, that you are 'aving this _internal conflict _because of guilt?"

Zane's scowl was loud. He wasn't _like _that. He didn't even have to say it - right?

_Ohhhhoho, _his mind laughed._ Funny how you're quicker ta write yerself off as fecked in the head than havin' morals. _Phew_! Ye sound _Pandoran_!_

He was, and because of that, he did _not _handle this emotional bullshite well. In fact, he seemed to have more than exceeded his limits. Being forced to face his deficiencies was rare for him but it happened, and holy feck, did he despise it. Before he knew it, his hands were locked into fists so tight, they began shaking. Worst of all was feeling short of breath in ways that had nothing to do with sprinting or sucking down a carton of cigarettes.

_What in the everlivin' feck?_ came his gripe. _C'mon now, boyo! What is wrong with ye? 'S it time fer the padded cell again? Get yerself together! Get outta here if that's what ye need ta do to, I dunno, get recalibrated, 'cause this is ridiculous. Then again, if ye start hyperventilatin', ye might need a lil' help._

Feck, _no_, he would not. _Absolutely_ would not. So his head got away from him sometimes and he got jittery. A hefty dose of nicotine was what he needed. _Christ_, he could do better than this. Sure, it wasn't like he could ever really clear his head, but what he _didn't_ need was it chipping relentlessly away from him. He needed to stop the sense of erosion that felt like it could cripple him. It never did, though. One way or another, he always snapped out of it. Right now, he was just having an episode. So he was _unstable_ \- what didn't he know? What didn't _everyone_ know? It just showed some times more than others.

"Apologies, love," he managed to croak, wishing he sounded less strangled and instead, far more convincing. "I'm havin' some technical difficulties_._"

Ohhh and _now_ Ember was subjecting him that same look she had given Timothy as he stammered and struggled to choke Jack back. Part of that expression of _understanding_ made him want to wipe it right off her. Of all the things to hate throughout the galaxy, pity was at the tip-top of his list.

"_Listen,_" he snapped and ohhhhh boy was he in for it. "Don't ye _dare_ give me that look, I am _perfectly fine_," he grit, trying to fight the raw cruelty that wanted to rear its ugly head and lash out instead. "Perfectly fine, I tell ye. I just- need a goddamn minute."

Roughly, the operative shoved her off and all but threw himself from the bed. He stalked over to his jacket and practically tore through its pockets, his motions violently uncoordinated. Somewhere, in between him fumbling a cigarette out of one pocket and unintentionally crushing the damn thing until it bled tobacco onto the floor, he blanked out. He didn't register a single thing but his utter disappointment.

Then suddenly, he was curled atop his side the bed, his head supported by Ember's lap. Her careful hands were stroking through his hair, slowly easing the silver strands from his clammy forehead.

"Love," she soothed softly, "internalizing helps nothing."

Christ, like he didn't know that by now. Aside from being in bitter denial, that was what he had been preoccupied with those past months. Despite all the torture he had undergone throughout his career, he had quickly learned that mental distress elicited the most drawn-out, relentless agony. Even being the tough bastard he was, sometimes he just wanted _relief._

"What if...if yer right and she doesn't - wanna...again?" he stumbled, unable to label what they'd had just yet. For a woman who seemingly had all the answers, he hoped to hell she knew what to do.

Ember's gaze was somber but still held onto hope _somehow. _"You won't know until you _know_, will you?"

Funny, he had never allowed impossible odds from deterring him. He had always had a knack at manipulating them into his favor. The concept of rejection had never dented his style or troubled him. More than that, it had never prevented himself from making a pass at anyone. Then again, the situations he had gotten himself involved in hadn't been as intense as this thing with Amara. In all his fifty years, nothing had even come close.

It wasn't the thought of apologizing that put him off. More than anything, it was the concept of admitting he had royally - and intentionally - fecked up and that what they'd had shouldn't _have _to have ended. Even worse was his owning up to the fact that he was invested and felt _something_ for her. It was admitting his life wasn't just better with her but _because_ of her...and completely adjusting his own perception of himself as a result. That, perhaps more than anything, was the most difficult pill to swallow.

He was still struggling to grasp how any of that was remotely possible when Ember spoke to him in that hypnotic croon of hers.

"Why not return to her now and fix things?" she queried while caressing an admiring hand down one of his scarred arms. "Ze sooner you do, the sooner you two can enjoy each other again. Don't you want to make it up to her?"

Already, Ember knew he did. For the second time that evening, he wondered how it was she expected everything to be so easy. Perhaps approaching Amara and sacrificing his remaining pride would have been marginally easier with the alcohol circulating his bloodstream. Then again, being intoxicated might work against him. The siren would doubt his sincerity if he was anything but excruciatingly sober.

Zane only swallowed in response. He did little else but glance at his fidgeting fingers before he stilled them with loose fists. The fire dancer went on, grazing her nails along his shoulder blades before rubbing circles into the small of his back.

"For what it's worth, I believe you and her complement each other well. You certainly fight like perfect partners. It's enough to make one wonder how you are in bed together…"

Witnessing Ember bite her lip caused a swift pang in his loins, but it didn't progress further. He didn't care to torture himself beyond that. Already, he had lost himself in daydreams and memories of his partner. Once they took hold, they were a challenge to abandon. Sometimes, it was a wonder he ever mustered the strength and integrity to return to reality.

After a fantasizing pause, Ember went on, her pretty mouth moving in musing ways. "I think it would be easier for you to cope if you had actual answers instead of not knowing, mon fraire. You have a mind that constantly seeks fixes, _non_? So no wonder not correcting zese problems has eaten at you."

She wasn't as wrong as he preferred her to be - not about _any _of this. Damn, why did he go for women who had that advantage over him again?

"Stupid to give anyone that power over yerself," he thought aloud, releasing an aching groan both at his own blunt honesty and the depth of that truth.

Leaning down to press a full-lipped kiss to his wrinkled forehead, the Frenchwoman smiled against his skin. Somehow, that gesture had a melting effect on the frigidness that had overtaken him. For lack of a better word, it was pleasant, much like the velvet quality of her voice.

"Trusting someone is not ze same as relinquishing control," she hummed, slowly pressing her lips to his lined skin again. "If anything, you are underestimating both yourself and Amara. What better woman is zer to give yourself to, hmm? I believe she has proven herself."

"In fact…" she went on, trailing off momentarily so that she could press another affectionate kiss to his lips, "your problem isn't at all with her, love. It's with yourself."

"Tell me somethin' I don't know," he gruffly lamented. As if proving that fact, he pressed his mouth more firmly to hers and initiated a less innocent kiss. It didn't take much coaxing for Ember to allow him entrance, their eyes easing closed as that sensual warmth seduced their senses.

How either of them decided it was productive to make out while discussing him getting back with Amara, he didn't know. He figured he was in the gray, provided they didn't take it further. Beyond that, he couldn't say it _wasn't _within his rights...but if he was indeed going to consider turning over a new stone, he should probably start now. Lord knew he had a ways to go before committing to change - or even before deciding what his ultimate choice would be.

Still, she tasted so sweet and her tongue twisted so divinely worth his. With so much experience shared between them, their smooth rhythm was heavenly. It was wonderfully easy to get carried away by it, the damp brush of their skimming lips elevating his senses. He could feel the muscles throughout his torso ripple with sexual ambition, other parts of him responding in turn.

_Nope_, that wasn't what he wanted. Truth be told, his physical reactions didn't make much sense to him. His problems weren't even in the _process_ of being amended, and yet somehow, being subjected to Ember's good intentions made her that much more alluring. Having someone care so openly, and selflessly, about him acted as a potent aphrodisiac.

Where it teased her skin, his mustache lifted with his smirk. Curious, she drew back to focus on his visage while at the same time, her fingers stroked through the silver flare of his sideburn.

"Ye are _the hottest_ therapist I've ever had," he sighed offhandedly. He sounded wistful as he tilted his head further into the almost maternal carding of her fingers, wordlessly demanding more.

Ember smiled despite having audible misgivings. "You 'ave actually been to one?"

Already, Zane was chuckling at the memory. "_Once. _Saw a bot fer five minutes...before I killed 'em."

Admiring Ember, who huskily giggled, he couldn't help but feel conflicted. Caught in an internal tug of war, he questioned his motives because there was no denying they would work well together. Sexually, they were extremely compatible, and beyond that, she knew what she was in for with him. She had witnessed first-hand the crazy shite he got into. Licentious as they both were, they could have continued their pleasure-seeking lifestyles and committed to each other only as much as they mutually desired.

Ember, for one, was a stunning combination of beautiful humanity and advanced mechanics. Though she mostly prided herself for her fiery acrobatics and performances, she proved she had a sense of adventure - one he had witnessed when she, wielding an incendiary firearm, had assisted his team in breaching the VIP Tower. Not only did she know her way around a gun in more ways than one, but she was sexy, suave, and passionate. In other words, she was precisely the kind of lass that drove him wild.

Absolutely, she deserved better than being a placeholder...and yet he was still fixed in his ways. He couldn't help himself - even if he always flew by the seat of his pants, he still liked having a backup plan. He didn't see a reason why he couldn't slip a ring on the fire dancer's finger if things with Amara didn't pan out.

Then, in theory, Ember would be his main, sharing with him a life of lustful indulgence and promiscuity. Not certain what the future would hold then, he might continue slogging on with the Crimson Raiders or satisfy his adventurousness elsewhere. Only one thing was certain: he would never truly be tied down, and his newest wife would be entirely understanding.

It would be a beautiful arrangement, really, if even given half a chance... Unfortunately, he seemed to be a fool for the sense of kinship he found among his vault hunting family. More than that, he felt indescribably incomplete without a specific fighter who both matched his fearless intensity and avidly lived for extremes. Even then, Amara's most lasting impression wasn't her siren aspirations or astral abilities but instead how she inspired him to change.

Did he ever truly believe he could rest in Ember's bed and not spend his night staring at the ceiling, wondering if he should have been laying alongside Amara instead? Did he think being tangled with any number of playmates could convince him he was better off there than being aboard Sanctuary and cozied up to a certain Partalian?

Even now, Zane had his doubts. He also had a newfound sourness for lying in the proverbial bed he was making for himself. What he had hoped would be a fun and relaxing date now somewhat seemed like more of a ball and chain. He couldn't help but feel the weight of impending consequences. Considering he wasn't a man who looked too far ahead or treaded with caution, he found it annoyingly strange.

If just for a minute longer, maybe he _wanted_ to be a piece of shite. The intimacy he shared with Ember was so rebelliously alluring and resonated with parts of him that had gone neglected for so long. At that moment, he couldn't help but find her bare body and honest heart undeniably tempting. And god, even more than he had wanted to distract himself with pleasure when arriving at the casino, he craved it _now_.

When he rose at the waist and cupped the back of her neck to draw her in, she didn't think to resist him. He hardly needed to tease his tongue along her lips before she granted him entrance, his senses enlivened by her welcoming acceptance. That wet embrace, like those shared with her before, went to his head like a drug and intensified with every sensuous suck along tongue. Swirling, stroking, stirring, they savored each other in ways that felt orally sexual.

Before he knew it, Ember was beneath him, her hands holding his face so she could better taste him, and he was nestling himself between her parted thighs. He was pressing against her, her skin smelling hotly of arousal and her breasts brushing so invitingly across his chest. He knew more than anything how badly he ached to bury himself deep and find comfort in her, superficial as it would be.

Even then, despite that desperate desire, Zane couldn't deny the undercurrent of abhorrence he felt toward himself. However much that backlash troubled him, he figured it signified a step in the right direction.

"Feck," he gasped, nearly groaned, as he braced his forehead against smoother skin and shared that profound, staring connection with the wrong woman, "'m in deep, aren't I?"

He had to be. Despite the intense demand of his physical needs, he couldn't bring himself to fulfill them. For him, that was a first. And that, more than anything, convinced him of how over his head he truly was...because the only thing capable of preventing him from making that sinful indulgence was the exact emotion he was so afraid of.

The expression in Ember's eyes, despite how digital they were, reflected everything he dreaded.

...

Instead of spending that night having uninhibited, off-the-wall sex and obscenely claiming every surface in that suite, Zane spent it by himself in the jacuzzi. He allowed the steaming bath to soak into his scars and bones as he drank from another bottle of booze. Amidst futile attempts to quench his thirst, he puffed on a cigar hand-selected from his most prized stash.

Reluctantly, he convinced himself that the combination of booze and tobacco was_ currently _better than sex. It certainly got him off in different ways. And his body sure as feck appreciated being submerged in scalding water. He had only been waiting for that for so long and had needed it for even longer. Needless to say, it felt _great._

If only giving his damn mind some repose was as easy. Among other challenges, his recent memory of having escorted Ember to the door taunted him far too much to allow it.

She had led him there by his hand, her hips swaying with lasting confidence. Even as he opened the door, allowing her to step beyond, she had conducted herself with pride. He, in contrast, had all but buckled under the weight of his regret.

"Sorry, love," he expressed with such heartfelt honesty, it seemed criminal. "Didn't mean fer tonight to be like this. I'm a real jackarse."

He could have spent all night demonstrating the truth of that, but instead, he settled for that verbal admission. Something about the way she cupped his left cheek and gave him an affectionate, gentle stroke suggested she wouldn't allow him to wallow in her presence.

"Think nothing of it," she assured him and still tiptoed for a pleasant kiss. It about ripped his heart in half to think it might be their last.

"Your company is very worth keeping no matter what we do," she lyrically promised. "You are a _very_ entertaining gentleman, mon ami. I am not disappointed, though for your sake I hope zer is not a next time," she purred with a wink.

And just like that, she had given his beard a playful twirl before strutting off on her own, leaving him reeling with ambivalence.

Afterward, he had spent a considerable time spread eagle on the expansive bed, staring at the ceiling overhead with one eye and all but pleaded for the dull ache in his orbital sockets to distract from the twinge in his chest.

For all he knew, he had played the wrong hand and lost the bet. Possibly, he had wagered on the wrong woman. Honestly, he had no way in hell of knowing if Amara could ever forgive him. Undoubtedly, the way he had ended things hadn't been the best. Beyond that, he couldn't attest for her ability to forgive and forget, nor did he suspect his traditional methods of making a move on her would fly. No doubt he would need to exercise his lip pucker for all the arse kissing he was in for.

If Amara had already moved on, then he was as good as fecked. As respectable as she was, she was guaranteed to give her sincere loyalty to whatever lover she had chosen. He supposed he did have Ember to assist in licking his wounds if he had to face that disappointment. She would do right by him, he knew, but that was provided he didn't cut his losses entirely and put the entire mess behind him. One major fuckup was more than enough.

Could Amara ever understand his needing time to figure himself out? Hell, she had taken all she had needed to figure things out with Moze...she just hadn't handled it in such a shitty manner. While a little _disclosure_ would have been nice at the time, she hadn't made any rash decisions. That had been his doing and was, as a Flynt, his specialty.

Zane suspected he wasn't the most complicated lad in the galaxy but what he _was_ was a man who had spent fifty years stuck in his ways. Given her age, wasn't as though Amara could relate to that particular challenge, but from what he knew of women, she would likely _insist_ it shouldn't make a difference.

While the thought of making everything up to Amara had obvious appeal, putting his neck on the line did not. He didn't necessarily give a shite about his pride and had made many reckless decisions at its expense. What successful mercenary could claim to have any dignity left, anyway? Still, he would much rather crawl back into her bed with his tail between his legs than have _The Talk._ He doubted he was lucky enough for her to skip that and spare him. As it was, he was convinced he was going to have to break into another flamboyant dance number just to get her to pay attention to him.

Ah, feck it. He had done worse. What shame did he have left anyway? None whatsoever! He just hoped she wasn't in such a poor mood that she would snap his legs off and force him to replace his boots with prosthetics. On the other hand, that concept _was_ intriguing...

At a minimum, the Partalian was guaranteed to rake him across hot coals. God knew she had more reasons to than she even realized. There were elements to him that Amara wouldn't be accepting of. In fact, he could probably count on one hand the number of compatible morals they shared.

Throughout the universe, there was a massive spectrum of cultural norms. Many places hardly had any morals or laws to speak of. Pandora was a fine example of that, and that ran in his blood. Even then, polyamory remained somewhat controversial for most _civilized _societies. He, personally, considered it nothing to get hung up on.

Though he had implied a lot about himself, if not outright blurted about details throughout their journeys, Zane suspected he might have casually mentioned having multiple spouses. In hindsight, he realized it might have seemed ambiguous whether they were current or not. Given his habit of cracking jokes, he supposed it might be impossible for anyone to decipher his nonsense from the rest. He has certainly never made a display of counting his spouses on two hands or wracking his memory to remember all of them.

Amara _had_ to have heard the comments he had made because honestly, who didn't? He was loud, proud, and she was often nearby. In fact, he was surprised she had ever acted on her attraction toward him - handsome bastard he was - knowing about him what she did. He suspected she wrote him off as totally bullshitting and used that to rationalize sleeping with him. Maybe she fooled herself into believing he _wasn't _involved in half a dozen open relationships.

Needless to say, that had never been a conversation he cared to have with her, nor did it seem like a productive topic for them. He didn't regard it as an important aspect of his life, particularly now, though he guaranteed Amara would. She was straight-laced in many ways, particularly when it came to sex.

He had _definitely_ never come out and said anything along the lines of, "Ha, yer gonna get a _real_ laugh about this, but I kinda have five spouses. Alright, maybe eight. Okay, _at least _as many! What's the biggie? I only fecked some of 'em once! I don't _actually _keep in touch with most of 'em. Honestly, I don't remember their names most of the time! Ain't that a _hoot! Aha!_ Aha...heh. _Hoooooo, boy_, yer gonna kill me, aren't ye?"

No matter what, the scenario always ended with him sprinting for his life. He was convinced of that. Of course, that was nothing he hadn't done before!

Probably it wouldn't make him any more appealing to admit that he could either give or take his marriages. He didn't know if Amara could possibly believe how they amounted to so little for him. By no means did they limit his freedom, nor did they influence his decisions in any way - as if his unfettered behaviors weren't adequate proof of that. He _liked _being the love-'em-and-leave-'em type. What better way was there to be himself than have whirlwind romances with lots of intense, impassioned sex and then escape before the thrill wore off?

Of all his spouses, the only ones he felt partial to were the twins, Nora and Cora. Precious lasses, those ones. There wasn't a single blemish between those perfectly pampered beauties. They had glorious auburn hair down to their sexy lil' booties and boasted the sinfully tight body of gymnasts. They were stunning young ladies, and he was a wise man - _of course _he had favored them above the others. Beyond the novelty of their identical likeness and everything sharing their bed entailed, they were smitten with him. In fact, of all the wives he had pouting for attention, he might have given into them a tad too much.

Happening across them had been a stroke of luck - and later, his cock. He had been collecting intel on a mark at the star system's most glamorous art gala when he discovered the most gorgeous siblings in the galaxy. In fact, he would have done a double-take even if they hadn't been monozygotic. Despite his laser-pinpointed focus on his high-profile mission, seeing those exquisitely airbrushed sisters had temporarily interrupted his concentration. As impressive of a feat as that was, he had lingered just long enough to eavesdrop on them discussing the purchase of a particular painting.

Acting on impulse, he had attended that same silent auction on a later evening, outbid them on the very piece they'd had their young hearts set on, and used that outrageously overpriced gift to introduce himself. After a night on the town spent lavishly wining and dining them, his charisma had earned him a place in their bed...and between their graceful legs.

Close as the identical sisters proved to be, they really were a two-for-one deal. Confident and suave as they were, he had been speechless upon discovering they were virgins. Had he known sooner, he might have been crazy enough to steer clear of that emotional minefield. Ultimately, he couldn't refuse them deciding he deserved the honor of giving them their first time. Any consideration he given taking the moral high ground hadn't ever stood a chance - and he hadn't regretted it for a second.

By morning, he had introduced them to the wonders of sex. Lucky them, he _had _been just the right lad to take them there. Older gentleman he was, he had done more than his fair share of deflowering in his day, and he knew best how to make their first experiences both as pleasurable and memorable as possible. Needless to say, after all his rapacious foreplay and patient, tender lovemaking, he had left quite the impression - so much that they couldn't get enough of him.

Nora and Cora, of course, adored him. How could they not with how much he spoiled them? Unable to resist their sweet personalities and innocent mannerisms, he had gone back to romance them again and again. By the end of the week, all loved up as he had been, he found himself exchanging nuptials with both of them. After hitting that double jackpot, he would have been stupid not to propose, particularly with how impressively limber they were.

Sure, he was thirty years their senior, but that was nothing new. The dynamic meshed for them. Not only did his matching wives share his tastes in the fine arts, they felt as amazing as they looked on both of his arms. Being framed by such desirable sisters perfectly suited him being the devilishly handsome gentleman he was.

What could he say? He had a particularly greedy sweet tooth for arm candy and he just _loved _turning heads. The way the sisters fawned over him and showered him in attentive affection proved they were over the moon with him - and that he wasn't an old dog simply using them for show. Instead, he treated them like goddesses and for that, they never took their hands off him. They were as into him as he was himself.

Come to think of it, they probably _should_ have been the first lasses he met up with both following the war _and _after ending his affair with Amara. Even if he wasn't feeling all that vanilla, didn't he kinda owe them that? Everything on his end seemed to have settled down...at least for now - at least enough for him to consider bringing them to the wedding. What a statement _that _would make, introducing two of his wives to the group! Ah, but they would have a blast.

Then again, that might distract somewhat from the grooms of the hour and _that _would be terribly wrong, and besides, the happy couple seemed to be into the whole exclusivity spiel. _Best not, then, _he decided, knowing there would be other opportunities for a private reunion - he just had to make them.

As hasty as his marriage with the twins had been, it actually remained his most successful. How could it not be when doubled up on such sweethearts? Five years had passed and he still felt a fond tickle when he thought of them. Returning to his most loving wives, and allowing them to take care of him, still remained a potential retirement plan.

Aside from their scorned father trying to hire a hit on him, everything had been smooth sailing. Even that had hardly qualified as an annoyance, as all the reputable assassins who knew of him had laughed in dear old dad's face and told him to get over it or die trying.

So much for him keeping his personal life on the down-low. Back at the pub, there had been cheers all around for the newlywed Flynt. In fact, even Barnabus had bought him a round and elbowed him while going on about it being_ just like him _to nail twins. And boy, had he wanted all the naughty details, but what hot-blooded man could blame him?

Well, that had been _one _way for his father-in-law to get informed about his profession. By the time Zane had taken matters into his own hands, the bastard knew not to feck with him or speak poorly of his wives ever again. Granted, if _he _had daughters, he probably wouldn't approve of them marrying a guy ten years his senior, but _eh_. In the end, the jackhole had settled for knowing his girls had married into wealth and, in wisely fearing for his life, hadn't made a peep since.

To that day, Zane remained soft for his gals and was sure he would have regardless of them treating him like a king. They made it plenty easy by being so damn gorgeous and angelically affectionate. There wasn't a bitchy bone in either of their bodies, though they were a bit too submissive overall. Still, it was safe to say he would leave Sanctuary in a hot minute if they ever truly needed him. His teammates would have to suffice for him muttering something about tending to personal business before he digitized into the Fast Track and actually fulfilled his responsibilities as their husband.

He, of course, might have a change of heart if they ever started demanding too much. They had acted out_ once_, about a week before he had headed to Pandora. As displeased as he had been to discover their guise of wanting him to open a jar - because he was such a strong, virile _man_, after all - he couldn't really hold it against them. They proved they missed him by welcoming him in some true _feck-me _lingerie. Even as miffed as he had been - and stressed out over their safety given all the assassins hunting him - his langer had ruined his well-meaning lecture.

Boy, he'd had one hell of a blast telling them all about beating Calypso arse. Kicked back in his bunk, he had told them all about his vault hunting adventures and soaked in the sight of their lovely faces. Of course, their pleas that he return home went unanswered. At the time, he defended his staying aboard Sanctuary by swearing their new commander needed support - and Ava had. At the time, everyone had been occupied with settling into their new normal, and the vault hunters had remained on the lookout for cultists who hadn't gotten the memo that their cause was fecked.

The last time Nora and Cora had called, he had been balls deep in Amara. Like hell he would interrupt a night of passion for a chat, even for two of his favorite gals. Truth be told, he was probably a tad lucky that Amara had been too busy recovering from a climax to notice. After all, the things he did to her were thoroughly and deeply distracting. And while he never would have panicked in that precarious situation, any reaction might have led to his certain death.

Come to think of it, that had been over a month ago and he couldn't remember calling them back. _Whoops. _So he was a shite husband, but after five years, his twin wives knew what they were in for. To his credit, he had given them plenty of forewarning about his unavailability prior to the three of them tying the knot. Generally, they were perfectly understanding. More importantly, they knew there was enough of him to go around _and _made good use of his ambidexterity, bless their hearts...and other parts.

Sadly, being at the top of everyone's hitlist really put a dent in his visits. In fact, he had just woken between the twins and been lazily scrolling new contracts in a tangle of sexy limbs when he discovered the first dozen bounties posted for him. At that, he had abruptly sat up and, in the process, dislodged himself from their loving embraces. With a whimper, Cora had lethargically groped for him while Nora whined softly in her sleep. Both beauties were too exhausted from the previous night to stir more than that. Following that, he had scrambled out of their home and hastily left the planet in order to keep them as safe as possible. At least they had each other in his absence...and a digi-clone he had left to both pleasure and protect them.

Old sap he was, the operative had done his damnedest to see them every other month until the mounting attempts on his life had trashed his plans. As fun as it was, pounding the twins full of his dick wasn't worth endangering them. But when he managed, he made the most of it, arranging to meet them in cryptic locations and private resorts. Ultimately, he had decided that upsetting them every time he had to leave was a wee bit too much for him.

Nowadays, he used vault hunting as an excuse to keep his distance. Though fewer professionals were risking their arses trying to take him out, he still had responsibilities to his team. Somehow, those mattered more than his healthiest marriage.

He wasn't against placating them with some "S'okay baby"s and "Of _course _I'm thinkin' of me princesses!"s with smooches and some cybering. Voyeur he was, he enjoyed himself well enough while watching them enjoy his digi-clone. Other than that, reminding them to spend as much as they needed to make themselves happy did the trick. Any requests they made to see him were routinely accompanied by reminders of, "Ye know how busy yer man is."

Compared to his other spouses, the sisters were sponges capable of soaking him up. He _had _made the mistake of traveling across the galaxy just to placate them a time or two, and while they did well to drain every drop from his balls, it usually wasn't worth it. They did, however, give head like a _dream _and loved getting their tight throats pounded, so it was a bit like having two personal pornstars. In fact, they routinely wore braids just for that purpose. And it was just tooth-splittingly _sweet_ how they wanted to feed him all day. Nowadays, he might give himself a week of that before he would have to start sucking his gut in.

If he hadn't been a Flynt, he probably would have lived out the rest of his days being pampered like a fat cat and relishing in their devoted attention. Given how they lavished him in affection and treated him like he was just _the_ most adorable thing ever, which he _was_, he appreciated them for thoroughly appreciating _him._

Maternal as they were, they had begged for him to knock them up and actually managed to make him feel guilty for repeatedly saying 'no' - but _damn,_ it had made for some intense sex. Had he been at least ten years younger, he might actually have considered fathering as many babies as they wanted, but even that would have been dangerous. He identified as being a selfish wanker but not screw-innocent-kids-over self-centered.

He was, however, shameless enough to get ridiculously hot for twin sisters wanting to get all round and milky for his babies. In more ways than one, it had him questioning the integrity of his testicles. Again, who could blame them for wanting to conceive by him? He would sire some outrageously beautiful kids.

When it came down to it, Zane didn't much desire going back to that. In theory, enjoying his wives was appealing, but it wasn't realistic. Inadvertently, he was a danger to them and preferred to keep them safe. Had it mattered, he might have divorced them just to cut that obvious association, but he knew the implications as well as any assassin. Instead, it was safer to not acknowledge them. Besides, if anyone knew his habits half as well as they should have, they should recognize how insignificant his marriages were.

In the meantime, he had other wives who had gotten pregnant while he was entire star systems away. He was a damn good shot but he wasn't _that_ good. Legally, he was probably the assumed father of a couple dozen kids. Could he technically dodge child support, provided it existed in the region, for munchkins that weren't his? Likely so. One wife, in particular, collected children like they were puppies and _that _was awkward. He totally avoided that one.

_Ha. _To think his relatives expected him not only to carry on the Flynt bloodline but expand on it. His maternal granny, in particular, had _adored _him and expected him to father, at _minimum_, a half dozen her easily being the most ruthless broad he had ever known, he had stuttered his way through those awkward conversations until she had passed away in his late twenties.

With Baron being such an arsehole that it rendered him asexual and Captain being one massive embodiment of psychoses, _he_ had been their most promising hope. Horny fecker he was, it sure showed them when he cut off his personal sperm factory.

From birth, the youngest son knew he stood out from other Flynts like a sore thumb. While he _was_ deadly, conniving, and fecked in the head, he hadn't inherited everyone's intense sense of loyalty. Truth be told, the married folk in his family were fiercely committed to each other. Not only was it rare to find someone who was compatibly crazy, but in his parent's case, their unified front better governed the clan.

Granted, those arrangements were never _traditionally_ romantic…but that was to be expected from a family of bandits. Their relationships were more focused on ruthlessly slaughtering whoever looked too long at one's woman or showed contempt for one's mate. Overall, the dynamics were primal but also forged strong bonds and helped the family survive in that unforgiving wasteland. Their intolerance for outsiders further proved Flynts were sadistic arseholes on a _good_ day.

And, of course, there was the added benefit of violently defending one's partner and the sexual effects it had. It certainly helped Flynts breed like rabbits, even if the harsh environment and lack of medical resources resulted in frequent stillbirths. That was one crude way nature prevented them from exceeding their resources. Busy as his parents had been, Zane would have been one of nine children had that not been the case.

Even as young as he had been at the time, he still vividly remembered one particular time his father - with whom he now shared the same strong resemblance that all Flynt males did - had killed a man for wanting his mother. At three, he hadn't had the slightest clue what _propositioning _was, but the fact it made his old man clench his fists always sent him scampering into hiding.

Kid him hadn't been present to see what, exactly, had happened _that time_ but he did vividly recall staring at his father in awe as he came back with split knuckles, blood-drenched hands, and eyeball jelly on his thumbs. Oh, and a jagged cleaver that trailed gore across the sandy floor.

Wee Zane hadn't minded when one gory palm descended atop his head and ruffled coagulating copper through his dusty hair. Instead, he glowed at receiving the rare attention, even as his dad sternly said to him, "Come with me, boy. Earn your keep."

Not that he was given a choice, but he was more than willing to drag a severed limb when following his dad to bait the bullymong traps...and he thought nothing of the decapitated head staring blankly at him as it dragged through sunbaked sand. He did, however, recognize there hadn't been much of a body left.

Nine months later, kid him had sobbed in terrified confusion while his mother labored with his sister.

Now, his memories changed and fast tracked him to a particularly tense conversation his eldest brother had subjected him to. He had been in his early thirties at the time. All three of his siblings had still been alive, though he still wasn't convinced the one who contacted him had a soul to show for it.

None of their talks had ever been pleasant but at least they were rare. Back then, it was difficult enough to communicate over that distance. It surprised Zane that Pandora even had the capability to reach him in the specific planetary system he had kept busy in, but somehow his kin managed.

Alas, he knew he was in for something. Baron never reached out without reason. Their chats were never just for the craic. Unlike him, his stern brother didn't waste time in cutting to the chase. After about two minutes of the operative cleverly circumventing the subject, things got ugly.

"Don't fuck this up, Zane," Baron had snapped at him, his smoker's voice as harsh as gravel. "One of us has gotta keep the Flynt family going and it's gonna be _you_. And you're gonna do it 'til you got boys to carry on the name."

As the younger brother burst into rude laughter, he could _feel _Baron's temper boil hotter even two solar systems away.

"I don't see ye helpin' the cause any!' he jeered in return, wondering how his cunt of a brother was _ordering _him to make kids. Last he checked, that wasn't how it worked.

"Yeah, well I ain't gonna. That's on you - and Captain, so fuckin' help us. Goddamnit, why do ya always gotta be so difficult? This ain't just about you, so stop being selfish _for once_ in your fuckin' life!"

Christ, could Zane clearly see his brother's savagely ugly mug spit out every word. No doubt he had a half-burned cigarette pinched between his chapped, wiry lips. Practice and sheer reliance on nicotine prevented him from barking it out with his cursing - that and the fact he likely grit it between his yellow-stained teeth.

Granted, it didn't help matters that Zane was feeling particularly abrasive. His bastard brother had that effect but even then, his own scrappy demeanor didn't help matters any.

"Make me, ye manky git!" he dared, pausing only to flick ashes from his own smoke. "There ain't shit ye can do about it and ye _know _it. 'Sides, yer the biggest dick I know - _you _do it!"

"Come back and say that to my face, you ungrateful bitch. Ain't you done enough by runnin' away like a lil' coward? Why do ya wanna see our bloodline burn anyway, huh? What'd it ever do to ya 'sides makin' a man outta ya?"

Christ, if only Baron could see his glare. Oh _wait, _it wouldn't phase him in the slightest. Besides, it paled in comparison to that barbaric mug his cold-blooded brother had. Worst of all, getting ruthless only emphasized their resemblance. Feck, Zane knew he couldn't deny being a Flynt if he _tried_.

"Fuck, why am I botherin'?" rasped Baron, inhaling sharply as he vindictively sucked down a cigarette. "You've always been the weakest and you're actin' like it now. I hope to fuck Vallory's got it in her to keep poppin' out kids, but we don't even know where she is. Ain't like she hasn't denounced being Flynt anyhow. Don't matter 'cause the way things work _here, _it's gotta be the man headin' the clan. Thought bein' _smart _an' all, you knew that."

"Can't help ye there, lad," Zane sneered, syllables dripping in sarcasm. "Ye never figured I was much'a one anyhow."

Coughing out a humorless laugh, Baron settled into a growl. "Yeah, well I was _hopin' _you'd step up and do your damn duty when the family actually needed ya. That's what I get for thinkin' you'll do somethin' right. All them whores Captain's been sendin' ya don't do any good if ya decapitate 'em."

"_Ha! _Consider tellin' 'em to stop try'na bloody kill me then! Feckin' annoyin', that. _Really_ kills the mood when it ain't enhancin' it," he complained with a scowl.

Not like his brothers knew any better, but even sending a whore off dripping his jizz wasn't going to help the Flynt family cause any. They had no way of knowing he'd had his plumbing disconnected shortly after leaving Pandora in his tracks.

"'Least ya fuck women," Baron grumbled. Following that, his voice sharply darkened. "Guess I'll tell ya now, since you're bein' like this and fuckin' us all over - Captain's got a kid on the way."

Overtaken by shock, Zane didn't believe his ears for a matter of moments. To him, it seemed the static in the line must have interfered and had him mishearing Baron's rasp.

Even then, there was no convincing the plunge in his gut as it grasped the truth. For as composed as he _wanted _to be around his arsehole brother, he couldn't squelch the strangled sound of disbelieving horror that escaped him.

_Now_ he was convinced Baron was nodding, his apelike expression grimmer than ever.

"See, I ain't too hopeful Captain ain't gonna kill it. Don't need to go explainin' that to _you. _And sure hope it's a boy so it's good for somethin'. 'Course I said the same with August, 'til Vallory decided she was takin' her own direction. Fuck, I swear the two of ya were born just to screw us."

Huffing under his breath, the operative crushed his own smoldering cigarette butt underfoot. As much as he knew the habit - which he had picked up from Baron, no-feckin'-less - gave them more in common than he cared to have. Fortunately, the similarities he shared with their surviving sister were more positive. She didn't even identify as a Flynt, and why would she? She had been passed off to another clan even before their parents had been slaughtered. Probably that had been for the best, as it ensured her survival while leaving her three brothers to weather the wastelands. Lucky her to be spared that.

Zane thought it was a shame that Vallory hadn't taken his advice to get off that hellhole of a planet. As her _nice _brother, he had urged her to leave it behind her. He would have even arranged transport for her, and still, she refused. Whatever life she had made for herself elsewhere, she was attached to. He supposed that was all anyone could ask for, really. The fact she chose to raise her son _wherever_ meant her upbringing must not have been that bad.

So _he _was the one Flynt to ever leave the nest. Fine by him. He would gladly be the odd man out any day, particularly when it proved he had a brain. If his siblings chose not to acknowledge all they were missing, then that was on them.

Funny, though, how Baron still tried to lord over how he lived _his _life. He never expected to get under his eldest sibling's skin like that, but he very well had. It still surprised him that the chain-smoking arsehat hadn't burst a vessel when word got out that he had.

At the time, he hadn't had the guts to inform Baron he was leaving the first chance he got, dreading what would be done to him if he had. No doubt his survival had hinged on _not _crossing his silently homicidal sibling. To that day, Zane swore he had felt the resulting supernova of Baron's discovery halfway across the galaxy.

"Goddamnit Zane," came that gritty voice, his brother giving a snarling exhale, "I wish ya would listen to me for just one fuckin' second an' put your brain to good use. The Flynt clan _needs _to keep going. We're supposed to be proud, ya hear me? We got every reason to be. I know ya don't agree with it 'cause ya blame us for bein' hard on ya, but it's because of that that ya became somethin'. If it wasn't for family, ya would've never survived Pandora. This wasteland _needs _folks like us to lord 'em and keep some sense'a order."

Not giving him a window to interrupt, and ignoring his youngest brother's indignant sputter, Baron went on. It surprised Zane that he even bothered.

"You get your own clan, ain't no one gonna tell ya how to run 'em but yourself. I still ain't buyin' that ya went off takin' orders from anyone! That ain't you and ya proved it by doin' whatever the fuck you're off doin' now. If it's money ya want, then fuckin' gather some bandits and do that here. Just whatever ya do, come back and be a Flynt where ya belong. Who knows? Maybe some of your brains'll rub off on your kids. Pandora could probably use some'a that."

Well then, that was the closest thing to a compliment Zane swore Baron had ever given him. _Maybe _he had given his approval once or twice when he had slaughtered someone with extra brutality, but he couldn't recall any particulars. Even then, nothing the older cuss could say would gain any traction with him.

His big bro just didn't get it. He _liked _his black ops life, goddamnit. Sure, hunting corporate shills got tedious sometimes, and dealing with slimeball CEO's didn't amount to a good time, but taking their cash riches sure did. Running his own show was _light-years _better than marching in-step with Dahl, though the military had been a necessary stepping stone in getting his arse far away from Pandora. All that rigorous conditioning had also given him _some _sense of discipline, if only professionally.

Not only did his mercenary work pay handsomely, but he had a knack for it _and _it stimulated his mind more than anything on Pandora ever could. Not only did he like the risks but he made the most of his freedom to improvise _and _he got laid a hell of a lot along the way. Given his openness to tackle any assignment for the right price, the extensive possibilities kept him on his toes and allowed him to be as excessive as he felt like being. And damn, did he just _love _rubbing his success in his competitors' faces!

Though distance didn't give him much opportunity to flaunt his career to his siblings, word traveled. It seemed someone had always heard of the notorious Flynt family and associated him by name - and it was no secret how Captain hired assassins both to keep tabs on him _and _hunt him.

Either way, his brothers damn well knew he was living his life to the fullest - and that he had no reason to revert back to their bandit ways. In fact, Zane could practically taste the rage in Baron's voice as he digested _futility._

"Ma and Pa did more for ya than they had to, you ungrateful shit. They fed ya, clothed ya, and protected ya. Even gave ya those damn piano lessons and taught ya to read. You had it _good_, Zane. Best in the fuckin' planet, and yet ya don't act a lick like it. Didn't stop 'em from doin' it anyway 'cause they cared about continuin' the Flynt legacy. I tell ya what, ma didn't lose all those babies for nothing."

That was a low blow. Zane expected nothing less. Even then, he could have aimed lower by pointing out that they might have had more siblings had Baron not bludgeoned their parents to gory mush. Regardless of how much distance separated them, he could have more aggressively stood up against the chain-smoking Flynt. Still, the beatings he had taken as a kid had left some lasting impressions. His visceral still twisted at the mere thought of giving Baron hell.

Someday, he vowed to overcome that mental flinch and floor Baron with a fist to the face. For now, it would have to wait. He would return for Pandora for _that, _knowing it would be well worth it. As for right now, he didn't want to give his eldest sibling the far-fetched idea that he actually _listened _to him any - plus, knowing him, he and his clan would probably try to chain him up and use him as a breeder. Under _any other circumstances, _that might have had some appeal.

"I'll tell ya what, Zane," leveled the other man, his gruffness coming through the long-distance crackle of their transmission. "I got a followin'. A real tight-knit, vicious clan. What ya need to do is get your ass home, stop foolin' around where ya don't belong, and do a decent day's work doin' right by your kin. We can get ya women, and then after you fulfill your responsibility, you can fuck off like ya like to and _I'll_ raise your bastards. Ya'll never have to see 'em an' can go on pretendin' ya never made 'em. I'll make damn sure they're the baddest, more fearsome sonofabitch Flynts there ever were. Between me an' the gang, no one will ever fuck with 'em. I guess I owe ya _that_ much."

At that admission, the operative couldn't speak. What a rare occasion that was. Not only was he astounded that the arsehole would stoop to that level, but did he really believe he would want his own kids raised by the same fist that had harshly punished him? Not on his _life._

Regardless if his eldest brother had subjected himself to the responsibility, he still didn't envy Baron any for practically raising him and Captain. Not only had they been untamed creatures as kids but puberty had rendered them _excessively _rabid. Unfortunately, by the time he had finally started packing on muscle, the pyromaniac had mutated into a creature three times his size. Truth be told, Zane had always known he couldn't physically stand a chance against Captain's sadistic madness or the advantages his eridium exposure had granted him. Back then, he hadn't had the resources to fit his wits.

To think he had spent all that time keeping the truth loaded like ammunition and had just been _itching _to use it. It was terrible how badly he wanted to drive the knife in and inform Baron that he had personally guaranteed he couldn't father kids. Feck, that might have been the only way to prove he wanted nothing to do with any of it - and that he refused to be held accountable for what he did while drunk and horny.

Now, when facing the prime opportunity to dash his brother's plans, he couldn't do it - and worse, he didn't remotely know why. Even fresh on his mind, his tactical training was failing him, insisting that his shot was perfectly aligned and _needed _to be taken. Instead, his finger hovered over that proverbial trigger with uncertainty.

Zane couldn't help but wonder if his silence ever gave Baron false hope or if he simply wrote him off, yet again, as a feeble coward.

As arsehole as it would have been for him to reverse his sterilization _after _his brothers' demises, he never had. Not only had that ship sailed, but he had personally seen it off with a wave. Truth be told, he wasn't half as spiteful as he would have liked to be. Instead, he had done the next best thing and lived vicariously through spouses while they had their own munchkins.

As strange as it probably was, and provided he hadn't otherwise been engaged in a mission, he had attended some of his wives' deliveries. Even if he hadn't been responsible for knocking them up, he wasn't _heartless. _Not only did making an appearance give him a chance to catch up with his spouses but, more importantly, seeing wee ones always warmed his jaded old heart. Even then, it went without saying that he ducked out _long_ before signing any birth certificates he had no business with anyhow. He was, after all, severely allergic to paperwork.

He couldn't be as much of a bastard as he figured he was, could he, with how much he adored hugging on babies? They were just so darned _cute_! Probably it would surprise most folks to know he qualified as a professional newborn cuddler. At the very least, he never turned down the horribly rare opportunity to nestle a fresh baby in his arms and take in all that strawberry sweet infant smell. Don't even get him started on those itty bitty hands and teeny tiny feet and wee wrinkled faces - and scrunchy baby _yawns, _Lord help him. Those precious little angels were teeny warm loaves of snuffly _love._

So he was as much a warm-hearted baby snuggler as he was a cold-blooded killer. He was also a hit with kids. Provided he was still stopping by their mum's for a shag, he had seen most of his spouses' sons and daughters grow up. Despite being pinponged around the galaxy for his missions, he had attended a fair share of birthdays in his day and sent gifts for the many occasions he couldn't make.

He _liked _being fun Uncle Zane, after all, and he proved to be a powerful kid magnet. They thought he was the absolute _coolest_ without knowing how awesome he actually was, and _damn, _were those weans hilariously crazy. There was nothing more entertaining than watching youngsters act completely absurd. Not only did they blurt out the damndest and most unexpected things, but overall, they were outrageously strange creatures.

Toddlers, in particular, weren't all that dissimilar from drunks in that they were often belligerent, babbled incoherently, and randomly ditched their clothing to run around naked. It was no wonder he was so accustomed to them!

Of course, it went without saying that he and his big personality always egged kids on. His attention was guaranteed to make those munchkins laugh out their drinks and behave like untamed forces of nature. At least those visits allowed him to shower them in the best toys and run them out of energy. He supposed all that sort of made up for not being in his true nephews' lives. But _boy, _he had never felt older than he did when his first niece graduated from school.

At the center of it, he was still a Flynt. He enjoyed having one big mess of a family so long as it wasn't psychotic or homicidal. Overall, being married into kids was the best part of those arrangements. For him, it was like having a litter of children but with none of the responsibility, leaving him free to focus on his career. Now that almost all of the littles were grown and had lives of their own, he remained more of a distant observer than a participant. Even keeping a safe distance, he still missed having younger, wilder kids use him like a jungle gym. Retired as he was, now, there was _nothing _in the known universe that would keep him from being a great uncle when the time came.

One of the only rules he imposed on his spouses followed the tune of "Fer the love o' God, give me some warning if yer havin' babies" so he didn't blindly waltz into that kind of situation. Sure, the risk was slim and he didn't blame them any for starting families, but he _really _didn't need to show up somewhere and be nakedly brushing his teeth while a wee lad, sucking his thumb, walked in and scared the absolute shite out of him. _That_ wife and her lack of disclosure still owed him a few years of his life back.

On the other hand, he had a couple of wives who would outright kill him for being his liberated self. Among other things, they held grudges because they had never been some magical exception, not that he had ever made any promises - at least as far as he could remember. Had any been in his wedding vows? _Ouch_…. maybe? Shite, he should probably have the gist of those memorized by now. Either way, he knew there was at least one wife who had posted a bounty on him. Honestly, he expected nothing less from her.

As for his spouses who _didn't _have fatal intentions, he figured they had little to complain about. After all, he made sure they were provided for. It was good for them that he liked throwing money away. As it was, he owned probably a dozen or more properties that housed spouses - all under separate identities, naturally. He had probably never stepped foot in most of them. He certainly had never _lived _in them, but what half-decent husband would he be if he didn't shelter his legal partners? It wasn't any skin off his back to shell out the cash. He sure as feck wasn't gonna use most of it before he keeled over.

All in all, Zane barely thought back on his marriages on a good day. When a new lover entered the picture, he had no issue whatsoever with sweeping his spouses under the rug. They would be there later, after all, provided he ever wanted them again. He really couldn't be bothered to care so long as he was having his needs satisfied. That was all there was to it - and nothing personal about it.

Occasionally someone other than Nora and Cora acted up and felt they needed his attention. Those who had caught wind of him fighting in the war - and actually kinda_ cared_ \- had blown up his ECHO so much, he had to mute them. That made ignoring them that much easier.

Could he really blame them for wanting a piece of the Zane pie? Nope, particularly not after they had gotten a taste. For most, that was all they would ever get. He was a busy man, after all, and couldn't be everywhere at once. He would need an entire clone army to satisfy that demand. Aside from his personal digi-struct, he reserved that privilege for the twins.

Truth be told, he preferred intense romances without any upkeep. He enjoyed the dance of courtship, the entertainment of getting hitched, and honeymoon sex. To hell with the rest of it. Some nuptials had only amounted to one night stands. The vows he had been too inebriated to remember fell under that category. During a handful of ceremonies, he had sobered up enough to haul arse before officially tying the knot. On a couple of occasions, dumb luck had allowed him to flee.

_Ha_ \- his love life was indeed a circus but then so was he. What could he say? Spouses were like potato chips. They were a hard habit to put down, even if they left him kinda greasy. That particular facet of his lifestyle wasn't one that jived with most folks, but damn, did it make things interesting. Sometimes, he could take it or leave it, which had certainly been the case since he had become a vault hunter.

Thinking of the twins signified the first time in _years_ he had considered hooking up with any of his spouses. Hell, he even had one sexy little number of a husband who he always banged whenever he happened across his star system - except the thought hadn't even crossed his mind when Sanctuary had been within range not two weeks ago. Far be it for him to go out of his way to physically renew his vows with anyone, but the temptation had to be lurking _somewhere _below the surface...right?

As far as spouses went, all he cared about was them being available for him in the off-chance he desired them. As much as he got a kick out of unexpectedly walking in on them in bed with another lover, he wasn't always in the mood to join them. Over the years, he had chased plenty of unwanted cocks out of his marital holes and had thrown the most stubborn out the window.

The best thing about his favorite spouses? Most didn't give a shite who he fecked or married in the meantime. Those particular individuals knew what they had signed up for or had come to terms with it later. As for those who weren't keen on sharing, well, they were as good as forgotten...provided he had been sober enough to remember them in the first place.

In the grand scheme of things, did _any_ of it actually matter? Absolutely not. Chances were, his collection of spouses would remain none the wiser if he keeled over and most certainly wouldn't ask questions about losing contact. If he merely forgot about them and never showed his face again, who feckin' cared? The fact that he was even _thinking_ about his noteworthy lovers was strange enough. As for the rest...who were they again?

_Ha._

Truth be told, the only lover a man with his lifestyle could afford was an independent one. Physically, he always hit the spot, but emotionally, he couldn't find his way out of a wet paper bag. He certainly wasn't available to coddle or support anyone. That was only one reason why he and Amara were congruent, and he knew it. The fact that their current paths in life were parallel, effectively enabling them to remain close. Not only that, but both their drive and ambitions, while not exactly identical, were still compatible.

Perhaps the key to their affinity was that they wanted, but didn't _need,_ each other. Any semblance of relying on the other or falling back on them was a luxury - not a necessity. Not only did Amara have the most stable head he had seen on _anyone's _shoulders, but she was gorgeous and a formidable fighter to boot. The more he thought of her, the more he wondered what about her wasn't worth desiring?

He didn't need any further convincing that Amara was her own woman. She was a siren, ferfeckssake, and he didn't doubt her willpower exceeded her astral abilities. In every way, she was simply stunning and there were no two ways about it. Given her passionate acumen, she deserved to be every bit as outspoken and confident as she was. He couldn't even bring himself to flick her shite about it.

Unlike other women, Amara didn't demand the pageantry of romance or even seem to desire it. She seemed to want him the way she knew him to be and that was very seductive, even if she didn't know much about him. For a man who preferred to keep his history ambiguous, that was how he intended to keep things.

Zane didn't need any convincing to know she belonged in his life _now_. It was a fact that had been proven time and time again throughout their adventures. Without her, he suspected his existence as a vault hunter would feel incomplete. And while he didn't need to _be _with her to remain her dedicated partner, experience proved it made his life more exhilarating to be.

By now, there was no doubting the lengths he would go to stand by her. In fact, he was crazy enough to believe that his semi-retirement should end just as it had begun: alongside her.

Maybe, just maybe, their independent personalities were what made dropping their guards together so damn rewarding. Even at his most avoidant, he couldn't deny how it felt to spoon behind Amara, encircle her in his arms, and feel her melt into his embrace as he placed a warm kiss on her neck. She always made the sweetest sigh while nestling back against him, appearing so perfectly content to be his woman.

He couldn't claim to have appreciated that kind of intimacy - if he had ever shared any at all - with his spouses. In fact, it was doubtful he would even care if some found themselves unfortunate enough to pay for his actions. Detached as he was from most of them, how would he even know if they had been used as collateral by the bounty hunters searching for him? Furthermore, would he even care? It likely depended on a case by case basis, but he knew for certain how he felt for his partner.

It was funny how he felt the_ most_ protective of the woman who least needed it. How ridiculous it seemed for him, an old man with tricks up his sleeve, to think he could keep a _siren _safe? Yeah, it was laughable, but that didn't dilute his sentiment any nor stop him from aggressively guarding her in battle. He would _never _hesitate to put himself between her and harm's way - and given his tech, he already made a habit of it.

If, say, the siren who gained Tyreen's abilities sought to absorb Amara, then she would have to go through him to do it. Stubborn feck he was, he would do everything in his abilities to ensure she didn't have a chance both in hell and beyond. _No one _had outlived his obstinance. Perhaps not even a siren could.

Needless to say, the remaining Flynt didn't get that way for just anybody_. _In fact, he never knew he encountering his found family, no one had ever been more important to him than himself. He hadn't been born with an altruistic bone in his body. Instead, he had spent fifty long years building his reputation for himself, _only _for himself, and cared only about the thrill and cash dollar it earned him.

Even in matters of sex, he had really ever used it to feed his own ego. Making lovers crave him had been his reason for getting them off. When he hadn't given a shite about leaving an impression, he simply hadn't bothered with their satisfaction. With Amara, though, everything about getting her off got _him_ off. It made him feel amazing to make her feel that same way. He could gladly make her come daily, nightly, and ever so rightly and reap the rewards her gratification gave him. He couldn't describe the things it did to him to see her reduced to powerless bliss.

That, Zane decided, was why he had kept fecking her long after his curiosity had been satisfied. Physically being with her always been stellar, but he had never been persuaded by sex to commit to anyone. After so many months spent pleasuring only one partner, he had never been more excited by it. To that day, he couldn't fathom how that was even possible, and it only served to make him deeply miss the experience despite knowing, for her sake, that he shouldn't.

Ember had been right to touch on how he hadn't strayed on Amara...and that he hadn't even been tempted. Of all people, even the fire dancer hadn't crossed his mind during that time. Similarly, he hadn't thought much of the twins, though he had sent them an "All's good, having a blast kicking arse!" message to assure them he was still alive. Confident that his effort sufficed, he had gone on to sling Amara's legs over his shoulders and spent that entire night fecking her until they were both sated, drenched, and breathlessly exhausted.

It should have been telling enough how naturally Amara influenced him to change. Early on, whenever he considered his personal longevity, he had been convinced he wasn't suitable for her unless he lasted another solid fifteen to twenty _years. _Out of nowhere, decades had become the standard when before, he would have measured relationships in weeks, if not days. In hindsight, it had taken ridiculously long for him to blink at himself.

When had thinking long term about her not only begun seeming natural but perfectly reasonable? And since when did he plan so far into the future, particularly when it came to a lover? _Absolutely never. _And yet here he was, making the mistake of treating an affair like a relationship - one he had put an end to, no less. Now, more than ever, the prospect of thinking Amara ever would be onboard with making things official seemed impossible. Had she known the fecked upedness of his love life, she would never agree to playing a part in it. Where _could_ she fit into all that?

Nowhere. She really, _really _didn't belong in his mess. She stood out, quite literally, like something radioactive and glowy. What idiot allowed a person like_ that _past his defenses? Not to mention she went off like a nuke when angry and was more than capable of laying waste to everything around her.

Basically, as she had already done him.

No. _No_, it wasn't like that, Zane told himself. He didn't need to concern himself with her and could, instead, return to his former ways...nevermind they had failed him an hour earlier. Still, he was an old dog and didn't _need _to learn new tricks. Couldn't he switch gears and put Amara behind him just as he had his many marriages?

If his subconscious had anything to say about it, that was a resounding _nope._ Despite his bullheadedness, whatever morals the siren had infected him with had done quite the number on him. His failed date was irrefutable evidence of that. The things he would give to revert to how he had been _before _their damn affair had begun, when all he had given a shite about had been his next pint.

Before Amara put her curse on him, he had been a What-Ye-See-Is-What-Ye-Get kinda lad. He was a handsome and sharply dressed man, and he fought and fecked with the best of them. As far as socializing went, he fooled around, was an easy source of smiles, and he was always on-brand. But beyond that, he just wanted everyone to get wet for him and stay the feck out of his business.

Needless to say, he never took himself for the type to want much from anyone, nevermind discover himself getting exceptionally close to any woman, _particularly_ one with actual ethics. The Tiger of Partali fought for fame and justice, of all things, and he was a professional criminal when paid to be. God knew she could knock some sense into him when others before her had gone ignored. If she couldn't manage with her tongue, then she could succeed with her fists.

As for him, could he clean up his act? Considering who he was brushing elbows with, he sort of had. Still, he was a dirty fella, and that wasn't ever going to change so long as he had a say in it, except now he wanted to be naughty for _her._

Most folks might not believe it, but he _did_ consider some things equally as important as fecking and drinking. Before all that, he had been a fighter, and so it only made sense that Amara appealed to him. Possibly meeting a woman who proudly kicked arse as hard as he did managed to make all the difference. Not only was she brave and skilled as hell with a gun, but he didn't _need _to go on about her siren clout. She certainly wouldn't be the first celebrity he had bedded, but that didn't matter. What did was how his partner was every bit as worthy of the Ferocity namesake as he was and not only had she proven it, he had fallen hard for her while watching her do it.

Nah, even that wasn't quite right. It wasn't just her being a total badarse that caught him hook, line, and sinker. He had gotten tangled up with deadly women before and that had never made much of a difference. Still, having Amara not only share his intensity but also complement and enhance it made it damn near impossible _not _to want her. The icing on the cake was that she was too blunt to betray him, and what was rarer than trustworthiness?

_Alright, alright, I get it. She's somethin'. A whole lotta somethin'. Doesn't mean ye deserve her, but maybe ye are that lucky of a bastard. Crazier things have happened!_

Ohh, like him wanting more of what they'd had. Or like him being so satisfied with their arrangement that he spent more nights in her bed than his own. Every morning he woke alongside her, he had been glad to see her. Whenever she wasn't there, he craved the pleasure they had shared and spent his day not only thinking of her but anticipating their next time together.

Sure, he hadn't gone overboard with it. Instead, their chemistry had been intrinsic just like the rest of their partnership. And not that he was one to know, but wasn't friendship a solid foundation for more? Did there _have_ to be more than that? And if Amara wanted romance, wasn't he equipped for that, whether she wanted it cheesy or serious? Or better yet, a mix of both?

As far as commitment went, Zane knew he was a goddamn coward. Still, there was no denying that Amara had been his most consistent lover. Even before that, they had been teammates and still were, even if they were no longer _together. _As far as relationships went, it wasn't like there were any standards, were there? He didn't _think_ there were any benchmarks they should reach before becoming official. All he knew was that _no _relationship was permanent. Nothing in the universe was, so he supposed that wasn't a fair argument. He wasn't out to sabotage them and prove his jaded expectations true...not that he would put it against himself.

To some extent, it was the risk of impermanence that troubled him. Now, he knew he couldn't stand having Amara be even _more _pissed off with him if things got worse between them. For a man with his confidence, he sure was convinced he would feck up. Given the bounties on his head, there was also the risk of him _getting _fecked up. He didn't want for her to get more attached when he could die at any time, from any direction.

Then again, wasn't that always bound to be the case? Regardless if he was her lover, friend, or teammate, he faced the same threat. Whether he liked it or not, the two of them were already close. Their entire team was. After so long, there was no denying the bonds they shared.

Perhaps wrongfully, he associated _commitment _as offering all of oneself on a plate and putting it all out there to the wolves. It was his nature to expect that _anyone _would take advantage of that vulnerability. After all, he has been raised by a family of notoriously ruthless bandits. He had spent his childhood being savagely picked apart and beaten and conditioned to hide every perceivable weakness or die from it. Survival on Pandora had _necessitated_ psychosis and boy, did he have it. His training as an assassin only reinforced his self-seclusion. In that specific trade, effective strategy hinged on maintaining a front and utilizing manipulation tactics to command control of one's circumstances.

Except now, semi-retired as he was and no longer active in that particularly cutthroat field, he was more lax. Now, he followed his own rules and strutted to the beat of his own drum. He didn't think the Zane Flynt he represented was all that different from who he genuinely, and privately, was. Sure, if left to his own devices, he was a bit more grim. A touch more tormented. A tad more haunted. But that was how his extensive experiences had shaped him to be and wasn't his preference.

The concept of _allowing_ someone to invade his privacy and force him to constantly uphold his jovial disposition seemed exhausting. Then again, he didn't know why he was so convinced Amara would judge all,_ she_ was serious. It was more that he didn't want to be subjected to any concerns she had for his complexes. During other times, he just wanted to stew and act like the introverted Pandoran codger he was.

It wouldn't matter to him whatsoever if her intentions were well-meaning, guaranteed as they were to be. He simply didn't want to be dissected, or "helped", and he _absolutely_ didn't want her pity. Whenever a feud took place in his head, he wanted to be left the feck alone until he snapped back to his usual self. Often, outright lying to himself and denying his problems were his most effective strategies for moving on and he could only do that if left to his own toxic devices. He definitely never wanted to become someone's project or have the siren concern herself with the shite he had lived with for fifty years.

His issues were part of who he _was, _and he had managed to function despite them - with success, no less. Still, it seemed perfectly natural that he refused to expose Amara to that. Who knew - maybe Amara wouldn't even blink at it. She, like their other teammates, had witnessed him slip a time or two when his temper flared up or he verbally sparred with himself. More than anything, he was worried about taking his bullshite out on her and hurting her in an inevitable lapse of judgment. He was, at heart, a Flynt and behaved more like his arsehole brothers than he ever wanted to.

When he was _himself, _he was a giver. He wouldn't hesitate to pleasure Amara every day for forever. He would gladly kiss, nuzzle, and hold her until she forced him to stop. He would gladly cuddle up against her and sleep beside her until she murdered him for snoring. On the battlefield, he would go to any extent to protect her. Truth be told, he was bound to get himself killed, clean and simple - except his demise likely _wouldn't _be clean and his methods were guaranteed to be anything but simple. Fearless as he was, he knew in his gut that his death might be intentional.

That whole _living for someone else _thing was the real kicker. Zane knew he was shite at that. He had only spent every day of a half-century surviving only for himself. Even despite knowing was very much worth some thorough adaptation, the prospect was still intimidating.

Whether or not the siren actually agreed to saddle herself with an old bastard like him was up to her. He damn well knew he could have been wasting his time and energy in contemplating all the what-ifs. If he were her and the tables were turned, he wouldn't take _himself _back. Compared to him, she still had so much time left. Beyond that, she could seek opportunities he couldn't give her.

Considering how he had looked her straight in the face and intentionally hurt her, how could he think he deserved anything again?

Because he understood why he had done it...and knew how much it had killed him to. Protective as his intentions had been, he was responsible for the damage it had caused. As inclined as he was to pleasure Amara until she forgave him, he figured he needed a more _thoughtful_...and empathetic...strategy.

Zane supposed that where there's a will, there's a way. He was halfway there, at least. Something told him he was going to wish he was the type to rehearse everything at length. Then again, maybe making an arse of himself and demonstrating how emotionally stunted, if not outright hopeless, would make him seem adorable somehow - or, even better, totally irresistible. That, honestly, was his best chance. After a minute of hearing him ramble like a total idiot and psyche himself into tangents, Amara might decide to spare them the cruel torture and shut him up with sex. Then again, a time or two, he _had _managed to ramble during it.

Hell, if given the opportunity, he might talk himself blue in the face and have her mistake him for his clone. At least he had a more sophisticated backup plan: to annoy the everloving shite out of her until she either put him out of his misery or caved into his determined charm.

Despite convincing himself that he would never chase tail at the expense of his dignity, he was suspiciously open to the idea of following Amara around Sanctuary on hands and knees and pathetically laying at her feet whenever she sat. Damn, was he tempted just to see how she would explain _that _to everyone, not that there was ever any understanding him. With his arse in the air, he could only hope Mr. Chew wouldn't get any ideas.

As much as he personally enjoyed humping people, he didn't take kindly to skags trying to mount him. One attempt was more than enough! Now, he thought twice about crawling after spilled tools with his cabin door wide open. From how hard he had struck his head on the underside of his workbench, reacting as he had in total shock, it was a miracle he hadn't dented it.

The howl that erupted from him and reverberated through the ship had been both agonized and terrified. With dripping jowls and _other parts, _Chew had appeared perfectly proud of himself during the operative's scathing chastising.

Unpleasantly invasive memories of FL4K's pets aside, the thought of some other man having Amara didn't sit well with him - as if that stint with Axton hadn't proved it. He eventually came to terms with what his resentment had been, even if he still didn't quite accept it. Him, jealous? Feckin' _ridiculous_...but then again, so was he. 'Ferociously Ridiculous Deathbringer' might as well have been his middle names.

Clearly Amara could reject him and tell him to feck off. After the stunt he had pulled, she probably would. She might not ever take him seriously...and who could blame her? Not everyone or everything deserved to be forgiven. He figured he knew that better than almost anyone.

For all he knew, Amara had come to her senses and realized he was good for a feck and nothing else. Probably during all her meditating, she had reflected on every reason _not _to want him. Go-getter she was, he expected her to try and talk some persuasive sense into him, but she never had. That made his chances seem less than promising.

Assuming she _could_ make the same mistake twice of thinking she wanted much to do with him, it would be best if he could admit what she was in for. As it was, they had worked and lived too closely for her not to have a hunch.

On the surface, she knew he was a sarcastic, loud-mouthed alcoholic. She had probably picked his blindly fluthered arse off the floor at Moxxxi's more times than he could remember. She also knew he spent equal amounts of his time getting pissfaced and tinkering, often simultaneously. Not only that, but she had witnessed him shamelessly flirting with damn near everyone - particularly his holographic self.

She had also dealt with him at his most stubborn and impulsive. Without a doubt, she knew he could be randier than a teenager and was likely to feck himself to a heart attack someday. And she had to know that for as much as he was an encyclopedia of information, he was also a feckin' eejit. And he certainly wasn't as flawless as he was handsome, believe it or not. Oh, and he smoked. She obviously despised that.

Zane decided he had rightfully earned all the agitation he felt - after all, he had always known it would be foolish to get involved with a teammate. He _should_ have had more discipline than he had exhibited...and honestly, he did. He didn't so much struggle to keep it in his pants as he often didn't _want _to. While being tipsy and sexually deprived had been catalysts for him taking Amara to bed that first time, he couldn't blame _months_ of repeated offenses on the same. And at his age, he sure as hell didn't _need _to sow his wild oats anymore or prove anything to anyone, particularly himself.

Truth be told, his habits were best kept to the dens of iniquity he had frequented throughout the galaxy and _not _suited for rattling the insides of someone he highly regarded, nevermind worked alongside. Contrary to what might be expected of him, the entire Calypso ordeal hadn't left him particularly randy - and his year-long celibacy after banging Ember those first times had been surprisingly voluntary. It had been a goddamn miracle that he hadn't been all that hard-up when Amara had come knocking, so whatever kick-started his stream of brash decisions wasn't so easily explained.

Hitched to the Crimson Raiders as they were, did _anyone_ in their team really have time for anyone else? He wasn't convinced that was a factor in him and Amara hooking up, but commitments with others might have been next to impossible. Then again, nothing could keep him from what he wanted - except maybe himself, as he had proven.

Now he was feeling like his own worst enemy again. He couldn't keep feeling so much for Amara. Everything in him swore he just shouldn't _do _that to her.

He couldn't let her go soft…at least not for him. He was a terrible trainwreck and beyond that, he was too fecking old for her. That was an easy fact. Besides, she was his teammate and he needed to handle that _responsibly_ for a change. Overstepping that boundary seemed like one of the most rotten things he had done throughout his long history of doing terrible things.

There had never been any hope for him. As a Pandoran, he had been broken at birth. As a Flynt, he was inherently fecked in the head, and even then he couldn't blame all the abhorrent shite he had done on that. Often, there were no excuses. Sometimes the only way he could live with himself was by forgetting all the immoral acts he had committed since escaping his hellhole homeworld.

There was never any denying that Amara was far too good to be taken advantage of by the likes of him. Though it was implied by the mercenary trade, she likely had no clue just how much corruption he had exchanged for cold hard cash. For a particularly crazy moment, he decided that the only way they could make _anything_ work was if he confessed to her every nefarious act he had ever committed - and those he had survived. Maybe then, she could see his invisible scars as clearly as the ones that littered his skin. Inevitably though, that moment passed and he returned to his selfish senses.

Amara, of all people, would never be able to accept him then. He would be better off backing away and cutting his own fecking heart out than exposing how repugnant it was. The sensation would likely be more pleasant than the struggle he was subjected to now...and if it wasn't, he would be too dead to care.

Throughout his long life, he couldn't recall ever feeling more intolerable in his own flesh. The stress imposed by his internal conflict certainly wasn't the same as what he experienced during an adrenaline-fueled fight for his life. The waters drowning him now ran far deeper and more personal than that. Not only did his conundrum urge him to lock down every door to himself, but he felt it was necessary to seal them with concrete and barbed wire. More than he wanted to defend himself, he wanted to protect _her._

Still, he couldn't deny that if there was _anyone _who could handle his nonsense or the complications his profession dredged up, it would be her.

At the heart of everything, he couldn't deny that he wanted Amara. He wanted to stare deeply into her purple eyes as he rolled her soaked panties down her legs and watch her pupils blow wide in anticipation. God, he wanted to taste her and feel her squirm against his mouth as she desperately gripped his hair. He wanted to feel her pussy clench around his fingers, his tongue, his cock.

He wanted to make her come a hundred times, in every possible way. He wanted to fuck her right through Sanctuary's metal floor. He wanted to make love to her in the most luxurious bed in the galaxy, and he still wanted to sensually take her beneath the stunning heavens of Nekrotefayo. Regardless of where they were, he wanted to husk sweet nothings into her ear, her neck, her shoulder as their bodies moved together and created that most perfect pleasure. He wanted to deeply kiss her as they fell apart together and come back to his senses while remaining tiredly entangled with her.

After that, he wanted to wake up and have her be the first sight of his day...Wanted the first feeling he registered being the lazy way her fingers traced abstract shapes between his pecs and the soft tickle of her breath across his neck. And enjoy the playful way she set her smirking teeth at his stubbled jaw...preferably as they played an intimate game of footsie beneath the sheets. He wanted her more than he had ever wanted another woman in his entire life and he knew it with every fiber of his being.

Admitting, his physical desires only worsened the tangled mess of feelings he had for her. All of it was nearly more than he could bear. Already, what had fluoresced from their affair had shattered the hard-won peace he had achieved aboard Sanctuary. In acknowledging frustration, he crushed those thoughts underfoot as he would an unfinished cigarette, tipping his head back to glare at the ceiling.

"Feck," he cursed aloud, though it held no weight. The empty suite didn't answer him. His anger drained out of him as a result, leaving him feeling old and tired. Every damn joint in his body ached as he sank up to his mustache into the steaming bath. If only drowning oneself was easier, he might have considered.

Mentally, he was standing atop a frozen ocean and listening to the ice creak underfoot. The more he stepped in any direction, the more cracking threatened him. And there he was, kneeling down to brush one hand at the surface so he could try to peer through the frost and determine the fate awaiting him. Soon enough, with its integrity tested, the crystalline surface would cave and plunge him into the shocking and fatally numbing depths. That was, unless he figured what to do with himself first.

Could he clean up his act for Amara? He was a dirty fella. Already, he basically had - at least more than ever before. Not only had he pretty much failed at returning to the playboy scene, but he still knew he wanted to be frisky and naughty for _her._

Believe it or not, there were more important things than getting his rocks off. For one, it was goddamn impressive to find _anyone_ who he felt in sync fighting alongside. Maybe meeting a woman who kicked arse as hard as he did made all the difference. Amara was brave, skilled as hell with a gun, and he didn't even _need _to go on about her being a siren. The Partalian was every bit as worthy of the 'Ferocity' namesake as he was. Not only had she proven it, but he had fallen hard for her while watching her do it.

Nah, even that wasn't quite right. It wasn't just her being a hell of a fighter that caught him hook, line, and sinker. He had gotten tangled up with badarse women before and that had never made much of a difference. Still, the reality that Amara not only fit into his lifestyle but complemented and enhanced it made it damn near impossible not to want her. She had also never betrayed him or showed any intention, and what was rarer for him than trustworthiness?

Solemnly sliding down beneath the swirling water, Zane allowed the heat to envelop him. As he did, he watched the bubbles he exhaled get swept away by the torrent of jets rapidly circulating and churning the bath. Following that, he closed his eye, allowing the muffled pounding obscure his remaining senses. For three minutes, he held his breath until his aching need for oxygen caused him to surface. Only after swiping his hair back off his forehead did he blink away the droplets cascading down his bearded face and brush out his soaked eyebrows.

_Alright, alright, I get it, _he exhaustedly sighed, sparing a moment to spit out a segment of mustache from one corner of his mouth._ She's somethin'. A whole lotta somethin'. Doesn't mean ye deserve her, but maybe ye are that lucky of a bastard. Crazier things have happened!_

Leave it to him to misjudge their potential and act so damn cocky that he outright ignored his own boundaries. Writing them off as friends, he had failed to recognize how they shared actual chemistry. Amara, as it turned out, was so exceptional that she sometimes made him wish he was a lot less fecked in the head. And that was yet another kicker: she made him _want_ to be different from the transactional arsehole he had always been. That truth was equally mind-blowing and intimidating, not that he would be ever pressed to admit it aloud.

Despite himself, Zane knew he had already changed, and didn't that tie his nuts in a knot? It seemed he had already systematically gone down his list of "Shite To Never Do" and crossed most off as far as Amara was concerned. He had _easily_ fecked hundreds of people and never encountered anyone worth altering himself for until her. Had he not been so set in his ways, would he have minded it?

Sure, he could blame his going soft on his age but rationally, he knew that didn't have shite to do with it. He wasn't _actually_ all that old. He didn't need a feckin' caretaker, oh no. He _knew, _and a bigger sin was that he had_ known_, that he would have been a dumbarse for Amara even as a younger man. Convinced of that, he accepted that being at that point in his life didn't have much influence on his predicament.

Age certainly didn't have him wanting to feck her and _only_ her on the regular... maybe until he couldn't. Chances were, that was a long ways away, if the last fifty-three years were any indication. Overall, his life had only gotten easier with experience, even if his back gave him trouble and his mental condition was questionable. All in all, those were mostly his own doing.

He didn't need reminding of how he had gone over the edge of psychosis before and clawed his way back. After all, no one went through his upbringing without being sentenced to that. If anything, it was strangely sobering to have spent his entire life grappling with insanity, only to have Amara come along and...and…

….and then life had started making some sort of sense. What in the hell was he supposed to do with that?

It wasn't like he had been coerced into what he found himself feeling. He wasn't a fool, though he knew emotions had entered the equation for Amara early on. Particularly for a professional adept at reading others, she was terrible at hiding it. Still, for as much as he wanted to blame her for that, he recognized _his _failure for not ending their affair then. It had been_ his _fault for taking them further and exacerbating everything.

If he was honest with himself, he had been loved up on her back in the hotel...and later, when he had recovered from accidentally staying the night and found himself cuddling up to her. It was one thing for him to give a woman the softness she wanted and another for him to shamelessly indulge in it.

Confident as he was that he could treat her right, he still knew he would never be worthy of the emotions he saw in her eyes. Even if he spent the rest of his days trying to earn them, he knew he would fall short. Then again, wasn't it up to Amara to decide for herself whether he was deserving or not?

Back in his day, he'd had more than a few people of all genders fall in love with him. Women were particularly prone to that, and being the bastard he was, sometimes it had been his mission _to_ seduce them. He was damn good at it too and had many marriages to show for it. In contrast, he still hadn't abandoned his position among the Crimson Raiders or wished them luck while bidding them farewell. In fact, it would have been most like him to obscurely vanish from their radar and continue on his own way.

It wasn't even that he stayed because the outfit benefited him. Aside from the paternal predilection he felt toward Ava, the kinship he shared with his fellow vault hunters couldn't be denied. Still, even that didn't necessitate personal sacrifice. While he was terribly fond of the others, it was mostly Amara he stayed for. Her partnership added an element of excitement that had been missing in his life since the Calypso fiasco had ended. How something so low-key had kept him in one place, he figured he would never truly understand.

Supernatural as Amara was, she wasn't some all-powerful entity. She was, however, a powerful enough woman to stir feelings in him - specifically ones he would rather die denying than admit to ever having, even to himself.

At least he didn't have it in him to glorify the Partalian like some cultist loyalist. Even then, he was human and as such, had taken notice of other attractive individuals during their time together. Except for missing an eye, he sure as feck wasn't blind or dead. The difference? The fact that he hadn't been tempted to stray. For a man who had never bothered with monogamy, that was impressive - even more so considering he had been laying down with her for the better part of a year. He couldn't even fathom that despite living it.

With how things _had _been going for them, the operative realized he didn't miss hearing other women moaning his name. In fact, he was convinced no one could make it sound as sweet as it tasted on Amara's lips.

If he was in the business of being honest with himself - which he sure as feck _wasn't _\- he would admit that he had been tempted to treat Amara like his lover for some time now. It was only out of respect for her privacy that he didn't flaunt her and publicize their fecking. Granted, relationships weren't a requirement for that, but how would one have been any different? They had been exclusive. They'd been fecking. They'd shared a bed maybe as many nights as they hadn't. And he made the reckless mistake of enjoying waking up next to her enough to make a habit of it.

_C'mon, Zaneboy, _gusted his conscience, sounding thoroughly tetchy with his bullheaded dismissal_. Yer bein' a pussy about likin' more than her pussy. The feck is up with that_?_ Ye know she's worth more than ye've been givin' 'er. Ye've always known that. So, why don't ye give it to her?_

Feck.

He didn't like the rationality his mind spoon-fed him and how convinced it was that he and the siren had already constituted as an item. Evidently, it decided they had been both partners on the battlefield _and _in the bedroom...and really, was that so untrue? There wasn't much discernment between the dual partnerships they shared, particularly when they were sleeping together. Making them _official_ didn't require him to put a ring on her finger to or fulfill any other foreign tradition of marriage. In fact, even that might have been easier than eating crow.

He just...had to…._say_ something. Possibly anything along the lines of, _hey, I know I fecked up _royally_, but do ye wanna do the datin' thing an' be me girlfriend?_

Not his fuck buddy, not his friend-with-benefits, not his partner or lady friend or even his girly friend. He didn't even know if his mouth could form the required words or if his voice would crack like he was hitting puberty again.

_Bit melodramatic, ain't we? _sighed his conscience.

_Ye bet yer feckin' arse I am an' proud of it!_

Okay so his struggle didn't have to be quite that literal but, goddamnit, he felt doomed when realizing that Amara was probably going to _demand _some commitment if she allowed him to crawl back...right?

He had a difficult time swallowing the image of her allowing him, with his tail between his legs, whimper his way back into her bed without some promise he was going to take things more seriously. She wanted him to have some skin in the game instead of doing what he had done by flippantly - and stupidly - throwing in the towel at the first sign of trouble.

Had there ever _been_ any issues? No - not until he had caused them. Chances were, they both knew they could have continued enjoying each other had his cowardice not lashed out and made his chickenshite decision _for _him.

_Ya know, the one ye've regretted since, ye feckin' twat._

Yeah, _well_, he thought he would get over it. It wasn't the first time he had ever been proven wrong, but it _had _been under the worst circumstances.

What was he, worried people would misinterpret him if he was _with_ the siren? That theory seemed stupid even to him. For one, he didn't give a flying feck what most people thought. Instead of being insecure, he had enough self-confidence to last lifetimes. Secondly, who in their right mind would mistake him for weak if he was with _a siren_ \- not only that but the most badarse one? As if she would get with some limp-wristed and slim-dicked feller. In fact, it should prove he was capable of satisfying her...and keeping up with her aggressive ambitions.

_Aye, ye definitely don't need any _more _ego stroking, but c'mon, lad - ye already want her as arm candy. Or ye wanna be hers, either way…_

Granted, it was guaranteed to drive him batshite if someone mistook him for seeking shelter behind her. What complete nonsense that would be! Anyone who knew him professionally, whether on good _or _bad terms, knew he wasn't one to feck with. He sucked diesel _all _on his own, thank-ye-very-much. Anyone who mistook him for relying on his girlfriend could eff off or he would teach them what's what.

It wasn't even that he felt committing to her would make him a better person or some shite like that. He didn't give a damn about being any more decent than the Crimson Raiders required him to be. He only wanted to be better for her. He supposed that was all that mattered.

And he certainly wouldn't be _defaulting_ to her in any way, though he couldn't imagine anyone else being so willing to put up with his bullshite. Not only did he _know _he was a bloody nutjob, but so did Amara. Most of his former lovers only thought they could deal with his madness. In contrast, Amara had far more patience and, more importantly, seemed like she could crack a mean whip.

Already, the siren had tolerated him for two years now. It wasn't like she actually expected him to change, right? Didn't she like his _personality_? He was charming! He was handsome! He was talented! He was the whole package! Hell, he was the three-time winner of the Galaxy's Sexiest Hitman award!

Though for the life of him, Zane couldn't recall bragging about that specific distinction, Amara had to know what she was in for. After all the time they spent brushing shoulders, she had endured him at his cattiest and crabbiest. She had also suffered the brunt of his irrational temper when his chronic injuries had flared up. Short of getting stoned, he couldn't help if incessant nerve pain made him spit acid at everyone. Surely sensing something was amiss, she had bitten her tongue.

The same couldn't be said for the time or two their volatile opinions had clashed, but they had both survived unscathed. He didn't think they would be so lucky if she ever witnessed him in withdrawal, and he hoped to hell that never all, he never voluntarily subjected himself to such suffering.

Beyond that, Amara respected the times when he wanted everyone to piss off, even if she had almost always been his exception. As far as her attitude went, he had _definitely _noticed her on the rag, but other than that, she was pretty consistent. He had to give her credit for being one of the most independent and low maintenance women he knew.

Okay, so admittedly she could be bossy. She nagged at him about his health - namely his smoking. And his overdrinking. And his questionable diet. And his lack of routine physical exercise. He had gotten winded a _few _times around her and she never let him live it down. If anything, he could benefit from her straight-laced strictness. If the state of his lungs was any indication, he had put his body through the wringer and could benefit from some positive changes. As far as his vices went, he wasn't particularly known for his personal willpower, but she sure as hell was.

Overall, their dynamic hadn't differed all that much from when they had been strictly platonic. Indeed, she had harped on him prior to their fecking, so things couldn't get much worse if they were official...right? It wasn't even like he could be too annoyed with her since he understood it was coming from a caring place. Stubborn as he was, he knew she wasn't _wrong. _Come to think of it, he had never minded her being all up in his face _or _his business...he just hadn't gotten all horned up from it.

They had backed each other during the worst of times, when everything seemed futile and dispiriting...and they had celebrated far more victories. The operative fondly knew how impossible it was to resist breaking into a wide grin whenever the siren smiled brightly. And hearing her velvety giggles always made his chest feel all fluttery, causing him to ramp up his nonsense because he could never get enough of seeing her happy.

As it was, he was _beyond_ fecking over seeing her appear dejected. In a short time, he had seen that enough to last a lifetime. If he could just step up and brush her downtrodden expression away...and replace that discouragement with all the optimism she deserved to have…

What, again, was stopping him? He was able. He knew he was, so how could he _not? _The fix was obvious. Unlike the time he had found himself strapped to a rocket and sweating his balls off while panicking to a countdown, he wasn't in some massively disastrous situation. He was quite sure his risk of fatality wasn't all that high, nor would he have given much of a shite if they were.

Living like this and knowing he had caused Amara undue pain was its own brand of misery. Worst of all was the fact that he, being the mulligan he was, had brought it all on by himself. Still, it wouldn't be the first time he had effectively shot himself in the foot...either literally or figuratively.

As far as dating went, he had been there and done that, same as everything else. Sure, he hadn't done it seriously except maybe the first couple times he had gotten hitched and look how that turned out. All in all, his history excessively proved that neither he nor Amara would be trapped if they proceeded down that path. They would be equally free to end their relationship if it didn't suit them, so again, where was the hangup?

So long as all their shipmates knew about it, they wouldn't have to sneak around. As it was, he was a wee too private to have a good, public snog, but it would be nice if they could without raising eyebrows. Ohhh, then he wouldn't have to resist staring at her gorgeous arse whenever he could, though he should probably still stifle his urge to growl at it in appreciation. They would also be free to go off on private ventures together and live it up like he enjoyed doing. Then, more easily than ever, he could feck her on a tropical beach. He could take her on a _date. _He could shower her in expensive, fancy things. That, he would definitely love doing. And she couldn't tell him not to, could she, if they were together?

Well she could, but would she? Ah, it didn't matter.

That was the main appeal for him, Zane determined - the fact that they could do as they pleased without a single care in the galaxy. Sure, that already applied to him, but Amara would probably feel better about it. And while he didn't give two shites about catering to anyone's insecurities or prudishness, he supposed it might make things easier for them to digest. That wasn't to say everyone would be thrilled about them being a couple, but they could openly pursue their romance however they desired. For one, they could have loud sex!

Okay, doing that might get them ousted from the ship, but then they _really_ wouldn't have to make excuses for going on erotic excursions!

Again, if he was being honest with himself , which he still wasn't - _okay admit it, ye ganky wanker, yer feckin' thinkin' it - _he was too old for his own wishy-washy shite, same as many other things. That didn't change the fact that he, at fifty-three, was technically too damn old to have a girlfriend.

_Wrong...maybe._

Fifty-three was too damn old to have a girlfriend who was what, almost thirty?

_Also wrong. And even wronger because you _techhhhhnically_ don't even know her age._

Fifty-three was too damn old to have a girlfriend whose age he didn't even know.

_Aye, that'd be right._

Truth be told, though...he wasn't a man of many morals, if any, but he didn't see much point in an old cuss like him preventing Amara from living up her youth. _He_ certainly wouldn't have tied himself up in anything serious when he had been her age. Quite possibly, she was at the worst point in her life to be exclusive with anyone. Then again, he clearly needed a thorough reminder that she wasn't him. Fundamentally, they weren't all that alike, and she _was_ a lass. They tended to be wired differently.

Clearly that was a broad generalization, but nevertheless it was one that seemed to apply there.

Again, he hammered in, Amara wouldn't be stuck with him. In fact, he would ensure she wouldn't have to wipe his crack during his golden years...when he not only had to use a walker to keep up with her but threw out his back while trying to pinch her arse. She didn't even have to put up with him _now_ and definitely wouldn't then.

More than anything, he needed to stop thinking of them dating as sentencing her to him. And he _certainly_ needed to knock his shite off about assuming he knew what was better for her than she did. In hindsight, he had really screwed the pooch on that one and still needed to make lasting amends for it.

All things considering, what did that matter? none of the nonsense in his noggin had previously stopped him from screwing Amara daily, nightly, and ever so rightly. Honestly, his langer was far less selective than the rest of him so if his head was set on _her…_and it had made them both _happy_...

_Only one thing to do, boyo, _determined his decisive self.

Oh feck, no, he _couldn't_.

He couldn't and he swore he _wouldn't._

But somehow, he had to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Xylourgos


	25. Echoes of Winter [Fighting Hearts on Xylourgos]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Finally, a late-as-hell update! Family responsibilities and pregnancy have tuckered me out. I wanted to finish this SO much sooner.
> 
> -There are breaks in this steaming heap.
> 
> -EVERYTHING gave me problems with this chapter, with AO3 being the worst, so I divided it between two updates. Probably has formatting issues and typos too...because technology hates me.
> 
> -This probably isn't what readers expected. I've wanted to write a DLC and depict how the VH might interact during missions since Gearbox didn't really give us that.
> 
> -That said, I can't write action and barely try to, but pregnancy overrides most logic.
> 
> -I like to follow canon as closely as I can and directly quoted much of the in-game dialogue. Some adaptations were necessary.
> 
> -Thank you to those who checked up on me during this excessive delay! It's very appreciated and reminds me that people are still following this journey.
> 
> -My second kiddo will arrive before Halloween. By some miracle, I might post another chapter that could tie up some loose ends. After that...who knows? The story won't be finished. I might restrict my insanity to this fic or post a sequel of sorts. I haven't decided.

For two months, life simply hadn't been the same.

By Amara's count, that much time had passed since everything between her and Zane had gone awry. Since then, she begrudgingly realized that the cliché rang true: that her sense of time grew painstakingly distorted.

It felt like forever that she carried the weight of silent disappointment. While she didn't know the exact number of days that had passed, she felt the brunt of refusing her urges for so long. Had she been forced to live in closer confines with the man responsible for her discontent, she didn't know how she would have fared.

As it was, she didn't intend to be so antagonistic toward him. Being a woman unafraid to speak her mind, it was a challenge for her to hold her tongue. Her distant and agitated behavior in his presence wasn't voluntary. She avoided him because she knew she might unload her burden on him and back him into a wall - if not through it - with the power of her emotions. Once she let them out, they blew like a cork and overflowed. No one knew that better than she did, and she didn't care to demonstrate it.

Instead, she decided it was safer to give Zane the cold shoulder - and really, what could he expect? Try as he did to get in her good graces with his charming smile - the same one responsible for triggering her attraction to him - she refused him. After enough rejection, he took the hint and ceased his attempts. For her, it was almost a relief, however painful it was for her to see his hope fall away.

Gone were the days that Zane sauntered alongside her and kickstarted his foolish chatter. Or times that he would sidle up to her and conversationally prop an elbow on her shoulder. Likewise, he stopped helping himself to the pickles that occupied her plate at the diner, and she didn't have to lecture him over his outrageous sodium intake while he merrily crunched away. She no longer teased him for the food that clung to his facial hair, though she swore he could go half a day without noticing a strand of cheese hanging from his beard. Now he was on his own but seemed to be faring well enough.

Needless to say, weeks went by, and still, it remained apparent that nothing was the same.

Amara couldn't put her finger on all the ways things had changed. All she really knew was that there was an uncomfortable distance between them despite how they tried to conduct themselves otherwise.

True to his nature, Zane adapted far more readily than she did. He was, after all, an operative. Could she honestly expect anything else from him? Not only that, but he was a player - out for a good time _only_. It didn't matter to him if their rendezvous had been stellar despite the number of times they had indulged in each other. And she didn't dare chase him further away by admitting she had caught feelings long before he had recognized them - because that connection was what she had needed to take him into her body.

Zane, in ways that in no way surprised her, diligently proved he wasn't the type to discuss such matters. Her alluding to more had proved that enough, the rift between them serving as undeniable evidence.

They continued working together. Still stood with their teammates at most gatherings and when meeting with Ava like before. Now, there was a tension between them that went beyond their sex life having evanescenced from existence. There one day and gone the next, it was as though someone had snapped their fingers and reversed that closeness they had shared...and it sure as hell hadn't been her.

Frequently, she wanted to be mad at him. She found herself tempted to wring his scrawny neck whenever her body craved him. Even then, she understood how everyone had, and _needed_, their limits. She was guilty of trespassing his and now she was regretting it - just as she had even before the shift in his demeanor.

Nights were the loneliest. As welcoming as she decorated her quarters to be, they felt more empty than ever. By now, every trace of the operative had been removed from her space. Shortly after their separation, his scent had been washed from the sheets, and she no longer found the occasional silver hair adorning her pillows.

Even then, she couldn't stand to lay on the pad they had so intimately shared together. Whenever she tried, it felt too cold and expansive. Twice, now, she had attempted to read her siren texts atop it and felt too disrupted to continue. Lining her pillows beside her in an honest attempt to make it seem more occupied did nothing to alleviate that sense of emptiness. Instead, her body remained convinced that a certain Irishman belonged beside her, gracelessly sprawled out as he snored like a bear.

Amara didn't just miss the pleasure and closeness of sex but the intimacy that followed it. She mourned laying side by side with her partner or resting in his arms and cuddling in comfortable silence. She had always appreciated knowing Zane at his most authentic...when he wasn't doing any grandstanding or upholding some handsome reputation. She liked it best when it was just _them, _present and relaxed, exchanging lazy smiles and moments of tenderness.

She found herself wondering if Zane slept as soundly and loudly in his quarters as he had hers. A time or two, she had been tempted to press her ear up against his door, but stealing that sound wouldn't have provided her the same comfort as having him breathe like a saw blade beside her. She even missed the stridor she had previously thought she would fatally smother him for. Evidently, Zane had discovered the worst way to escape that fate.

At all hours, the operative did well to make himself scarce. As far as she knew, he remained in his cabin or could be found elsewhere - anywhere but nearby. She wasn't blind to the number of departures he made from Sanctuary, particularly when Ava voiced her concern for his wellbeing. It was quite the change from when she had spent all that time trying to dispatch him elsewhere in the galaxy.

Chances were he spent his time off duty fucking and drinking to his heart's content. Funny how the thought of him sleeping off a hangover next to a hooker or some other one night stand hadn't bothered her the slightest in the past. Now, such images kept her up at night, which only aggravated her further. That was what she deserved, she decided, for getting involved with someone like him, teammate or otherwise.

Were they even friends anymore? It was difficult to say. Amara figured they were but everything had become muddled together. She certainly didn't seek out his companionship during their downtime or kick back alongside him if she could help it. Teasing had all but evaporated between them, leaving the times they occupied the same space to be neutrally courteous.

She envied Moze, who was still able to interact with the old bastard using the same playful banter as always. Nothing between them was really off-limits. _She _could tease him about his mustache, his hair, his beard - and not just that, but toy her fingers through them. Now, more than ever before, Amara knew it wasn't her place to do the same.

As much as she preferred him to remain safely aboard Sanctuary or have someone accompany him, Zane was a grown man, if not twice her age, and free to live his own life. In reflecting on the past, she found herself plagued by memories of when she _had _approached him all that time ago, intending to remind him that his place was with their team. The rest was history. Now, she couldn't risk doing the same and arguing that he belonged with _her._

Already, it was challenging enough to stop herself from fighting for what she wanted. She had never been a woman to shy away from her desires, and she had the scars to prove it. Even before siren markings had manifested across her skin, her integrity and aspirations had fueled her.

As much as Amara _wanted_ to call out Zane's bullshit behavior and argue in her own favor, she wasn't convinced it was her right. Sure, it was wrong for him to punish them both with his insecurities, and she shouldn't have to emotionally pay for whatever troubled him, but it was equally unfair for her to rip him a new one.

The operative was by no means a spring chicken. If he couldn't settle down by his fifties, chances were he never would. Convinced as he was about himself, having her point out his contradicting actions wouldn't prove productive. If anything, it would only make him dig his heels in harder.

Still, she wasn't truly convinced that Zane meant anything he had said when initiating their separation. As much as men like him "didn't" commit or act domesticated, he had readily made himself at home in her bed. With how eagerly and frequently he had claimed her body and her living space, it made no sense for him to change his demeanor so abruptly.

How could he spend so long being physically affectionate and so willing to spend the night with her, only to suddenly decide he was finished? How could he swear he was over everything after kissing her with such burning desire and generously giving her pleasure? If she was convinced of anything, it was that the operative expressed himself best through touch.

The answer: he couldn't. That was why she couldn't buy his lies and why she had to hold herself back. As much as she didn't want Zane to convince himself that his decision had been right, she wanted _him _to come to his senses and own up to his mistake. If that meant discovering him outside her door and ready to grovel on hands and knees, all the better.

With so much time having passed, she lost hope of that happening.

It didn't help whatsoever to think about what her partner could possibly be doing while out and about. Without a doubt, he had to be letting his dick lead him around. That served to remind her that she should have no attraction to a man who objectified women. Instead, she was better off judging him for his lack of ethics and inability to account for the emotions of whoever he was using.

Unapologetic as Zane had always been, she wouldn't have expected anything different from him if she hadn't experienced, at least for a time, a different side of him.

Was she really any better than him when she thought of stalking him down, shoving him against the nearest wall, and ripping his pants open so she could fill her mouth with him? Even knowing the idiot didn't deserve it, she could guarantee he wouldn't have the willpower to refuse her. Though she had no _real _intention of taking advantage of his vices, she hated how selfish her desires were.

Regardless of his reasons, Zane had decided he was finished with her and she had to accept it. Unfortunately for him, that didn't mean she was over it. For as much as he wanted to pretend as though nothing had happened, she couldn't do the same. She wasn't as fond of fooling herself as he was - and as she was forced to see whenever he resumed life like everything was peachy.

So long as she wanted him in her life, she had to settle for their new normal. Nothing was worth picking another war over. If they had any chance of salvaging a close friendship, they needed to avoid conflict. If cut and dry was what Zane wanted, then she would do what she could to accommodate him. That was what people who cared did.

In the meantime, she focused on self-care. She reminded herself that she was as strong mentally as she was physically. Disappointment wasn't a form of weakness but _was_ a very human reaction to losing something she had valued. Again and again, she concentrated her efforts on being grateful they had ever shared those positive experiences.

Despite herself, there were moments where she relapsed into doubt. Perhaps observing Zane seeming so neutral about everything was contagious to some extent. She spent more time than she should have trying to reduce what they had shared to near-nothingness. Sometimes, she made herself believe that she had misinterpreted everything all along and convinced herself that Zane would have behaved the same way regardless of who he had been with. At face-value, his happiness hinged on drinking and getting laid...There was nothing substantial about that. And knowing him, he would still be doing both even on his deathbed.

More than Amara hated being wrong, she couldn't believe she had been foolish enough to think there ever could have been more between them. Then again, after so passionately sharing pleasure together, could she have really known better? So often, they had held each other's gazes throughout their lovemaking. She had spent so many nights watching rapture thread throughout Zane's expression as climax washed over her, and then cascaded over _them_, their hearts racing together in those euphoric moments…

It angered her to think that all the tender caresses and slow, post-coital kisses had been the operative's way of getting between her legs. Needless to say, thoughts like that were the driving force behind the new dents pummeled into her punching bag.

Probably she was a fool after all, being the one who missed everything. Maybe that was what she deserved for reading into so much and being so gullible. Maybe she should accept the experience as a harsh lesson and cut her losses. There were reasons why she didn't gamble, and in taking the risks she had, she should have never used herself as leverage.

She definitely wasn't Zane, who had no qualms about throwing caution to the wind like self-preservation wasn't remotely a concept. As it was, there was simply no mistaking the cigarette stench permeating his attire enough to have her nose, even from afar, curling in disgust. Evidently he had increased that particularly horrid habit of his, though whether or not it was in response to their breakup, she couldn't say. All she knew was that it made keeping her distance all that much more appealing.

Amara saw no reason why her sense of smell would be exaggerated, which only meant the operative was doing his best impression of an ashtray. She didn't find it in any way reassuring to know he left Sanctuary to inhale entire cartons of his coffin nails. Really, him giving himself cancer wasn't any better than him swaggering around in someone's crosshairs. One way or another, it seemed the operative had a death wish, though destroying his lungs didn't seem as ostentatious and brazen as she expected his last call to be.

Obviously, she knew better than to think Zane was only off taking smoke breaks for days at a time. As a Flynt, it was his nature to be up to no good. She knew as much, even if he had materialized aboard Sanctuary alongside Mordecai the last time. For as great of a guardian the sniper had been to Tina, he was a shit babysitter when it came to Irish-Pandorans.

Regardless, both men had appeared in two pieces and _weren't_ covered in lipstick smudges, cheap perfume, and body glitter. After Zane had stopped by his cabin to bring out an armful of ale bottles, they had settled into a booth in the commons and began laughing over some bandits they had killed. Due for some much-needed meditation, she had refused to eavesdrop beyond that.

Knowing Zane spent some time with B-Team was relieving and also didn't come as a surprise. Treacherous as Pandora remained, it was still his planet of origin. For her, knowing he was traveling to the wasteland for some mischief was better than his formerly established habit of frequenting strip clubs with Mordecai and partaking in nights of shameless debauchery.

On one occasion, digi-Zane had attended one of Sanctuary's mandatory meetings in his place. With the actual operative nowhere to be seen, his bluescale look-alike had flickered to life on the holo-console. Not only was its luminosity impossible to miss among the attendees, but its position was central on the bridge.

Throughout the gathering, the clone had sat cross-legged atop the pedestal and propped its bearded chin atop one hand, using the other to trace absent lines by its feet. Presumably, the technology could transmit everything it viewed to its operator...wherever he was.

"Well, that's new," commented Moze, saying what they were all thinking. In response, Amara had merely nodded and taken a long sip of her green smoothie.

Until then, she had written off the older vault hunter as simply being late to report. It wasn't unheard of for him to run behind schedule when hungover. Quite clearly, with the clone being his stand-in, that was not the case. Her suspicion was confirmed when she asked Ava about it later, her protege admitting that the operative was off doing "Zane things".

Disheartening as that was, Amara maintained a close watch on her nerves. She could only hope he was busy with whatever tech venture he had been negotiating with Atlas. As much as she didn't want to drag herself down with frustration, she didn't consider it productive to worry - particularly when she couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Sometimes, she wondered if maybe Zane was onto something and distance was what they needed. He was, after all, experienced...and honestly, what could it hurt if she departed Sanctuary on some sort of sabbatical? She could return to Partali or travel wherever her manager could strike her a killer deal of making celebrity appearances or tackling crime. She was, after all, the best at both.

Still, the fallout of what had happened between them hadn't adversely affected her caring for the operative. As much as she wanted to trust that Zane could handle himself - and remind herself that he had for far longer than she had known him - the circumstances threatening his life were as prevalent as ever. Regardless of everything, a record-shattering price remained for his head and there was never a shortage of bounty hunters looking for a massive payout.

Since meeting him, Zane had never intended to evoke concern from any of them. He simply poked fun at his bounties and played them off as annoying inconveniences. Despite his friends' concerns for his safety, he had never been obligated to accommodate anyone. Still, Amara wasn't happy with him unnecessarily sticking his neck out - and for what, money he didn't need? Because he was bored? Just to get away? Whatever his reason, she couldn't feel that she was somehow accountable. Before their separation, none of them departed Sanctuary without backup in tow...

Despite the Partalian's insistent prodding, Ava repeatedly denied that she had asked him to do anything. Then again, given her history, Amara had to wonder if some convert mission had been planned. Sure, she couldn't hold it past the operative to spend his time held up in bars, and he could very well get himself into trouble all on his own. Regardless, the teenager _appeared _innocent enough - and mildly irritated at her insistence.

"Why don't you just ask him what he's up to?" questioned the teenager wisely, apparently oblivious to her predicament.

"I'll do that," was all she could say. And she wished she had the nerve - and, more importantly, the right - to.

Despite herself, she never did. Contrary to the negative scenarios that repeatedly played in her head, Zane always managed to reappear. His return was never announced, leaving her to notice him wandering Sanctuary's corridors or overhearing him chatting up Marcus. More than once, when she had been hanging out in Moze's quarters, she had excused herself just to press her ear against their shared bathroom door and listen for signs of life. Sometimes she heard his television going. More than that, she heard Digby Vermouth tracks or some other music accompanied by his off-tune singing while he cranked on tools or argued with his projects.

Sometimes, Amara saw more of Zane's unnerving face when she spent time in Ava's quarters. There, the teenager proudly displayed a photograph of their newly minted team situated around Lilith, the memorabilia having been taken not long after they had first boarded Sanctuary III.

Amara remembered the day fondly and how she had been _beyond_ honored to pose beside the infamous Firehawk. Not only did she know the camera loved her, but she was touched by how proud Lilith was of her new Crimson Raiders.

In hindsight, the Tiger of Partali remembered a lot of grumbles originating from her two human companions as Ellie rounded them up. At the same time, FL4K hadn't understood the logic behind collecting photographic evidence. In fact, the more she thought back to that time, the clearer she recalled it being quite the chore to convince Zane to join them. True to his nature, his only interest had been boozing up at Moxxxi's.

Apparently, interrupting the surviving Flynt's alcohol intake, particularly after a dry spell, was a surefire way to trample his boisterous enthusiasm. Back then, none of them had known how deep he was in the bottle. Aside from witnessing him knock back shots while clearing a Pandoran saloon of COV, she hadn't put much thought into his conduct.

With so much time having passed since she had first stumbled upon the middle-aged mercenary disposing of COV in that dusty Pandoran bar to when they had boarded Sanctuary as allies, he must have been hurting for a drink. It had taken Lilith promising them an evening of downtime to dislodge the older man from his barstool, but that certainly hadn't stopped him from dragging his boots.

Come to think of it, Zane's priorities should have seemed questionable. At the time, the rest of them had begun making themselves at home aboard the ship. She, personally, had been busy arranging her personal decor, unable to stand the barren metal of her cabin.

The operative's stern, side-glancing expression was one she hadn't expected from her partner even early-on. He might have been a hint more reserved back then, but she still wouldn't have put it past him to give FL4K a pair of bunny ears - or Moze, for that matter. While none of them had been overtly positive about the interruption, she would at least have expected Zane to boast about how sharp looking he was and strike his best angle.

It turns out he didn't have to. Even appearing like he wanted to duck out of the photo-op or transpose and leave his clone in his place, the older operative was as handsome as ever.

As someone who had grown familiar with the sight of Zane scratching his fuzzy ass while getting out of bed, and who turned her back as he unapologetically urinated with the lavatory door wide open, Amara still found him irresistible. Somehow, she found him irritatingly attractive even after cleaning up his whisker clippings from her sink and witnessing him noisily clearing his nostrils into his hand while showering. She couldn't, as he argued, relate to blowing one's nose with a mustache, but that didn't stop her from kicking him, nude and dripping, out of the stall.

Now, she had to pretend like none of that had ever happened. Oblivious as Ava was, Amara couldn't blame the teenager for misinterpreting her furrowed expression as she paid particular attention to the well-groomed _Zane Flynt._

"I know, doesn't he look all serious? It's _weird_," commented the girl with a snicker.

Amara had shrugged it off, reminding herself that her protege had no reason to suspect her involvement with her handsome partner. She had casually reminded Ava how Zane _could_ be professional when circumstances called for it. Evidently the teen had forgotten Zane's somber and serious support after Maya had been murdered. That, or she didn't have the heart to remember, not that anyone could blame her.

For the Partalian, navigating the interactions between her companions had become somewhat of a juggling act. Particularly with Moze, she felt like she had to watch her composure as to not set her protective teammate off. Though it seemed the drama had mostly settled down, there were still occasions where the gunner was tempted to give Zane a piece of her mind.

Amara understood why Moze felt that way, even if her guilt was misplaced. The gunner had taken it hard when she had learned that their affair had ended... and, specifically, when. Amara hadn't misled Zane when she had assured him that the gunner had given them her blessing…only to have him put an end to what they'd had immediately after her thinking they had finally been in the clear.

When Amara had returned to her quarters, Moze had naturally come to prod her about how things had gone and tease her about whatever revealing sounds she had heard. Regardless of knowing better, the siren hadn't been in the mood to tell a convincing story. To that day, her raw honesty remained her main regret - but with wounds so fresh, even her harsh dismissal of Moze's well-meaning concern had been painfully revealing.

More than once, she'd had to physically restrain Moze from busting down Zane's door and giving him a piece of her mind. Needless to say, he would have been the recipient of her _very _familiar temper had the siren not stopped her.

"I think you've done plenty already," she couldn't help but snap, crossing her tattooed arms only when the former Vladof cadet had adequately wiped the raging foam from her mouth. At the time, she had chosen to believe that her and Zane's arrangement wouldn't have ended without interference.

"That's fucking bullshit!" yelled the gunner while kicking a discarded oil can across her cabin. "What in the fuck is wrong that fuckhead?!"

"Chill out," sighed the siren while busying herself with the wrist of her glove. God knew she needed the distraction, pathetic as it was. "It's not your fault and it's not Zane's. He's his own person. His decisions aren't ours to make, and besides, he's right, we were just fooling around. We weren't anything beyond that."

"Doesn't mean he had to get one last screw out of you before breaking the news," muttered Moze, her expression sour.

"That wasn't exactly how it went," Amara assured her, omitting the fact that they had gone at each other not once but _three _times - once even after the fact. Educating Moze of that definitely wouldn't help anything.

Seeing that her friend clearly wasn't placated, the Partalian bumped the shorter woman with her shoulder. She made sure to look her squarely in her amber eyes as she told her, "Listen to me: none of this is on you and it's not on Zane. He's been respectful since the beginning. You have to trust me. We can't decide if it wasn't working out for him. Just...don't say anything about this, okay? For me."

Moze had opened and closed her mouth a series of times before setting her lips in a grim line. She appeared so conflicted when she eventually nodded in reluctant submission. If she _had _ever broken down and said anything to Zane later on, neither her nor the operative had revealed it.

Had it been a shitty move to pit Moze's emotions for her against the soldier? Maybe - but was worth it given how Amara meant everything she had said. The last thing any of them had needed was more discourse and arguing.

It hadn't taken long for Amara to recognize how she had effectively eaten her own words. Over and over again, what she had told Axton about her older partner resounded in her head.

_"Zane's more of a heartbreaker. He's not really the type to do anything serious…"_ she had said. At the time, her aim had been to dissuade the commando from supporting Gaige's attraction. In reality, she should have realized that she, personally, was no exception.

Now, of course, she was paying for it.

...

No matter how many weeks had passed, Amara couldn't stop her body from aching for him. As much as she tried to control herself, she couldn't. Regardless of how long the days stretched on or how much effort she invested in trying to satisfy herself, she couldn't. Her nerves craved his talented touch, unable to recreate the friction of his battle-worn fingers or the cleverness of his tongue or the mastery of his methods. For as well as she knew her body inside and out, she simply couldn't copy the nuances that were unique to his passion, leaving her insatiably empty.

Full of yearning, she spent so many nights dreaming of him, her limbs twining with his in every conceivable position. She woke swollen and tingling at the lingering sensation of being in his arms while he thrust inside her. Even as reality slowly dawned on her, she swore she could still feel his tongue dance with hers in such tangible detail, it was clear her body was determined to torment her.

Of course, she later had to witness him, in person, using that cocky mouth of his. Against her will, she couldn't help but remember all the ways he had tasted her and reduced her to a pulsing, quivering mess. Her view of him framed by her thighs - all tousled spikes, cocky mustache, glowing eyepatch, and the greedy glint in his blue-silver eye - was permanently ingrained in her mind.

Zane always starred in her fantasies as she made herself climax, her release fueled by memories of her skilled partner. Past experiences propelled her over the edge and had her coming wetly around her fingers, but she was never as drenched, and never gushed, as she had with him. Try as she did, she could never get the right angle, the right speed, the right _anything_. Even after all the years she had spent satisfying herself, her efforts didn't begin to amount to the intense pleasure her older partner had given her.

Lost in reliving her desires, she could see the color of her markings sensually caressing the scarred planes of Zane's body and breathe in the addictive musk of his heated skin. As real as everything seemed, she shivered in arousal as his breath feathering along her neck and savored the audible friction of his erotic exhales, bridging above the bed to offer herself completely.

So vividly submersed in her memories, the catch in his voice was _tangible_ when she lifted her hips further into his possessive grasp and forced him more deeply inside her. In giving herself so passionately, she invited the satisfying weight of him as he thrust to the hilt and pinned her there, the tendons throughout his hips tensing with the rhythm of their undulations. And never could she forget the rich timbre of his groan as his resolve frayed until finally, and deliciously, his release pulsed hotly inside her.

She could only moan through the bliss triggered inside her, her hugging thighs reflexively tightening and her walls squeezing greedily, demanding every drop from him. Could only arch herself, her lips accepting his sensual kiss and throaty hum as it connected them, savoring the sweet intimacy that beat in her chest...all while they shifted together in a languid caress that drew out those last ebbs of satisfaction.

Along with her heart, her body hated her for letting go of what they'd had. It didn't _care _what was right. It only wanted the man who had conditioned it to experience pleasure she felt she would die without having again.

For as much as she missed the physical benefits of his companionship, she knew it had to end. She hadn't had a choice in the matter, and beyond that, she didn't want to strain things further between them.

It was difficult, given how Zane had begun acting more like himself the past couple weeks. He had always been the most physically expressive member of their team, whether he was clapping backs or hugging shoulders or nudging butts with his boots. In fact, as a woman who had always respected everyone's privacy, she had noticed his affable mannerisms catching on.

In ways that were carefully calculated, Zane had begun testing the waters with her. It wasn't often, now, that he nudged or otherwise touched her, but when he did, she felt a spark at the contact. She found herself searching his remaining eye for any hint that he experienced the same electric arc...only to be disappointed by an utter lack of indication. He just smiled at her like the friendly, platonic bastard he was, further disappointing her.

Even standing in a defensive formation alongside him enlivened her senses and made her skin goosebump with energy - to the extent that it was sometimes disruptively distracting. Short of providing her partner assistance in battle, she really had no other excuse to touch him. She would, however, make the exception the next time she found him sucking down a cigarette. Nothing could stop her from knocking it out of his face and preventing him from enjoying such a disgusting and toxic habit.

She didn't know whether to be pissed off or grateful that Zane resumed life as usual...at least from what she was able to observe of it. He remained his devilishly rambunctious self, often laughing freely and joking openly, filling the role he had made for himself beginning the first day they had met.

Unfairly so, he also remained every bit as handsome as he wanted everyone to know he was. He only demanded, lightheartedly, that someone appreciate his good looks. As much as she did - and despite wishing she could more thoroughly act on her attraction - she said nothing to that effect. Instead, she just rolled her eyes at his antics.

Maybe she made everything too easy on him. God knew she could have stepped in his path, put her hand out, and stopped him in his tracks. Could have grabbed him by his thick, pointed beard and used it to kiss the cocksure smirk off him, but she didn't. She respected him, after all, and evidently it would take far more than her heartbreak to change that.

If only she had let him leave the first time he had slept overnight and startled upon waking alongside her. The operative had fully intended on slinking out of her quarters and would have succeeded had she not woken so shortly after. As much as it would have hurt to find herself alone the following morning, she might have emotionally distanced herself sooner and allowed everything to run its inevitable course. In a sense, him subtracting himself from their affair had amounted to him finally completing that maneuver.

It went without saying that she was more morally inclined than Zane, though he was unapologetically so liberated. Unlike him, she wasn't guilty of simply using people to get off. Maybe their arrangement_ should_ have been that superficial, but even back before their friendship had turned sexual, she had felt too close to him. Now, there was no chance in hell of them reverting back to a no-strings-attached arrangement.

Over and over again, Amara heard Zane's last private words to her ricocheting in her head. She couldn't help but wonder how long he had wanted to...to what, leave? Escape? How much time _had _he tolerated her after coming to his senses...or tiring of her?

_No,_ she told herself, it wasn't that. Zane didn't actually have any issues with her. Neither his physical reaction to her nor his willingness to sexually satisfy her could lie as his mouth did. She found it necessary to remind herself how crystal clear it was that his problems were with himself. It was a truth she reiterated in her mind again and again.

Clearly, the operative was a fool if he let himself ruin the satisfying relationship they had shared. Despite knowing sex wasn't all-important, there was no denying how exhilarating their indulgences had been. And no matter how vehemently he could deny their chemistry, she knew it satisfied him more than he had expected. By allowing himself to be intimidated by it, Zane proved he didn't have the balls he thought he had.

The more she thought about it, the more frustrated she grew. Despite the temptation, Amara knew it was a blessing that she didn't drink. It meant she had no business being at Moxxxi's, which was Zane's second home. The last thing she needed was to overhear him fawning over the provocative barkeep...or worse, catch him strutting out of her personal love shack. Witnessing him so much as flirting with _anyone_ would hurt her, she knew, and she had no desire whatsoever to have her suspicions confirmed.

As certain as she was of it, she didn't dare glance in the direction of that booming and boozy establishment. Had she, she didn't doubt she would see his arachnid-clad jacket staring back at her.

In reality, Amara knew she was as possessive, if not worse, than Zane had been over Axton. The mere thought of any woman draping herself against him made the siren clench her fists and crackle with dangerous energy. Her anger had always been a force to be reckoned with, and she couldn't quite be sure who would suffer the brunt of it. She was more likely to floor the operative and drag him elsewhere by his throat than unleash herself on some unsuspecting person.

To think she used to find great entertainment in watching Zane work his abundant charm on harmless floozies. Long before she had accepted her attraction to her much older partner, she had found humor in his cheesy flirting and rolled her eyes whenever he wooed women into hanging off his arms. Not only had that silly fun fed his ego, it had also kept him young at heart...not that he ever needed the help.

Now, that sense of easiness was lost. She couldn't envision a time where she wouldn't grit her teeth while thinking of him putting his arm around another woman and spouting his ridiculous pick-up lines. Eventually, she would have to reach a point where none of that mattered. After all, she couldn't technically treat him like an ex. Didn't they all deserve happiness anyway?

Unfortunately, her chances of finding her own were more complicated now that their dynamic had changed, and not in ways that did them any favors. For one, she no longer felt relaxed around her partner and instead raised her guard. Probably it was always and only _her _who felt like something heavy hung in the air between them now - most likely words left unsaid. She struggled with the sense that she _needed _them to address their separation, and yet she didn't push. By now, it was doubtful any discussion would do them any good...and forcing them to be at further odds was the last thing she wanted.

Even _if _she wanted to fill the void of intimacy Zane had left behind, she couldn't. Though she and Moze had been friends for just as long, it wouldn't have felt right for her to encourage further flirtation between them. Regardless of the potential they had always had, the gunner would seem like a rebound...and maybe that was what she would have been. Anything that could blossom between them would have to wait.

There was one place aboard the ship where Amara knew she wouldn't encounter her partner. More so than her cabin, the gym was her sanctuary aboard that aptly named vessel. There was no better way to alleviate her problems than to sweat them out, the intensity of her exercises effective at clearing her mind. The only other place she could find inner peace was alone on Nekrotefeyo. More than ever, she found herself traveling to the Eridian homeworld as a form of pilgrimage and meditating at its temples to better embrace her inner spirit.

For her, it was a relief to reconnect with herself and exist on a planet with which she shared a visceral sense of belonging. In searching for her siren purpose, she felt she could restore her rightful perspective. How she managed to be so heavily impacted by drama, even despite having anticipated it, was beyond her. All she knew was that she didn't approve of the toll it had taken or how she had allowed herself to be so negatively distracted.

Logically, she could tire herself with pep talks, read herself blind with fan mail, and spend days on end reflecting on her heroic acts...but as a woman, her sense of worth had been bruised. Worse yet, even knowing she was both powerful and desirable couldn't assuage the disappointment she felt from being discarded.

That was what everything amounted to, after all. Fuck Zane's perspective - she couldn't sugarcoat it. It went without saying that their separation had left lasting damage even if the operative tried to sweep it under the rug and behave otherwise. Being the kind of person he was, she didn't expect him to remotely understand her side of it. After all, _she_ had never been one to give herself to just anyone...and she didn't regard intimacy lightly. What she had experienced with him had been intense for her, and it hurt her that much more to realize how common it had been for him.

Her mistakes had been her own, Amara recognized. Zane wasn't really to blame, as he had always been so candidly himself and still, she had initiated everything. For as composed as she strove to be, she still struggled to prevent her anger with herself from bleeding into her frustration with him. Sometimes, her judgment was misplaced. Maybe she had been too eager to believe her every need could be satisfied by her found family. Really, who knew?

There were other people worth sharing herself with, she knew. In time, she would be ready. Then, whenever the opportunity arose, she would have to determine whether or not that she should dedicate herself to a higher purpose. For now, she was in no rush to make such substantial decisions.

Until she encountered those crossroads, she vowed to work on herself and concentrate solely on her personal growth. She was _more _than done looking back. In order to do that, she needed to move on - to her shower, specifically. Following that, she decided she would meditate and prepare herself for whatever awaited on the horizon. She couldn't imagine why anyone would mind her investing that time on centering herself and reaching a state of refreshing mindfulness.

If anyone did, then she might need to remind them why they shouldn't.

...

The video invitation the Vault Hunters had been forewarned to expect had finally arrived in their ECHO inboxes. Though the network alerted each intended party to its arrival, it was Claptrap's excited wailing and flailing that best drew their attention.

In due diligence, the grooms had also ensured that their announcement also reached the bridge, resulting in the cubic bot taking notice and racing ecstatically about. No one aboard Sanctuary was spared the ricochet of its jeering voice along the metallic walkways

"It's HAMMY! He must MISS ME!" shrilled the wheeling box with unrestrained glee, the lens of its optical sensor seemingly glittering with mischief. Evidently, in its anticipation, it had overlooked everyone else. Typical Claptrap.

In its haste, the Hyperion bot nearly barreled right through Amara and Moze, the two of them dividing at the last second to allow the yellow annoyance to zoom between them, only to turn sharply with a rubber shriek that left skid marks in its wake. Pincher arms extending and snapping overhead, it continued to whiz down yet another dark corridor while skipping over debris, all while yelling, "I CAN'T WAIT TO PAR-TAYYYYY!"

Together, the siren and gunner shook their heads, their mouths curled in pained smirks. Hearing those shrill vocals fade further into the background was a relief, albeit a small one, as its exclamations remained piercing. The acoustics of the cavernous steel vessel did little to spare them, but by now, they were accustomed to it.

Granted, they hadn't expected that turn of events when leaving Sanctuary's gym. Clad in damp sports bras and shorts, sweat continued to glisten on their skin. Slinging one of her trusty towels over her right shoulder, the Partalian couldn't resist the prime opportunity to impress the gunner with a winking flex of her swirl-accentuated biceps.

Never one to disappoint, Moze let out a low whistle and used her own linen to softly snap the siren's equally muscular posterior. Her amber eyes couldn't help but admire the target of her affections. The form-fitting attire showed Amara's shape off so divinely compared to her own looser running shorts, but what competition was there? Had there been one, the gunner was glad to lose. There simply wasn't any winning against how built her best friend so ridiculously was.

Namesake aside, why did sirens have to be so damn sexy - and how was Moze lucky enough to team up with the most gorgeous? Pumped as her muscles were, Amara appeared as indestructible as Iron Bear but was even _more_ impressive. In more ways than proven by the energy visibly emanating throughout her skin, she glowed with intensity.

As far as the Partalian was concerned, she was the Tiger and _nothing _could take her down. She embraced the pride flowing through her veins and allowed it to reflect in her gait. Aside from flaunting her siren wiles, there was nothing she desired more than to plant her fist through the most violent badass in existence and cause their utter destruction. As it was, she was only a dozen cameras shy of striking a pose, complete with her most daring grin, and render everyone aboard blissfully starstruck. For now, she garnered plenty of attention by reaching to tighten her ponytail, effectively putting her glorious arms on full display.

That wasn't to say she hadn't put herself through grueling exercises before, because she did almost daily, but something about pushing herself in the gym as fiercely as she just had felt particularly invigorating. The luminescence of her skin, combined with the confidence in her every step, proved she was at the top of her game.

Moze was smitten, that much was obvious. Unable to resist, the siren superstar shot her friend a wink more than capable of palpitating her heart. Was it unfair to playfully seduce her when they weren't looking for privacy? Maybe, but the gunner was far from complaining as they headed toward the command room.

Much to their combined surprise, Zane was there _instead _of at Moxxxi's. It was FL4K who arrived a moment later. As always, Mr. Chew was faithfully in tow and delighted to see them. Like a puppy, he proceeded to wriggle all over them like they hadn't spoiled him in attention an hour before.

Situated in a rolling chair with his boots casually propped atop a console boasting too many command keys for comfort, their resident operative was occupied with cleaning his fingernails using a miniature screwdriver. Presumably, it came from the kit Amara had recently seen splayed across his workspace while he hunched over Ava's shoulder and indicated some complex component of her drone using an equally fine instrument.

Hours earlier, the Partalian had been scheduled to mentor the teenager and had arrived at her last known location for their routine hand-off. Seeing Zane there, sans his coat, was an odd sight, the off-white of his sleeveless shirt giving way to the black, digital bodysuit that encased him down to his wrists. His gloves were also absent, allowing his scar-littered hands enhanced dexterity. Now unaccustomed to seeing his knuckles exposed, when before they had been so familiar, she found herself distracted by their pallor.

Seeing how adroitly Zane's oversized hands maneuvered tiny tools and navigated such intricate circuitry filled her with desires she _really _preferred not to have. Her body couldn't forget the magic he could perform with those same digits. She nearly bit her lip remembering the bliss they had given her when stroking between her legs and sinking knuckle-deep inside her. In the same breath, her memories continued accosting her, the back of her neck goosebumping as she remembered the heat of his cupping palm drawing her to his experienced lips.

Spared all knowledge of their intimate history, as well as remaining oblivious to her arrival, Ava chatted amicably around the Irishman's instructive interruptions.

Glancing up at their visitor, Zane had nodded to her before grasping the back of the desk chair and spinning Ava, who yelped in surprise, toward the door and within her reach. She had caught the teenager by her knees and stilled her, the commander making a face before breaking into a cute grin.

Turning that apple-cheeked expression to her bearded mentor, the teenager poked at his metal boots with pointed feet.

"Sooooooo it looks like I'm gonna be too busy to finish that today!" she warned, pausing only to chew on her lip hopefully before smirking coquettishly. "Looks like you're gonna have to finish up without me if you wanna clean up this mess!"

For a moment, Zane's eyebrows rose. Then he let out a single, ruckus laugh before narrowing his eye at the girl.

"Not a bleedin' chance!" he told her, his height shifting as he leaned onto the one hand he had situated among the disarray and used his other to poke the teenager squarely between her eyes. "How're ye gonna learn this with _me _doin' it? That ain't part of our agreement, lil' lass - 'less ye wanna throw in the towel. Come to think of it, it might save me some time if I scrap yer drone fer parts-"

"No!" cried Ava, instantly hopping to her feet and snatching up her prized possession before protectively hugging it to her chest. In her haste, she overlooked its open compartment and grimaced as a few loose components scattered to the floor, causing her to silently sweat. After a beat, she set the sentinel down as far away from Zane as she could, with utmost care, before dropping to her knees to collect the pieces. "I said I'd do it! Geez, gimme a break!"

With her workout towel still slung over her shoulders, Amara folded her arms together while keenly tilting her head. She said nothing as she studied Zane in all his six-foot-two glory, free to do so with him watching the teenager scramble so earnestly. For as good-natured as he was with the immature commander, she was relieved to witness him enforcing some strict authority with her.

By the look of things, he had enough projects underway to keep himself busy. Amara had never seen more crates and sketched schematics accumulated throughout his dark living space...or beer bottles, for that matter. Immune to the clutter, Zane addressed Ava, who smiled meekly.

"Ye bet yer buns yer gonna do all of it, an' I mean from beginnin' to end - preferably 'fore ye make me tear the rest o' me hair out. 'Sides," he said, pausing only to retrieve his jacket from where it had been tossed haphazardly across his unmade bunk, "I got a pint callin' me name."

Watching her teammate shrug on his signature leather and pop its fluorescent collar, Amara managed a small smirk. "That bad?"

"Oh yeah, 'cause evidently I'm the _only_ reason he drinks!" snorted Ava while flipping her bangs aside and dramatically rolling her eyes.

"Gettin' ta be," he chuckled. He then dropped a hand atop the girl's head and ruffled her hair through her gray hoodie. She promptly swatted him away and gave a pouting scowl as she corrected the headphones knocked askew from her ears. Only then did she childishly poke her tongue from between her lips and prance after Amara, who had impatiently stepped into the commons.

Now that it was midday, it was Ava who looked to all of them before playing the video. She settled for leaning back in her favored chair while Hermes tiptoed from the console and wove around atop her shoulders. Daintily descending to her lap, her fanged pet gave a feline stretch before twisting himself into a blue cinnamon roll atop her lap.

Bending one arm up behind her head and clasping its elbow in her other palm to further the stretch, Amara exhaled while focusing on the monitor overhead. Even as she repeated the motion on the other side, she remained oblivious to the way Zane visibly devoured her display in starved admiration. His attention persisted as she dropped her pose to grasp the console behind her and sensually elongate the arch of her spine. The way her posture accentuated the divots in her lower back and tightened her washboard abdomen did nothing to assuage his longing.

Blind to him and spared attention that might have further muddled her mind, the siren remained focused on the recording. There, situating himself before the hearth of a grand fireplace, the astute and proudly postured Hammerlock seated himself in an armchair. Crossing one knee atop the other, he briskly brushed his trousers straight. Then, extending both arms with grandiosity, he addressed his intended audience in that dignified accent he was known for.

"Warmest greetings, Vault Hunters! As you know, I, Sir Hammerlock, am an adventurer! And they say that the ultimate adventure is _love!_"

As if his garb and his feathered brush hat could be mistaken for anything less. He was _always _dressed as though on some enthralling expedition through an outback, perfectly representing his almanacs.

Had she not been busy relating so closely with his message, she would have found it endearing how he used such expressive hand gestures. Instead, she was preoccupied with identifying that kind of _adventure_ as being one of her only failures. It had left her sore and abraded...and her heart remained heavy even so many months later.

She didn't need further reminding that love treated some more kindly than others, which was the precise reason she and the others were viewing that recorded message. Focusing on it to the fullest, she consciously chose to feel happy for the man perched so prim and properly as he went on to say, "And adventures are best enjoyed _together_, which is to say…"

Suddenly shifting, the camera found itself in the hands of Wainwright, who proceeded to wield it with much less finesse. Far more casually than his fiance, the heir to the Jakob's family legacy turned the lens upward into his own deeply fissured face and, with fond incredulity, cut to the chase.

"What Alistair is _tryin' _to spit out is that we're gettin' married - and we want _you _at our weddin' party," he conveyed gruffly, his wild mane hardly distracting from the tenderness showing on his heavily aged face.

Hugging up to his partner's shoulder, Alistair situated himself within the frame and insisted on pursuing _his _speech - in coiffed Queen's English, naturally.

"Wainwright and I have found the _perfect _venue," he vowed, shaking his head once as though unable to believe the miracle for himself. "Small village, quite charming…"

"It's a frozen wasteland," corrected Wainwright bluntly, providing what the Vault Hunters trusted to be a more accurate depiction of the setting.

Whether the explorer took the recorder back or the Edenian pushed it on him, Amara couldn't be certain, but she suspected the transfer was a result of both. Regardless, Alistair was glad to focus the camera on his monocled self again as his fiance wandered toward the background and poured himself nothing short of a stiff drink.

"That's the _charm!_" the optimist defended, the crisp enunciation of his words a stark contrast to his significant other's thick drawl. Then, with bravado befitting his passion, Alistair proclaimed, "We can hunt ravenous beasts across the tundra!"

Not to be persuaded, Wainwright gestured to the well-fed hearth behind them.

"I think I'd rather cozy up to a cracklin' fire with a nice whiskey," he said wryly, earning Zane's nod of approval while he thoughtfully stroked his beard straight with one hand. Meanwhile, Wainwright pitched back the remainder of his drink and appeared in need of a generous second.

"Well that_ is_ why we are staying at this charming lodge," assured Alistair, emphasizing their compromise while situating the camera in its original position before that classic chair, "-So we can sample the hospitality of the locals!"

At that, Wainwright threw in his two cents with much less gusto. "I saw a few of 'em sproutin' tentacles, but...long as they keep 'em off my whiskey, we gon' be fine."

"Heh...how charming," chuckled Alistair, managing to keep high spirits despite his lover's grousing. Once more showing his smile, which was as polite as it was brilliant white, he said, "Uh, anyway, please do us the honor of joining us for a weekend of guns, love, and...tentacles."

Immune to his groom's reluctantly awkward finish, Wainwright placed one hand atop his nearest shoulder and posed with a drink in hand. With that, he finalized the recording by adding, "What more could the heart desire?"

Watching the grainy recording blink away on the monitor, Amara discovered herself rubbing her wrapped knuckles while looking to her teammates. Based on their expressions, their stances were mutual: there was no way they could turn down the invite.

Personally, Amara grew even more fond of the distinguished pair every time she saw them. They were simply too charming and complimented each other impossibly well. It went without saying that her hopes for them were as high as their illustrious standards. Happily, she would support their wedding in any way she could, and besides, what was more worth celebrating than a loving union?

Giving her knuckles a quick pop before briefly inspecting the condition of her painted nails, Amara joined her teammates in a four-way nod.

"That settles that, then," Moze announced, raising one hand to stroke the brown fringe back from her face before bracing her hand over the tattoos covering her hip. "Let's go throw flowers or some shit!"

Spinning in the chair he had borrowed, Zane pocketed whatever tool he had absently occupied himself and stretched out his back. Then, following a grimace, he gave a huff of relief before gathering his silver beard in a twist. "There's nothin' like a crazy gay wedding!"

"I should inquire if my pets are allowed to attend," stated the beastbot, and only then did Amara notice the dozing rakk perched atop their broad shoulder.

Unfolding its beaked head from where it had been tucked beneath one fleshy wing, its slender tongue extended as it gave a long yawn and proceeded to preen fondly at its master's hood. It adjusted its clawed stance as FL4K rose to their feet and trudged past her before exiting to the dim hallway beyond.

Not that she was in any position to decide, but Amara didn't see why their animals couldn't make an appearance. After all, the festivities seemed anything but orthodox. As proper as the happy couple seemed, at least one of them had respect for beasts. If not allowed by their accommodations, then FL4K wouldn't hesitate to stay in the wilderness with their pack.

As for her, she had to pay respect to the grooms and how they behaved more down to earth than elitist. Wainwright, despite his upbringing, managed to conduct himself as a corporate businessman without becoming disgustingly greedy. If nothing else, he was a southerner who appreciated simple pleasures and had enough attitude to butt heads with Alistair in a way that was fair...and also sweetly amusing during the rare times she had heard the two bicker. Given how stressful weddings could prove, she wondered if they would inevitably hear the two come to another gentlemanly disagreement.

Soon, she would find out. Hands reaching to grasp either end of her towel and draw it taut against her exposed shoulder blades, the siren turned to head toward the shower to freshen up. After all, she wanted to be at her best for the celebration. The grooms had promised them a good time, after all - better yet, an _adventure_, and that meant they would be engrossed in battle soon enough.

Turning her back toward the bridge, she didn't notice the operative's guarded gaze following her until she stepped from view.

...

Only after emerging from the shower did Amara noticed another message awaiting her on her cabin's personal interface. She accessed it only after she had untwisted the toweled bundle atop her head and shaken out her thick tresses within the exquisitely plush linen. It wasn't until she toed the edge of her bunk and stroked away the lingering droplets from her smooth legs that she listened to it.

"To reach our wedding, you will need to take Sanctuary to the hidden rimworld of Xylourgos. Lovely place," instructed the prolific explorer from one of his fancy studies. "Fare thee well, Vault Hunters! I anticipate your arrival at the wedding venue!"

He wasn't alone. Amara found herself equally eager to enjoy the festivities and to support one of her favorite couples. Even with their unique personalities, both gentlemen made a memorable pair. Rare as it was to encounter anyone who valued honor and respect, how could she not admire them promising their souls to each other?

While both men had their own separate hobbies and professional lives, they were left missing the other after each stressful day. The thought of them settling down together within one of their timeless and vintage studies, sipping tea and brandy, warmed her like those drinks surely would. And somehow, she found they were adorable together even when flustered with each other. They were just so _polite_ in their bickering that it tickled her.

They had to be the sweetest couple. It seemed they were always affectionately coddling and comforting each other. Even in disagreement, they addressed each other with sincere respect. Ever since she had first witnessed them interacting, Amara had envied their relationship. It seemed natural for her to want the same for herself. More than anything, it touched her how mindful the grooms were of not taking each other for granted.

Those were some of the many reasons she was delighted to attend their wedding. In helping them celebrate their love, she hoped she could enjoy some happiness of her own. Not only that, but as someone who had spent most of her life on Partali, she was excited to explore new worlds. Her hunger for traveling_ still _hadn't been satisfied by her adventures as a Crimson Raider. Besides, changes in scenery were always appreciated. For as much as Sanctuary III was her home, she was tired of living day to day in its dark interior.

It never took long for their team to gear up and assemble. They were, after all, constantly ready for action. For Amara, preparation involved donning her usual brawling attire, retrieving the weapons she kept maintained in her safe, and stopping by Marcus' to restock on ammunition. Easy, really.

She could have headed straight for the drop pods and struck up a conversation with Ellie while waiting for her teammates but instead, she headed back to the bridge. There, she did one last check-up on Ava in her cabin - and was pleased to see her nose-deep in her siren studies - before wandering further. She found her two human teammates standing side by side at the navigation console, talking quietly amongst themselves, while FL4K was presumably feeding their pets. Then again, maybe _they _were visiting Ellie.

Regardless, Amara found it mildly irritating how both Moze and Zane's conversation suspiciously dropped off the moment she stepped into view. If _that_ didn't suggest she had been the subject, she didn't know what was. Maybe her ego was coming into play, since who _wouldn't _want to gossip about the Tiger of Partali? But then again, perhaps not. By the end, she didn't visibly respond or insinuate her awareness in any way.

Following her wrist-twisting approach and the get-down-to-business tightening of her ponytail, Zane proceeded to punch in the coordinates to their destination. It took about as long for Sanctuary's hyperspace engine to audibly activate before sending the vessel shuddering through a wormhole. Once the celestial streaks and distortion saturating the observation deck condensed back into focus, the ship had snapped into the outer orbit of Xylourgos - an arctic rimworld consumed by ominous shadows and the stunning ring of a permanent eclipse.

They hadn't had more than a few minutes to study the dark planet before a transmission hailed them. Once accepted, the more familiar of the two grooms sounded throughout the comms. It had taken the aristocrat just a moment to detect their arrival, surely anticipating their short-order travel given his personal experiences aboard the vessel.

"Ahh, Xylourgos," Hammerlock sighed, sounding dreamier than Amara had ever heard him. She smiled as she and the others conducted one last double-check of their inventories and listened to him admit, "I can hardly wait! Take a drop pod down, Vault Hunters, and I shall meet you there! See you at the party!"

With that, the transmission ended, leaving the four of them to gaze at the darkly ominous planet. It resembled a frosted marble consumed in shadows, offering little preview of its landforms beneath the thick veil of chilled clouds hazing its atmosphere.

Within minutes, their team had begun the metallic trek to Sanctuary's hangar. As much as they dreaded the crash landings, they unanimously agreed against leaving their ship unattended for an indeterminate duration of time. Zane, for once, wasn't particularly privy to what the icy planet had to offer, nor had they been given enough advanced notice to perform adequate weatherproofing. Short of risking _something _malfunctioning or a pipe of fluids bursting, they lacked other means of user-friendly transport. Besides, once they deployed the mobile fast-track station on Xylourgos' surface, they could abandon the drop pod as useless scrap.

Needless to say, none of them were thrilled but they also had no intention of postponing their requested arrival. With that, they stood by and allowed Ellie to perform her pre-drop checklist while tweaking their gear. Minding herself, Amara was preoccupied with ensuring her munitions were at full capacity and that she had her most reliable firearms organized in her ECHO database.

Presumably having completed her own personal assessments, the gunner among them holstered her device before placing her hands atop her hips.

"...Are we talkin' bachelor party or what? What other party is there _before _a wedding?" asked Moze, looking as confused as Zane did when he looked up from silently scowling at his ECHO.

He said, his gruffness dripping in sarcasm, "Ohhh that'd be a fun one! Can only _imagine _the debauchery those two gents could get up to. We'd probably end up throwin' cash at taxidermied wildlife before stuffin' 'em with explosives an' settin' 'em off like pinatas! Come to think of it, that'd be a first fer me!"

...Where did he come up with _any _of that? That's what Amara both wanted and was afraid to know. The gunner's expression conveyed the same before she snickered and went about unwrapping a fresh foil of gum. She popped it between her lips without further comment, choosing instead to unwrap a second and hand it to FL4K's grabby jabber. Meat Thief grinned as he began loudly smacking the stretchy substance between his sharp teeth.

The only thing less pleasant than the ape's brown-stained enamel and rancid meat breath was their transport to Xylourgos. The drop pod landing went exactly as expected, the frozen landscape beyond the small porthole appearing to rush up to meet them and further the jarring force of impact. Most of the ice flecks had settled long before their liquified organs re-solidified, while at the same time, their joints remained stiffened from the violent shock.

As always, FL4K was exempt from elemental influence. They used their immunity to release the hatch and patiently assisted their human companions out into the open. Appreciating their solid support, Amara allowed herself to be guided out into the bracing and bitter cold. The environment was so merciless, its crystalline surface seemed as dense as eridium. Its ruthless chill struck her bare skin like a whip and just as sharply seeped through her clothing, instantly numbing inches below her surface.

Facing the harsh environment, she and Moze could only hope they were adequately prepared for its conditions. Confident that she could rely on her powers, the Partalian reached inside of herself for _fire. _She sighed in relief as tendrils of glowing flames spilled through her skin, consuming the sapphire of her siren spirals like thin lava. Continuously, its energy resonated throughout her and made the frigid climate tolerable.

Short of hunkering in Iron Bear, Moze wasn't as lucky. Even being acclimated to her cold homeland, the soldier already seemed irritable when exposed to the glacial landscape. She had brought along her vest and furred hat from her Vladof days and wasted no time securing the flaps against her ears.

As soon as her spiked boots struck snow, Amara began performing a series of thorough stretches in order to restore proper blood flow and her all-important limberness. Moze climbed out of the drop pod shortly after, both of her hands clasped to her helmet as she attempted to stifle the spinning of her senses. By the time Zane emerged, grumbling under his breath about his back, he took his third swig from his flask and relied on the influence of alcohol to assuage his aches.

As displeased as he appeared, she didn't expect to see him tuck it back within his jacket so soon. Given the ominous silence of the tomb-like environment, its sloshing proved that some quantity of its contents remained.

"Let's not do that shit again," groaned the gunner, instantly earning everyone's synchronized grunt of agreement. Of course, that was what they _always _said, and there they were, appearing worse for wear far too early in a mission.

Grateful for being spry and having the quickest recovery, Amara flexed her torso and placed her hands proudly atop her hips. Exposed her fiery prowess and her tiger stripes, two of her three companions admired her stance. Zane, on the other hand, insisted in extensively wrenching his spine back into position while facing the horizon awaiting them. His teeth were still exposed by a tight grimace when she settled alongside him and followed his gaze to the path awaiting their footprints.

Finally sparing her luminous presence a reflexive glance, he gave his neck one last stretching rotation before grunting from a particularly gruesome crack.

Amara took advantage of the quiet by reaching out to the couple expecting them. Surely they would be glad to hear about their moderately safe arrival and planned to give them further instructions on how to reach their ambiguous destination.

"Wainwright? Hammerlock? We've landed outside of town. Not seeing a party," she informed them, not that she expected their landing to be precise. After all, they didn't want to literally _crash _the festivities.

In exchange for her transmission, she received absolutely nothing. She spent that unexpected silence tapping her toes and watching her teammates scan their rocky surroundings before muttering, "No answer. Guess we're taking the scenic route…"

Deciding to give his louder and more expressive character a go - perhaps in case she hadn't been disruptive enough to catch their attention? - Zane opened that same channel.

"Oi, Hammerlock! Where's the partayyy?" he called out, his boisterous voice deflecting off the cavernous rock formation overhead. Not only did it triple the directions his brogue assaulted them from, but it effectively reminded them how grateful they should be that his digiclone was mute.

Furrowing his prominent brows at his lack of success, Zane tried again. "Wainwright? You hearin' any o' this?"

Apparently not, if the persistent silence was any indication. At that, the operative poked at the ECHO on his belt before giving an insouciant shrug.

"Nothing!" he huffed, declaring what the others already knew. With that, he arranged his firearm more comfortably in his grasp before nonchalantly taking the lead and trudging on ahead with all the swagger he could muster. "Ah, well! Usually the party finds _me_, but I s'pose I can give it a go on me own."

Puncturing her gum bubble with her tongue, Moze glared at his broad back before gesturing to the three of them incredulously. Still, she said nothing, opting instead to follow only when Amara came up beside her and gave her shoulder a smirking pat. Not one to ever opt out of a hunt, FL4K's heavy footsteps followed, their rag-draped form carrying a massive rifle like always.

"_Anyone hoooooome_?!_" _hollered the operative out into the open air, projecting his chipper attitude once more before winking at his teammates and gruffly adding: "Not really expectin' an answer, I just _love _the sound of me own voice."

"_Clearly_," Moze deadpanned before sparing Amara a sly grin. "No need to remind us."

Shooting the soldier a snarky grin, Zane's expression abruptly faltered before scrunching up awkwardly. Then, his eyelid fluttering, he released a sneeze so thunderous, it almost dislodged the icicles looming overhead.

It took him a moment to recover from his nasal explosion - and for everyone else to recover their hearing. His hand immediately went to his face - not to collect snot, most of which had been cleanly expelled, but to scrub at his mustache. Brows raised, his human companions noticed the frost accumulating on his whiskers, giving his handsome features an unusual glitter before he brushed it off. Even the humidity of their exhalations wasn't spared the punishing elements.

"Ohhh that is gonna get old _real_ fast," Zane grumbled while wrinkling his nose. As much as his hi-tech armor regulated his body temperature and spared him the frigid elements, it seemed that no one but FL4K was impervious to the planet's harsh environment.

Tipping her head toward him, Moze nodded to the high neckline of his jacket. "Zip up then. It might help."

"And hide me handsome mug?!" came the Pandoran's shocked gasp, one dramatic hand rising to his chest. "_Nonsense_! 'Sides, that ain't me style."

As adorable as Zane found his own whining to be, Amara could no longer say the same. She merely rolled her shoulders and turned her back, insisting instead on making progress. She didn't doubt that given long enough, he might relent to common sense despite being as stubborn as he was. If nothing else, he might think twice about revealing their position so loudly.

Xylourgos, as they soon discovered, was vastly inhabited with wolf-like creatures. Packs roamed the extensive tundras and lurked in its plentiful caves. From the shadows, the first of many spotted them and began howling, their piercing calls echoing throughout the hollow sky. They then broke into a starved and quadrupedal pursuit, their massive claws kicking up shards of ice with each pounding footfall.

Together, the Vault Hunters wasted no time in opening fire, targeting the agile bodies that darted and dashed. For as swiftly as the wolven lunged across the permafrost, they didn't stand a chance. Between their heavy firepower, her astral abilities, and Zane's gadgets joining the fray, the pack's numbers dwindled as quickly as they had emerged from the shadows.

Never one to sit out a fight, Moze didn't hesitate to deploy Iron Bear, its railgun strafing through furry flesh and kicking up gore in its wake. Zoomer swooped and blasted through the hounds that outmaneuvered the mech's arsenal, while FL4K's voracious beasts rushed to maul their writhing bodies.

Fire roared through Amara's veins as she captured the wolves by the dozen and ignited them in blazing suspension. Searing energy arced from one enemy to the other, spreading her magic like wildfire until the air reeked of singed hair and charred flesh. Between her elemental onslaught and the synchronized efforts of her teammates, it wasn't long until the snow was stained with blood and smoking corpses. That stinking haze of death settled like a familiar blanket upon them.

Around them, the scattered buildings of a settlement stood like tombs, pieced together by weatherworn wood. Even the flags posted around the shoreline appeared flash-frozen, their tattered fabric blown stiff by absent winds. More than once, while scouring the shack offering nothing, Amara found her eyes lingering on the paralyzed pennons...while nearby, her teammates regrouped.

Amara flexed the tension from her hands while watching Zane recall his digiclone, its corporeal form flashing from existence. A moment later, both Zoomer and Iron Bear dematerialized, leaving only the living to stare ahead at the perpetual eclipse dominating the distance.

From there, they descended beneath another black overhang, the presence of bulbous fungi drawing Mr. Chew's curiosity. Their foursome witnessed the skag nearly rocket from his rough skin when his sniffing caused one glowing form to erupt, sending bioluminescent powder wafting through the air and the stricken beast scampering back to its alpha with a whimper.

Slowing in her walk, Amara gave him a pat of reassurance, sympathizing with the good boy and understanding how the mysterious planet left him on edge. Even _she _felt unnerved by the enormous formation of curled limbs that appeared in the distance, the gargantuan creature petrified in the ghostly atmosphere.

Really, there was nothing else the monument could be but a lifeform extending its once-writhing appendages into the bleak sky. It was simply too _massive_ to be inorganic...and yet even its outrageous size defied logic. Even Zane, who boasted at length about traveling throughout the galaxy and dabbling in others scrunched his face in aversion. Until then, she assumed he reserved that particular expression for all foods green and healthy. Apparently grotesque octopuses left equally negative impressions.

"I don't know what that thing is and I don't like lookin' at it!" griped their operative, ever so reliable at voicing what most of them were thinking.

Still, she had to verbally stroke her own pride and uphold her bravery even among her team. "Yaaa, I hope that thing is dead...unless I get to kill it, in which case I hope it's not."

FL4K, in contrast, studied the twisted limbs with intrigue as they dropped down from a ledge - until their attentions were collectively captured by an unexpected dropship streaking across the nearby skyline.

From their vantage, Amara could see the outer shell of the vessel peeling away in flaps as the heat of entry raged across it. In tandem, their team audibly scowled at the sight. Gaige's unmistakable fretting, transmitting across an open frequency, proved she was feeling a tad inconvenienced.

"Crap, crap, craaap! Hold together, damnit!" came her demand as the pod streaked beyond the jagged hills, the ground responding with a cacophonous quake as it made contact.

A long moment passed, the concerned Vault Hunters glancing among themselves before Gaige's snarky voice inundated their ECHOs again. "Hey! Who's out there?! Get away from my pod! Do NOT mess with me - I'm a licensed wedding planner! I've got the certificate from the ECHOnet course right here!"

Shaking her head, Amara wondered what difference that made. Surely none whatsoever, but then the young woman had been chatty and full of attitude since the day they had met.

"She'll know where the party's at," suggested Zane, well-aware of their lacking direction. He paused to frisk more ice from his facial hair before shifting the weight of his assault rifle more firmly in his gloved grasp. "Sounds like she's in a spot of trouble."

Clearly, whoever was trying to mess with Gaige didn't know how doomed they were. Though the four of them hadn't seen the mechromancer in action, they had heard enough _of _her to know she could hold her own. Then again, Zane _had_ been thoroughly inebriated during his previous interaction with her and had been focused more on plotting Axton's demise than appreciating her anarchy. How the times had changed. Casting those memories aside, Amara began running ahead of her determined teammates.

The wordless consensus was that they didn't have much time to waste. Motivated by their need to help their ally, they made haste toward the wedding planner's landing site. They had to gun down a dozen more wolven along the way, but soon enough, as they reached a slippery embankment, they heard Gaige's rapid gunfire peppering the otherwise desolate sky. She seemed plenty occupied with keeping her trigger finger busy while spewing threats.

"_Back off! _I am sitting on four hundred pounds of matrimony-grade fireworks and I am _not_ afraid to use 'em!" she snapped, followed shortly after by more of her cocky mocking. "_Oh-ho-ho_, you should know better than to screw with a wedding planner! I came here to celebrate love but I WILL murder you all to make that happen!"

"She's such a sweetheart," cooed Zane, earning Moze's snicker as she holstered her shotgun and prepared to unleash Iron Bear. Already, he was lifting his arm to deploy Zoomer, the drone digistructing and unfolding its stabilizers before it shot off like a rocket, rushing ahead to engage the enemy.

At least now, they could visually confirm that Gaige had everything under control. There, by the smoldering wreckage that sparked and sent plumes of pitch smoke billowing into the sky, they discovered the redhead and her beloved Deathtrap holding their own against a swarm of zealous bandits.

"Nice one, babe!" she complimented, leaping to enthusiastically high five her mechanical partner. Her vibrant pigtails fluffing over her shoulders, she fell to her boots and didn't lose a beat in targeting the nearest bandit rushing her. She did, however, finally notice Zoomer as it swooped down and unleashed a series of rockets that kicked up flailing psychos in pieces. Bolts of lightning followed, snapping like a whip and paralyzing targets before the lethal energy ignited them.

"Hey!" shouted the mechromancer, waving her arms overhead to draw their attention even before she seemed able to identify them. "You look less crazy than these guys! Come help me kick their asses!"

As _if_ they needed encouragement, and they were ready to prove it. Without a doubt, it wouldn't take Gaige long to recognize them after they unleashed their skills and rushed the natives with unified precision. Seasoned fighters they were, they had every intention of leaving the bandits slaughtered much in the same way they had the wildlife left dead behind them.

From then on, mayhem dominated. Amara summoned her astral fists and lost herself in the thrill of decimating every enemy within reach. She phaselocked some, suspending them for her teammates to unload their ammunition into, and crushed others into pulp within her magic fists.

In another massive burst of fiery energy, she drove a merciless hand up through the frozen ground and sent rocky clots exploding upward. A few panicking assholes managed to flee, while a number of others found themselves fatally crushed by larger chunks of debris. Two others were pinned to the ground, writhing from shattered bones and ruptured organs. Even as flames of the aftermath licked around them, Zane made quick work of putting them out of their wailing misery. She decidedly didn't linger on the particular way he cocked his hip while shooting them in the skulls.

With some _appropriate_ distractedness, she found herself watching the mechromancer's favorite invention live up to his namesake. Hovering protectively near its developer, Deathtrap was quick to slash through their attackers, his energized claws streaking vividly through the drab air.

The fight went on, though compared to the CoV, their numbers were underwhelming. It took no time whatsoever for her to kill her fair share and ensure Gaige was safely accounted for. Upon seeing the redhead's excited waving and returning one of her own, she allowed the others to pick off the stragglers.

As soon as it was over, the Vault Hunters gathered near the wreckage. Moze dismounted Iron Bear with agility before allowing it to dissipate, while FL4K rewarded their pack with pats and praise. Meanwhile, Zane bumped knuckles with Gaige, who grinned in her adorably manic way. Amara didn't miss how she gave him a quick once over before getting distracted by Zoomer's circling.

"You guys must be here for the wedding!" she acknowledged, connecting some very easy dots. Then, after a beat, she began hastily frisking herself while cursing beneath her breath. "Ah _crap,_ I'm supposed to be checking people off the list when they show up or are dead or whatever. Heh, wedding planner stuff, am I right?"

Surely, it was the first time in a _long_ time that someone outside of their team punched the operative's arm. Even he seemed to expect a siren's force rather than that of a redhead sporting black and white striped leggings. Almost imperceptibly, his sleeved bicep tensed in anticipation before Gaige's playful fist made contact. Following that, he half hid his smirking relief while scraping at his frosty mustache.

Curiously, everything between the two seemed friendly enough...and not nearly as flirtatious as Amara had dreaded. In fact, based on former experience, she was gratefully taken aback at how casually they interacted. Gaige wasn't batting her eyelashes at him or teasing like she had in the past, though that wasn't to say she wouldn't strike it up again. Given the noteworthy change, the siren had to question if Zane, at some point, had done something to discourage her. Amara would personally know a bit about that, however much it didn't seem like something his ego would do.

Either way, she couldn't complain...at least not for now. She did, however, smirk as Deathtrap raised one hand toward Zoomer and attempted to initiate a high five...only to droop in disappointment upon recognizing it lacked appendages. The action did, however, earn another of the drone's thorough scannings before the wasp-like construct adopted a wider berth around the operative.

"Eh, I never cared for any'a that!" Zane was saying, surprising no one. Without a doubt, his personal preparation for his own marriages centered on becoming thoroughly intoxicated. "I'm _perfectly_ fine with bein' left outta all that nonsense."

Cocking a perfect brow and opening her pretty lips to say more, Gaige popped up on her toes when her responsibilities dawned on her. Then, fumbling for her ECHO, she waved at everyone to hurry, not sparing another second standing still on her own booted feet.

"We're late, so let's get a move on. The brochure says there's a _'charming gondola' _that should get us up to the Lodge. Come on! Let's walk and talk."

Not a minute elapsed before the wedding planner ensured they conversed underway. At least she was still as loquacious as ever.

"Crap!" She blurted again, not even bothering to look behind her as she called back over her shoulder, "I think one of those crazies ate my RSVP ledger! Did any of you have a plus one?"

Organization didn't seem to be one of the mechromancer's strong points, Amara noticed. Even then, she found the young woman charming in a chaotic sort of way. It seemed anarchy ran deep with her in every sense of the word.

"I'm me own plus one," boasted Zane, his head held high as he touted one of his many talents. "Jus' wait 'til ye see me dancin' routine."

Whether that included his digiclone or not, Amara was uncertain. Regardless, she was grateful for entirely selfish purposes that he hadn't brought some bimbo date along...or convinced either Moxxi or Ember to attend as his cleavage-heavy hook-up. She wouldn't have trusted herself to survive that without grinding her teeth to dust and severing her tongue in the process.

Redirecting her thoughts to safer territory and circumnavigating treacherous scenarios that hadn't come to head, Amara listened to Gaige, who jogged off ahead. "That's only_ '_cause I'm taking this job _super _seriously! And don't you forget it!" she insisted, giving the siren a bit to chew on.

If nothing else, Gaige's retort suggested that the two had talked since meeting at Moxxxi's, which didn't really bother her. Honestly, what did it matter if they had? Simple answer: it didn't, so she spoke up for herself instead of lingering further on the subject like some scorned girlfriend.

"More like _plus eight_...because my arms, y'know? Just...uh, no, no, just...going stag," she managed with a wince, never once succeeding at recovering her fumbling in the slightest.

Making a pained face, Moze tried to cover for her like the reliable friend she was. "I brought Iron Bear. Just a heads up: I'm gonna need a whole table to myself."

"I have my beasts and whatever carcasses they have slain for my approval," offered FL4K as though it was the most normal statement in the galaxy. They thought nothing of their teammates hooking their thumbs in their direction whilst smirking amongst themselves.

Far from phased, Gaige clasped a hand on her robot's metal shoulder and grinned while cocking her head fondly at him.

"My plus one is Deathtrap. Built him myself," she flaunted - as if they didn't know that already. "He's my bestie for the restie! Titanium-reinforced plating, mono-molecular laser claws, and he makes one _hell_ of an omelet! As long as Deathtrap's by my side, I know that everything gonna be okay."

The disturbance that passed across Zane's face at the mention of 'omelet' was promptly replaced by a touched expression. Though the mechromancer might have had the strangest security blanket in the universe, the siren found herself feeling a flare of empathy for the girl's implied insecurities. Those expressive emerald eyes of hers made her seem so vulnerable that it was all too easy to overlook her age...or the machine gun she was toting.

"Deathtrap's all I have, but I mean, really he's all I need. He's even got a built-in margarita dispenser and everything. He's the perfect companion! That reminds me, Deathtrap - your lime juice tank needs a refill. Mama's gotta get her marg on!"

Even if she practically never drank, Amara could relate to that particular craving. While she fully expected their trusty alcoholic to respond to the subject, _how _he did was pretty unexpected.

"Ha, keep me away from 'im then!" laughed Zane uneasily while shaking his head. "Tequila either makes me lose me clothes or I turn into a total arsehole. It's always one or the other," he conveyed, smirking despite himself.

Chances were, at least a couple of them tried to envision the scenarios Zane depicted while at the same time, they continued progressing across the snowy hellscape. More hungry wolven appeared in their path but were put down as easily as the rest. Deathtrap rushed ahead of the quickest, his metallic vertebrae trailing as he propelled himself toward the threat with programmed vengeance.

"I am unleashed!" he announced, his voice sterile in contrast to the howls attempting to deafen them. Meanwhile, as her trusty robot spared their ammunition stores, Gaige grinned at him like a thing of pure beauty.

It wasn't long until they found themselves at their intended landmark. The further they jogged, the nearer they drew to that repulsive creature paralyzed near the settlement. From atop the mountain they gradually ascended, Amara could better see the town residing beneath those tentacled shadows. She found herself wondering if it had been constructed there after the creature had experienced its demise or if it had met its end while attacking the residents.

"Mannnn, that is one _giant_ freakin' tentacle monster," Gaige said with awe, sparing a moment to look ahead toward the gaping maw of the beast. "I mean, it was in the brochure and everything but _oof, _the pictures did _not _do it justice!"

There was no mistaking the green, eldritch mist resonating from it like sinister breath as they scaled the summit to the gondola station. Still so far away - though not nearly distant enough - the creature's freakish form was still unnerving. The size of it diminished Amara's hopes of punching it to a presumed second death, though she might think twice about her bravado if she ever saw it so much as twitch.

Overhead, thick wires were strung across the rocky landforms ushering them along the path. Like everything man-made they had encountered on Xylourgos, the platform didn't appear to be in a very maintained state, and they definitely didn't need to scale the steps in order to see it. The actual gondola was certainly _rustic_, as Gaige so politely put it - as in, composed of significant rust. At this rate, Amara had low hopes for their overnight accommodations.

Satisfying negative expectations, they discovered that the gondola wasn't operational. Gaige took it upon herself to repair what she could while sending them off to ensure power was available. It was along that acid-laden venture that they encountered their first hundred or so kriches. As much as Amara's count might have been exaggerated, it didn't seem like one while their team set out to exterminate them. In droves, their wriggly, bloated bodies swarmed from their nests and interfered with goo-spewing attacks.

Personally, she wasn't thrilled with the lifeforms, particularly when they aggressively interrupted their progress, but she was more than happy to smash them. However, she preferred not to get their noxious viscera all over her boots or slog through their projectile fluids. Fortunately, the grated flooring allowed everything to drip through and join the eerily green _whatever_ that glowed below them. The enormously taloned tentacle extended overhead was just as imposing.

Together, Zane and Moze shot off two valves from the nearby pipelines while Meat Thief wrenched off a third and threw it like a frisbee, sending Mr. Chew enthusiastically chasing after it. The chemicals sent spewing from the pressurized lines destroyed the krich nests in the process. Whether or not the toxins would prevent them from reclaiming the area went beyond Amara's expertise, but at least the pests would be otherwise occupied while their team rode the gondola. Rerouting the power to their transport enabled that to happen, and for that reason, she was more than glad to throw the switch.

Once aboard the now functional tram system, the Vault Hunters spent their downtime taking in their wintery surroundings. Amara passed her attention from the obvious monstrosity to Zane, who was casually bracing his elbows atop the open window ledge, the frigid wind ruffling his metallic hair. Against the gloom, the LED accents of his attire glowed like a beacon - much like the lighthouse casting its beam across the solidified shoreline. Still, it was easy to turn away from the distraction posed by her tall companion and look instead to Gaige, who struck up small talk.

"Sooo, what does everything think of Wainwright and Hammerlock? Weird pair, right? Hammerlock's all _'dashing headlong_ _into danger' _and Wainwright's all '_books and glasses of old brown stuff,'_" she said, practicing her decently accurate impressions. "You know how hard it was to find a venue they agreed on? But I think I freakin' CRUSHED IT. The last thing they wanted was a tourist trap, and this place isn't even on most review sites! Or maps."

"Can't imagine why," commented Amara beneath her breath, earning Moze's toothy grin.

Gaige wasn't the first person they had encountered who could carry on their own conversation. Zane was, after all, in attendance, but even he wasn't nearly as rambling as she was unless he was in a particular stage of drunkenness. With her feistiness and youth, she was a verbose force to be reckoned with.

It was the operative she targeted now, effectively invading the little corner he had claimed for himself aboard the swaying gondola.

"So," she said with pep, leaning alongside him and nudging him with her elbow in the process, "What do you think about my BFF? _Everyone _wants a Deathtrap, and they'd be pretty easy to mass-produce, but I'm not looking to sell my edge."

As the operative turned his spiky head to address her, Amara was treated to his handsome profile. She did her damnedest to ignore the frustrating tug of attraction she experienced while eavesdropping.

"Best not to. 'Sides, there are plenty more excitin' ways o' makin' bank, trust me," suggested the veteran mercenary, though he didn't sound too keen on providing examples.

"Yeaaaah, vault hunting was cool but there wasn't enough mechanical engineering, so I tried to become a mechanical engineer, but there wasn't enough mass evisceration."

"Ye sure ye weren't doin' it wrong?" teased Zane before barking out a smoker's laugh, the concerning condition of his lungs exacerbated by the aching cold. Nodding like she wondered the same, Gaige gave her holstered pistol a pat before grinning.

"You wouldn't think weapons training would be much help in the wedding planning business but boy, you'd be surprised. We have had some hiccups, but this isn't the worst wedding I have planned by a longshot, heh!" At least not yet, Amara thought. "The only way Zed's wedding could've been worse is if he'd actually gone through with it! Bullet dodged! Well, _actually..._a lot of people weren't able to dodge."

"Gotta say," she continued, going on like she hadn't dropped that little bombshell, "this might be my last wedding gig. Think I'll do something less stressful, like...ooh, planning class revolutions or rival gang meet-and-greets! I tried my hand at the whole 'social media influencer' thing for a while, but it wasn't my scene. I like the damage I inflict to be a bit more...in-person, y'know?"

Zane settled for nodding. In fact, none of them said anything despite being perfectly aware of how Gaige wouldn't have minded whatsoever if any of them felt like jumping in.

Still relieved that the redhead wasn't fawning over the man easily twice her senior, Amara couldn't help but wonder - again - what had changed. Being something of a prodigy, maybe the mechromancer had come to her senses and recognized Zane for the idiot he was. Still, it seemed more likely that Axton had let their secret slip and left his partner to wrongfully believe the operative was spoken for.

That, clearly, was not the case, Amara acknowledged with an inward scowl.

"Hey, I haven't been back to the Edens in a _long _time. I heard you guys were on six a while back. How is it?" asked the redhead, leaving them all to wonder if she knew her grooms were shacking up there. "Still all swamp and dinos? I am _so_ glad Hammylock asked me to do this. Haven't seen people in a while. Deathtrap and I have been on the run because I'm wanted for, like...eh, the smallest amount of murder, heh…"

"Oh man," she blurted, abruptly changing subjects like she had only just noticed the Partalian's color change and half-exposed state. "Look at you! How are you _not _freezing all your goodies off? I mean that's okay to say, right? 'Cause they're good lookin' to me! Sirens are sooo hot - ha, get it?"

"She does it with stubborn willpower," offered Moze, the comment instantly earning Zane's husky chuckle. She suspected it was wise of him not to say anything else.

"I am just that impressive," Amara answered with a demonstrative flex of her arms and a pose wrought with well-earned arrogance. It caused her tattoo to blaze, the embers in her skin flaring with danger. "And a bit of fire helps."

...

Compared to the rest of the climate, the Lodge was a welcoming shelter. For her, there were unmistakably strange and unsettling vibes to it, but it granted protection from the looming tentacles and brisk environment.

Once inside the estate's massive doors, they were greeted with a broad layout...at the center of which resided a well-stocked bar capable of lighting Zane's expression more than than the blazing fireplace beckoning the rest of them. Hammerlock, who eagerly rose to his feet and excitedly thanked them for showing, seemed even more delighted as Gaige announced her "Vault Hunter delivery".

Shortly after, they were welcomed by one of the strangest men Amara had ever encountered. The host, by all intents and purposes, ticked off all the boxes of creepiness. From his thinly slicked-back hair to his anemic coloring and lanky, malnourished build, he was certainly strange. Even his overly deliberate way of speaking was enough to have their team sharing covert glances amongst themselves. Fidgety as Zane could be, she could practically see him fighting the urge to impatiently bob on tiptoes while waiting for the spectacled man to finish each sentence.

Having reverted to his Pandoran roots, the first words Zane said to the Lodge's proprietor had been rude by typical standards. However, the man who introduced himself as Mancubus Bloodtooth appeared anything but phased by the operative's forwardness when he blurted out, "Creepy man! You're a creepy, _creepy_ man!"

By no means was their older teammate wrong but his methods could have been less openly offensive. Amara swore Mr. Chew had shown more decency while whimpering and backing behind FL4K's legs. The skag shrank further away as their host tipped his hooked nose downward and peered at their four-legged companion from above the small, round frames balanced there. Even Amara felt a chill when those pasty, wiry lips coiled into a haunting smile.

It went without saying that Mancubus' beady, tar-bleeding eyes did nothing to detract from his macabre aura. Even then, polite and composed as he was, he _had _wholly welcomed them as their generous host...and he wasn't that much more unsettling than the other peculiar natives wandering the Lodge like zombies.

The bellhop responsible for showing them around was no exception to the weirdness. He jittered and chewed on his own tongue as he coaxed them along, introducing them to their rooms and inquiring if they were satisfactory before allowing them to offload whatever gear they pleased.

After freshening up, she and Moze teamed up to roam the main corridors and spent some time observing the DJ spinning tracks on the second story balcony. Finding that the music didn't jive much with their styles, they descended the main staircase to join the wedding party gathered by the grand fireplace.

There, they learned two things: that Claptrap had made an uninvited appearance and that Wainwright was nowhere to be seen. While Hammerlock sighed heavily at both, seeming most reluctant to acknowledge the bot zealously expressing itself, he could at least make sense of his fiance's behavior. That was, _after _Gaige tempted their pinchered guest to leave by assigning it the quest of retrieving some Pearl of Ineffable Knowledge.

"Can you do that for me?" she asked with fake adulation, totally bullshitting the painfully oblivious robot. "The entire wedding depends on it!"

"Minion! You want _me..._to save the whole wedding?" gasped the Hyperion construct before valiantly announcing, "You picked the right guy!"

As Claptrap heroically whizzed off, it was painfully obvious how oblivious it was to the ridiculously fake assignment. Grateful for the bot's dense motherboard, Gaige shook her head. She then turned to the feather-sporting groom while he sighed in gracious relief.

"I am _not _going to let anything spoil your big day, Hammerlock," she promised. Then, suddenly registering his partner's absence, she asked, "Hey, where's Wainwright?"

Frowning handsomely, the hunter's tightly arranged knees notably relaxed, his square shoulders slumping. Sincere concern swirled in his half-digital gaze.

"Oh, Winny's been such a nervous mess. I've tried to get him to relax, but he insists on dashing about, making sure everything is perfect. But - the party must continue! Thank you for trekking all the way out to this frigid wilderness! Winny will be back soon and all will be well! Yes, yes! This will be a celebration to remember!"

To pass the time, Gaige decided to enlist their team in decorating - or at least three of their four. As FL4K manned the available helium tank and efficiently set about inflating balloons, both Amara and Moze gathered them in clusters and used the colorful arrangements to liven up the area. Even Meat Thief climbed to the balcony and crudely knotted additional bunches around the banisters.

Zane, after occupying the outskirts of their fireside conversation and deciding he had an adequate grasp of the situation, rerouted himself to the bar. He sat front and center despite instinctively leaning away from Mancubus every time his skeletal form neared. Amara had to wonder if he was using alcohol to bait himself into forming a tolerance for the man.

"I'll take the strongest drinks ye have, creepy man. One'a those oughta tide me o'er. If not, I'll have another!"

"You sound like a man preparing for marriage," Mancubus commented eerily, causing the operative to laugh bawdily and slap the bar while his drink poured.

"God, no! Ye couldn't pay me enough!" the operative chortled. His amusement persisted until he knocked back whatever concoction was handed to him and cleared his throat before nodding in approval. After that, Amara was more than glad to tune him out.

Soon enough, a dozen bunches of balloons were cheerily suspended throughout the dim space. About the time she poked at the newest addition, sending it bonking hollowly into its gathered neighbors, Wainwright's unmistakable Creole hailed her ECHO. While his appearance was expected, it was surprisingly hushed.

"Vault Hunters! I have a favor to ask," came his discreetly prudent request. "Meet me in town. And don't tell Alistair where you're goin' jus' yet."

"How are we supposed to manage that?" Moze huffed, clearly tired of ambiguous instructions and never a fan of surprises.

"Hmm. We might want to get Gaige in on this to make it easier," she suggested, seeing more benefit than harm. Then again, the redhead _did _have a hyperactive mouth.

As though tipped off by some sixth sense - or because he felt like a terrible host for not properly entertaining them - Hammerlock beckoned them across the ECHO much like an elder eagerly assembling children for storytime. That, the Vault Hunters learned, was precisely his intention as he proudly declared, now invigorated by inspiration, "Let's get the night started with a good hunting tale! Gather round whilst I recall the time I defeated the Herisian Slitherjaw armed with nothing but a rotten banana!"

Blinking, Amara looked to the gunner following close behind her and saw her falter in twanging a balloon string. Neither of them was convinced they had heard the announcement correctly. It wasn't until they finished knotting the rest of the decorations in their possession that they wandered back as instructed and noticed Zane digging into his mental bank of excuses.

"Awwww, I just _love _a good murder banana story," he began, his sympathetic tone dripping with regret and his remaining eye pleading for understanding, "but I _just _remembered one of me _many_ spouses lives nearby and I wanna try and get my guitar back."

"Who's going to buy that except us?" whispered Moze, earning her simultaneous eye roll and shrug. What happened to their operative's mastery of deception?

Then again, maybe he _wasn't_ exactly lying. Having walked in on him skillfully strumming Ava's guitar more than once, she knew for a fact that he could play the instrument. It went without saying that she didn't particularly care to acknowledge the _other _implications of his statement. Regardless if his claim was indeed fabricated, Hammerlock bought it. That was all that mattered.

"Oh, but you've only just arrived," frowned the older gentleman, "but no matter. The banana can wait. And if you see Winny out there, do tell him to come in from the cold."

Sure, Zane's excuse didn't explain why the four of them needed to tackle the task, but who was to say his spouse could be handled by _any_ individual? Placated, the adventurer didn't blink when the four of them headed toward the townward door. Instead, it was Mancubus who they discovered standing there, his skeletal form intentionally situated in their path.

They were allowed to leave the Lodge with words of caution. Their rawboned host, as his eyes cunningly shined like obsidian, suggested for them to be careful. According to him, they were likely to encounter disconcerting behaviors from the locals who might behave as though inflicted by a curse.

"_Ohhhh hohoho_!" laughed their operative, shaking an index finger at Mancubus like he had told a fine joke, "I would honestly_ love _to see what you think is strange behavior, Creepy Man."

Unable to resist elbowing her teammate, who reflexively gripped his firearm tighter, she pinched him by the sleeve and pulled him out of the door alongside her.

…

"So this place's name is Cursehaven? Does anyone else notice the irony o' that? I can't be the only one!"

The town certainly suited its name, constructed over a putrid trench of luminous fluid and a haze that haunted the senses. Whatever it consisted of, Amara didn't care to know, and she tried not to think about it while crossing the shoddy bridges connecting the disjointed settlement.

Everything existing within those murky fumes seemed leeched of life. Even the buildings were withered and appeared to be on the verge of collapse, the posts supporting the structures threateningly rickety. It would take only a single misstep for one's foot to fall through the wide gaps in the creaking walkways - that was, if the planks didn't splinter entirely. Compared to Cursehaven's rotting gloom, Pandora seemed more welcoming. At least it provided solid ground beneath them...and there wasn't an imposing monstrosity erupting from it.

Despite the appalling appendages threatening to collapse upon them at any given second, Zane was still stuck on Mancubus.

"It's a rare thing for someone to give _me _the heebie-jeebies, lemme tell ye! S'gotta be those wee, beady eyes, though the black doesn't bother me any. Jus' looks like I laid hard into a lass an' got her mascara runnin', though now that I think on it, I sure as feck ain't gonna do that to Creepy Man!"

Did her eyes deceive her or did Zane shoot her a quick glance - there and gone in an instant? She couldn't say for certain. Even if she was tempted, she rejected the frown she deeply experienced. She refused to give him any sense of victory.

Evidently, the Pandoran-Irishman didn't feel the same aversion to the other equally _off _townsfolk. He didn't hesitate for a second to swagger up to a woman situated beneath a 'Lantern's Hook' sign and greet her with a friendly "Heyoo!"

In response, the resident sluggishly turned to stare at him from beneath her fiddler fisherman's cap. Amara arrived just in time to be taken aback by her ashen skin and sunken eyes, the moisture of which was a frail glint within those obsidian recesses.

It went without saying that Moxxi rocked the running mascara look _far _better than the townsfolk, her makeup appearing freshly fucked and _not _damned.

In contrast to the operative's spunky greeting, the woman's verbal lethargy was even more pronounced. The zombie-like way she droned nonsense made the siren's skin crawl. Was _this_ the curse Mancubus warned them about?

Forgoing a traditional greeting, the lady's statement was _anything_ but expected as she lamented, "I'm…stuck...in...a….time...soup…"

"'Time soup', y'say?" queried Zane, nonchalantly humoring her peculiarity. "Care, to elaborate?"

"Yes…Let...me…explain" she agreed with that hauntingly soulless drawl. "It…all…started-"

Crumbling beneath the weight of his own high energy, Zane's impatient outmatched his willpower.

"Nope! Can't do it. I'm out!" he forfeited before jogging off across the nearby bridge.

It wasn't as though the odd woman could frown any deeper, but she appeared aware of her struggle. Grudgeless, she sighed a listless and wearied "Ooo...kayy…."

Once more, Amara didn't feel inclined to apologize for her teammate's brashness, particularly given how crazy _she _was being driven by that slowness. Instead, in an attempt to prevent Zane from possibly disgruntling anyone else, she followed where she had last seen him flounce onto another street.

She found him zeroing on a fellow who was rhythmically waving his arms and swaying his hips. Even as Zane bounded up to him with the happy curiosity of a child, the Partalian found her pursuit faltering when she realized the man was dancing. It wasn't until she drew nearer that she could make out the torment on his ink-tracked face.

With all the mutton chops being sported by the local men and Zane's frequent use of cryo munitions, she could see him more easily originating from Xylourgos than Pandora.

As though oblivious to the performer's plight, the operative propped his hands on his slender hips and unapologetically watched the ever-changing display. Nodding in handsome approval, he growled breezily, "_Ohhh_! I like a man who's not afraid to dance!"

Evidently the performer didn't share the same sentiment. Instead, he wailed in evident suffering despite his body never skipping a beat, "I can't...I can't stop dancing! Not _ever_!"

Unrepentant, Zane watched as the man whirled on his heels and spun into another dance move. Then, with enthusiasm, he used a burst of encouragement to disagree.

"You're just moved by the _spirit_, boyo!" he said with a shimmy of his own hips - and then struck a pose reminding Amara of a victorious matador while announcing with gusto, "the spirit of _DANCE!"_

Despite Zane's cheery support, the man's face twisted further in agonized exhaustion. Ink continued oozing from his harrowed eyes as his arms grooved with his affliction and he half-sobbed, half-howled, "Can't...stop…. boogieing!"

With that, Moze appeared and grabbed the operative by the back of his coat collar. Despite her shortness, she practically tore him off his feet in the process of dragging him away. Clearly his friendliness wasn't alleviating the man's troubles any.

"Okay, enough with being friendly. We don't need you getting cooties or whatever from these crazies," she warned, earning Amara's supportive nod.

Unable to protest, Zane fell a couple of steps behind them and followed like a loyal shadow. Regardless of the salty stench wafting from the slime congealed on the cobblestone streets, they had a mission to do. Making it through the town, eerily still and scarcely inhabited as it was, seemed like child's play.

Not far into Cursehaven, they passed through Olmstead Square. Centered within the odd topsy turvy stacks of houses and mysteriously silent buildings, a monument stood within a circular pool. The pair depicted by the statue must have been significant to the town...so perhaps they were founders or explorers? Amara couldn't say she had read up on the settlement's history.

Regardless, great detail had been chiseled into the handsome couple. Both were clad in coordinated, pillowy coats and ribbed high-neck sweaters. The square set of the man's jaw and defined goatee caught Amara's attention the most, same as the way his eyes seemed perpetually watchful. She couldn't resist surveying the distinguished woman as well, the flare of her shoulder-length hair failing to soften her otherwise intense features.

Not far beyond, they encountered Wainwright outside the venue. As one would expect for a man set to marry, he appeared visibly and endearingly stressed. He was practically tugging at his sweaty neckline while pacing ruts in front of the location booked for the happy occasion.

"I'm as nervous as the last hog in a slaughterhouse," he confessed, his swagger as pronounced as Zane's but more businesslike, somehow. "The venue's just gotta be perfect for Alistair. That ginger dynamo of a wedding planner showed me the brochure, but I need to see it for myself."

Touched by the groom's desire to provide for his lover, Amara smiled and nodded sagely. "That's probably for the best. It's always wise to tour everything in person and ensure it's perfect for the occasion."

She found it particularly touching how Wainwright was so passionate about fulfilling Alistair's every wish and providing him the perfect matrimony venue - so much that Cursehaven's peculiarities seemed lost on him. The only thing that mattered to the Edenian, smitten as he was with his groom, was giving him the wedding of his dreams.

If anything, her support only fueled his determination. Still tugging nervously at the cuffs of his suit jacket, he was openly agitated by the solidly locked gates separating him from the estate. Again and again, he shook the bars before reluctantly relenting.

"_Hell's bells!" _he cursed, his thick fists balling with frustration. "If I don't see the place with my own eyes, I'm not gonna sleep a wink tonight. Maybe there's another way around."

From then on, Wainwright ordered them to follow him. In the face of his loving desperation, she almost felt tempted to break the gate with her siren strength...or to at least scale it so she could unlock it from the other side.

Before she or anyone else could suggest as much, the Jakob's heir had begun asking soulful questions while deliberately strutting down the staircase and onto the streets. The sight of him side by side with the taller operative gave her even more opportunity to compare their proud gaits.

"Now, I've come to trust your judgments," Wainwright was saying, his voice a pleasantly hoarse burr. The particular tone he took was of a man deeply contemplating life and preparing to make a commitment so heartfelt, it was daunting. "Vault Hunters, can I ask you...is there anything that scares you?"

As much as he directed his query to all of them, Amara was afraid of what Zane had to say. Given his close proximity to the businessman, it seemed only natural for the mustachioed man to speak first. Even then, she hoped to God that Jakobs didn't misconstrue him as speaking for the rest of them.

If Zane's statement implied fear of commitment in _any_ way, nothing could stop her from launching herself at his back like a tiger and smashing him face-down into the ground. She would succeed in flattening his aggravatingly handsome visage by beating it point-blank into the stone street before anyone could _think_ to save him...or prevent her from going for his throat.

"I can't wait to hear this," muttered Moze - who would be the _very_ last person to intervene - before wryly smiling. "Running out of booze, probably-"

"Oh sure," Zane agreed jovially, not once hesitating to confess: "_Birds_. Any kind. Big, small. Live, cooked. Doesn't matter! Can't even eat a chicken nugget."

In tandem, the women among them placed their hands on their foreheads. Leave it to the Pandoran to ruin the intense sentiment Wainwright had laid out with something so...so..._ugh. _Granted, they weren't to judge how intense their teammate's phobia was, but they had witnessed him cringing away from FL4K's rakks a time or two. Still, Moze couldn't help but muffle a ridiculing chuckle.

For a moment, the beastbot gave Amara hope. Their statement initially sounded profound, even if it was dismissive of the future groom's human nature...but at least it started _out _more thoughtful than the operative's.

"Fear is a human flaw. I am incapable of such- oh, you know what? Tapioca. That texture. Ugh."

"I happen to _like _tapioca," admitted Zane, appearing much like he wished he had a serving of it before doing a second take at the AI and wondering aloud, "Oi, how would _you _know? Ye don't even have a mouth!"

"I have applied it to certain surfaces," stated FL4K before awkwardly pausing and adding: "Please, do not inquire further until we are in private."

"Will do!" replied Zane with a raunchy laugh. There wasn't a single doubt among them that he wouldn't see to it at their soonest convenience.

"Uh, yeah. Exploding bees," blurted Moze, her small body wracked by a shudder. She sounded disturbed - and worse, _experienced _\- as she said, "All you hear is a buzz, then a _boom."_

Well, if they were going to be _that _way and Wainwright was still attentively listening…

"I fear only one thing: my personal trainer. On leg day," she admitted. That was a perfectly reasonable response, wasn't it? Anyone who exercised so punishingly could surely relate...and besides, it wasn't like anyone else was willing to put their deeper fears on display.

In contrast, Wainwright seemed weighed down by his true troubles and looked to them for reassurance. His confessions were far more sincere than she expected from such a proud and dignified man. Even then, with his beloved Alistair so intensely starring in his thoughts, he didn't hesitate to expose a raw part of his heart.

"I can't argue with any of those, but your troubles are real. My fears are more tangible," he lamented, fissured face fixed into a frown. "Alistair, he's a man of adventure. Derring-do, he'd say. He climbs mountains and tames jungles and loves every second of it. But that ain't my vintage. Sometimes I convince myself that he would rather be with someone...a little more gung-ho. A little more exciting…"

Then, as though recognizing how openly he was exposing his vulnerabilities, Wainwright zipped back up. Time was, after all, of the essence and that was an easy excuse to fall back on. "Ah, don't mind me. Let's hurry."

With that, the man and all his southern charm set off at a sprint too quick for his age. At the time, the Vault Hunters were too preoccupied with sharing looks of concern, his sudden haste catching them entirely off-guard. Their gazes, now stunned, flicked again amongst themselves before they took off after him. Together, their footfalls seemed deafeningly loud along the hauntingly ominous streets.

Trusting Wainwright's direction, they followed without question. He seemed suspiciously confident - much like he had already plotted that detour. The more distance they covered, the more clear an ongoing chant resonating throughout the city became. Over and over again, a chorus of demonic voices called out, "_The heart still beats...the heart still bleeds…_" until the repetition became nearly maddening. Amara found herself wanting to punch whatever mouths uttered those words and promised she would soon enough.

"Breaking and entering! I _knew _this trip would be fun!" smirked Zane, offering a short-lived distraction from that obsessive soundtrack. Despite him sounding randy with excitement, Wainwright was quick to defend his initiative.

"We ain't breakin' anything, we're just...enterin'. And I already paid our deposit, so I'd like to see them keep me out."

Given the other oddities of Cursehaven, running through corridors filled with tumor-like walls seemed perfectly reasonable...nevermind the fact that their fleshy, squishy forms were pulsing. The Partalian found herself shuddering as she veered too close to a grotesque rope of the stuff and felt it brush across one bicep.

"An infestation!" groused the groom as kriches began bursting through the walls, ruining her hopes of never encountering them again. "I hope the venue is in better shape than this!"

So did Amara, and she proved it by joining the others in popping the repulsive creatures with clip after clip of bullets. With the structure around them so confining and precariously balanced atop frail lumber, she reserved her destructive powers for the battle she could _feel_ was to come.

Possibly, the best part of leaving that cavernous tunnel was watching Wainwright whip out his shotgun and blast a computer to smithereens. Knowing she would have succumbed to the same temptation, Amara smirked as he holstered his hefty firearm and said, "Now _that_ was breakin'. Tech's old as hell and needs an upgrade anyway."

Beyond the metal doors that swung open, a man and a woman separately spoke amidst the mantra droning subserviently beyond them.

"I pledge myself to you once again, my darling Eleanor," vowed that masculine voice, full to the brim of romantic devotion.

"And I to you, my beloved Vincent," came her heartfelt promise, convincing the five of them that they were on the verge of interrupting another marital ceremony.

It made sense, given the location, even if everything about it was so strange. Then again, the only marriage traditions Amara knew _were _from Partali, so maybe all the cult vibes befit Cursehaven's other peculiar ways...

They soon discovered that her judgment wasn't far off. Their team, alongside the tall-haired Jakobs, found themselves staring at a pit radiating a pink aura that rose goosebumps on her skin. Tendrils of the vibrant energy rose into the night sky, stemming from that creepy cavity lined with...predatory tentacles?

Platforms extended over the threatening drop-off. From them, people were poised to cast themselves off the ledge. Amara wouldn't have believed it herself had she not watched a man walk forth without hesitation and perilously plunge into the gruesome cavity. Only then did she notice the watchful woman beyond, her presence that of a witch possessing and propelling them to their demise.

It was Wainwright who barked out in gruff horror, recognizing the ritual sacrifices for what they were.

"They're throwin' those people into that pit!_" _he cried in disbelief before bellowing angrily, _"Hey, you robe-wearin' cowards_! Unhand those innocents!"

Proving he was as willing to fight for justice as he was his ideal wedding venue, Wainwright was the first to open fire. The deafening roar of dual shotgun shells were like the pistol officiating a race, the Vault Hunters quickly following to engage. Splitting into two teams, they raised their firearms and rushed the accused cultists situated around that abysmal hole.

Between Zane unleashing a volley of well-aimed gunshots to her right and his digiclone flashing to cover her left, Amara willed lightning to her fist. Prepared as she was to unleash her tigress self on their newest enemies, she felt herself falter as swirling green rifts opened all around them. From within, tentacles unfurled and writhed from whatever darkness had transported them...while hooded minions emerged from the inky blackness.

Decrepit lumber splintered underfoot as the fight commenced, the area teeming with chaos. Using her own magic, Amara furthered it, the thunder of her gift adding to the rounds ripped off by her team. Planks flew, kicked up by the shockwave of her attacks as they plowed through their enemies and sent their capes flying amidst showers of limbs and rubbery suction cups.

Mindful of her allies, Amara sent spirals of astral fists toward their opponents, mutilating them while effortlessly ripping down one erected tower. Unable to withstand her wrath, the structure collapsed onto the deck, the mass of it tumbling into the gaping pink pit while everything else splintered into a thousand pieces.

That terrible introduction marked the first time of many their Vault Hunting team would be referred to as _worms. _Not caring to be reduced to such a rudimentary lifeform, Amara felt that much more eager to crush Eleanor between all of her cosmic fists and prove to the wretched witch just _who _was the spineless creature between them.

Sharing her sentiment, Wainwright yelled across that fuschia-spewing orifice. "Hey, you egg-suckin' Hell-preachers! Why don't you fight for yourselves! Your costumed freaks didn't quite do the trick!"

Vincent's deep chuckle reached out to his partner, the two of them speaking with supernatural echos. "Would you look at that, darling? The worms have teeth after all."

"You're right, my love," she hummed, adding her wistful agreement, "And we haven't had any fun in _so very long_."

"They must be doin' it wrong," snorted Zane, his brogue interrupting their moment despite his sharp focus on the evil couple. Grinning at his other side, Moze popped a gum bubble while securing her hold on her assault rifle.

From overhead, that dark bass went on. "Too true, darling...Perhaps this spent vessel still has some spirit left in it." Then, as he vanished from view in a snowing of green sparks, Vincent asked them, "Shall we play then, worms?"

Disappointed by the bastard fighting on behalf of his offensive wife, Amara flexed all eight of her muscular arms. Lips fixed in a visible snarl, she stood her ground as he appeared above the hole and levitated toward them.

Soon, the Partalian would have every reason to divide her contempt between the despicable couple. Overflowing with her need for destruction, she clenched her glowing fists and roar as she rushed the horned sorcerer. It was all-too-easy to fixate on the X comprising his concealed face, her need to scorch him causing fire to flood her veins.

Try as she did to capture him in a phasegrasping inferno, she couldn't. Instead, he laughed at her failed attempts and shook off her powers with a taunting shake of his robes. He appeared to care even less about the slugs shot at him, the fabric of his garments fluttering as bullets kicked up tufts and streams of blood. As though immune, he laughed as Wainwright pitched a threat and responded to him as one would a child's tantrums.

"I'm a-break you over my knee, you pale willow branch!"

"You cannot break that which is eternal," vowed that hypnotic voice. It carried on even over the gunshots continuously erupting through the plaza. That insistent mockery made Amara that much determined to put an end to him and fatally prove him wrong.

In a sudden burst of dark magic, Vincent dissipated into a smoky cloud of sparks, only to reappear again after they had traveled in a wicked streak. Again and again, he teleported between the Vault Hunters, forcing them to dodge when he formed again and whipped at them with taloned tentacles.

Even _she _had to stagger as an appendage made contact and lacerated her right arm, another following to double the damage. It would have had Zane not jumped in front of her, his wrist blades slashing cleanly through the suckered flesh squeezing blood from her. She barely caught a glimpse of her partner's enraged expression before he pushed her back, the bright fangs of his spider suddenly in her pained face as he shielded her.

Even in her shock, Amara _heard_ slime as the second tentacle caught the operative's forearm and rippled to encircle his armored glove three times over. Using his entire torso, Zane beat their assailant to the chase and gave a furious yank, effectively wrenching him closer.

Being unexpectedly hauled had Vincent spouting a wordless curse, his hovering form knocked off some paranormal balance. In his disorientation, he didn't react quickly enough to the digiclone appearing at his opposite side or the way it mirrored Zane in aiming their identical pistols high.

Their trigger pulls were synchronous, that hooded head erupting in a shower of shredded textiles and putrid flesh. In reflexively covering her face from the gory shower, Amara would lower her smattered forearm before she realized that FL4K had concurrently landed their shot, furthering the decapitation that sent that corpse collapsing on its knees.

As self-aware as she prided herself at being, she didn't notice herself hissing until Zane had rounded on her and grasped her wrist. Despite her burning nerves and the cautiousness of his touch, she still registered his bare thumb along her pulse as he anxiously inspected the damages.

Moze was quick to join him, grinning in accomplishment as she jumped over the oozing carcass with an insta-health vial in hand. Presumably confident that the others had her covered, FL4K maintained their position and waved their pets over for a similar inspection.

The fine sound of a ring rolling in a spiral was lost on them. Instead, Wainwright's attention was drawn to it, the tall-haired man bending to retrieve it.

"I ain't never seen anything like-" he began, only to have the band jolt from his grasp while glowing like a branding iron.

Amara wasn't alone in registering his startled gasp, each Vault Hunter's head whipping toward the source just in time to see the jewelry thrust itself onto the Edenian's outstretched fingers and, with a short-lived light show, knock him clean off his feet.

From her podium, Eleanor extended her hand toward the scene, the petulant glow of her gaze cutting through the gloom and unnervingly matching the pink glitter fading around their fallen companion.

"A new vessel! _Yes,_" she said with awful satisfaction, "you'll do nicely."

Clenching her fist, she summoned her victim to his feet. Wainwright's cry of "What in the devil?!" proved he was manipulated against his will, reduced a puppet by the sorceress' otherworldly powers.

"I see your fears, Wainwright," she crooned, her visage shaped by cruel intent as she solidified her spell on him. "I will heal them. I will make you someone _new!"_

Just then, Gaige made a surprise entrance and did it with style, poised atop Deathtrap as he flew over the nearby rooftops. She sounded _pissed_ as she yelled, "_You leave that groom alone! You can't have him!_"

With that, the young prodigy leaped from her bot and performed a barrel roll, swiftly raising her SMG as she rose to her knees. She instantly targeted the forcefield concealing Eleanor and laid hard on the trigger, the _ratatatatata_ of its rapidly cycling deflecting powerlessly.

Indeed immune to the attack, the witch smiled wickedly. "Oh, but he's already mine!" she claimed confidently and demonstrated by reaching toward that damning ring.

At the curl of her nefarious fingers, Amara and Zane reacted. She dove forward to seize Wainwright's right ankle a split second before the operative locked onto his left. Even then, whatever forces compelled his body forward overpowered them, the brown of his pressed suit pants ripping as he dragged them with his steps.

Ignoring the damage still repairing along her arm, the siren grit her teeth and held tight, the heavy tread of her boots failing to slow their captive's cursed steps. Much like her own, Zane's grunting attempts proved futile. Even as he stabbed his holographic prongs into the planks beneath them, attempting to gain leverage, they dragged through the disintegrating wood.

Everything happened so quickly, it was bewildering. One moment, she was struggling to keep Wainwright from toppling over that threatening edge - the next he was gone, breaking free of her stricken fingers, and FL4K's hulking form was holding her there alongside her equally horrified partner. Releasing their calves to grasp the backs of their outerwear, the beastbot lifted them onto their shaky legs while nearby, Gaige wavered unsteadily.

_This can't be happening_, Amara thought, her disbelief matching the mechromancer's visible shock. The younger woman was bleached whiter than ever from it. From the chill flooding her, Amara knew she wasn't much darker.

Powerlessly, the Vault Hunters watched the redhead collapse to her knees in defeat, her shoulders hunching as she fell forward and hung her head in sorrow. None of them expected Deathtrap to ascend from the hole carrying Wainwright like an unconscious bride.

"Thank fuck, Deathtrap," Gaige gusted, forcing herself to her feet as the bot cleared the drop-off, his metal vertebrae trailing beneath him. The series of digital burbles and beeps he made sounded pleased.

Her porcelain face reclaiming a fiercer sense of purpose than ever, Gaige called out to them, "Come on! We gotta keep those robed-up weirdos off him!"

Despite the mechromancer being flabbergasted that the cult _hadn't_ been mentioned by her brochures, that was exactly what they did. With a vengeance, the five of them guarded Deathtrap while he cradled Wainwright's limp form with care. On high alert, they were too focused elsewhere to notice when he faintly began to stir or pay much mind to his incoherent muttering.

Eleanor, on the other hand, demanded their attention when she reached out from beyond and vowed to make Wainwright but a host for Vincent. According to her, they were both immortal, though their team was determined to prove otherwise.

"That witch is _really_ into her husband," snorted Zane while they engaged a band of single-minded enemies within the town square. "Trust me, I'd know - I've had me fair share o' exes like that! Feck, what kinda man eternally _volunteers_ fer that? Blows me mind, honestly!"

Amara said nothing to the effect of listening, the only response being Moze's amused scoff. The operative wasn't the only one set to lose his head - and might suffer the consequences sooner than later with the rate they were decimating Bonded.

With renewed determination, they quickly retreated to the Lodge - their only planetside safe haven - and let nothing interfere. Try as Eleanor's minions did to stop them, their team violently trashed every tentacled attempt.

Just like old times, Amara and Zane took point and rushed in, fists and firearms blazing, while gadgets assisted in slaughtering every enemy within sight. The streets shook with double destruction as their teammates followed and lit the town further with their mayhem.

At that rate, they couldn't afford to care about the damage left in their wake. The cultists were to blame - a fact the cursed townsfolk surely understood. At least the few residents who had formerly dotted the streets had withdrawn into the buildings and avoided the violence, leaving her free to unleash her siren abilities. After Zane deployed his shield around Deathtrap and his unconscious cargo, she hesitated even less to summon green throughout her skin and send splatters of acid across their attackers.

Their foes screamed in their shrill voices as their mortal forms gravely suffered. One after another, their hooded bodies collapsed, their robes chewed asunder by corrosion and bullets. Focused solely on ending their doomed existence, FL4K clambered Iron Bear's marching body as its shield umbrellaed them with protection. Following close behind, Zane quickly scaled the mech and then climbed the beastbot_,_ using his elevation to leap onto the rooftops. There, far from her splash zone, he could more safely provide cover fire from above.

Even as Gaige urged them faster toward the Lodge, believing it would provide them security, Eleanor's accomplished voice rang out.

"Ahh, you can only be safe for so long," she said with composed glee. "I'll see my beloved again soon."

By the time the Vault Hunters burst through those oversized doors, they were breathing heavily. The humans among them piled in and bent at the waist while reflexively reloading their firearms. In contrast, FL4K reinforced the entrance with their larger body while Deathtrap gingerly delivered Wainwright to the large chair near the fireplace.

It went without saying that _no one_ wanted to face Hammerlock and explain that unexpected turn of events, but there was one positive: things weren't as grim as they had very nearly been. Even then, the wedding planner didn't hesitate to suggest one of _them _talk to the groom so eagerly awaiting their return.

"Nonono, _no! _Ain't gonna," refused Zane...as if anyone needed reminding how avoidant he could be. As if on cue, and doomed to prove the Pandoran otherwise, Alistair stepped into the grand room. There was no mistaking his concern-laden face.

"Gaige, wha-" he began, only to startle at Wainwright's condition and how he had begun to physically struggle within himself. "My _word-_ Winny!"

Eyes gleaming garnet raging brighter than the fire he sat beside, the Jakobs heir twitched and uttered nonsense in the striped armchair. Amara could _feel_ everyone's grimace, and matched it with her own, as he rasped, "Get outta my...get outta my…"

Zane's attempts to slink away were promptly ruined when Alistair's hand fixed on his shoulder. There was no mistaking the upset in his voice - or the way the operative's shoulders slumped in reluctant submission.

"A bunch'a whackos attacked, but we fought 'em off with style! Wainwright's gonna be _fine_."

Gravelly and dry as Zane's brogue was, it sounded like he had just inhaled an entire carton of cigarettes. Presumably, that was his intention as he headed toward the door - until Moze grabbed him by the back of his jacket and stilled him, earning a grunt of protest.

Walking with crossed arms, Amara neared Wainwright while he softly stirred in his chair. She couldn't help but brush her fingers along Alistair's forearm and give him a gentle squeeze of assurance.

"He'll be alright, I think," she enforced, hoping to further alleviate his distress.

"Well, thank heavens you were there," breathed the explorer, managing a grateful smile before his aged features fell back into a frown. It was at that moment he noticed his groom blinking his demonic gaze, seemingly regaining some awareness.

Rushing to his partner's side, he knelt before him. "Look, he's coming around! Winny, are you alright?"

"_The heart still beats…_" recited the Edenian, causing the Vault Hunters to shuffle uneasily.

"Winny, wake up," pleaded his husband-to-be, panic filtering into his voice in ways that tugged Amara's heartstrings. She couldn't be the only one who wanted to pull him into a comforting embrace - if there _could_ be such a thing under these circumstances.

Fortunately, Wainwright managed to come to. Shaking off the spell, he turned his head to stare at his significant other before recognizing their team. For the time being, he sounded as disoriented as he appeared.

"_Hmm_..? Oh, Vault Hunters, there you are. I must've dozed off for a moment. Must've been the whiskey...Here," he said suddenly, managing to seem sure of himself as he rose to his feet and reached for the Jakobs firearm braced against the fireplace. Grasping it shakily, he extended it to her in offering. "Take my shotgun. Can't trust my hands right this moment."

Obliging him, Amara nodded and propped the double barrels against her shoulder. Knowing how important it was to him, she planned to take good care of it.

"Well, I suppose that's one way to start the celebration," commented Hammerlock, his attempt to stay positive audibly feeble. "But now, thanks to Gaige and the Vault Hunters, it seems everything has settled down. We're back on track and I'm _sure_ nothing else will go wrong!"

Stepping aside, Amara approached her favorite gunner, who pitched her voice low and secretive while they huddled closely. "Yeah right. Now he had to go jinx it, so something is guaranteed to fuck up."

Hoping Moze was wrong but equally fearing she wasn't, the siren sighed. She then glanced over her shoulder at their remaining companions to determine their next course of action.

FL4K wandered over to the vending machines, sparing a moment to replenish their ammunition stores before cycling through Marcus' latest offerings. More predictably, the operative had seated himself atop a barstool and seemed intent on having a moment between himself and whatever bottle of booze struck his current fancy...until Mancubus interrupted any hopes he had for some high proof peace of mind.

It came as a surprise that their haunting host offered more than just the liquid comfort he served at the bar. Something about his eerie presence seemed almost auspicious. He, more than anyone, seemed to have a grasp of the strange situation.

"I'm afraid the young groom-to-be isn't out of danger," Mancubus suggested as he slid two shots toward the hunched operative. From where she eavesdropped, Amara could just make out the way Zane crinkled his brows while he regarded the proprietor and his curious choice of words. "He brought something back with him into the Lodge. You should attempt to remove that ring from his finger…without alarming the..._happy couple._"

As her partner huffed out the sigh of someone receiving news they_ really _didn't want to hear, Amara experienced a twinge of worry. She watched as he tossed one shot back before immediately chasing it with the other. He growled at the burn while setting the glass down and then slid both back toward Mancubus while reluctantly standing.

"Feller, I prefer ruinin' me _own _weddings," Zane grumbled before reaching behind himself to interweave his fingers and loudly realign his spine.

Nodding menacingly, the barkeep's slow reaction gave the operative no choice but to do as he was told. Dispirited, he dropped his arms limply before approaching the star couple with deliberately misleading pep in his step. He was smiling with maximum charm by the time he reached the adventurer fretting over his possessed lover.

"What were you doing out there?" asked Hammerlock with such heartfelt concern, Amara found it immensely touching. Based on his spoken softness alone, his love for his groom was crystal clear.

Unfortunately, Wainwright wasn't as receptive. Instead, he sounded mildly irritated as he regarded his significant other like more of a nagging mother as he replied, "Oh keep your chaps on, Alistair. We jus' ran into some robe-wearin' punks with bad manners and the Vault Hunters and I had to beat a sense of decorum into 'em. Nothin' more to worry about."

If that didn't sound like another older man's dismissiveness, she didn't know what did. In fact, it wasn't a coincidence that Zane stepped up and nodded to the two grooms while palming his bearded chin.

"Lemme get a look at that fancy ring there Wainwright!" he encouraged with zest, doing his damndest to seem upbeat while referring to the symbol of commitment Alistair suspiciously hadn't said anything about.

"Oh sure," allowed Wainwright so casually, he seemed even more like himself.

Avidly assessing the situation, Amara continued studying those oddly glowing eyes. Seeing the bejeweled band flare with that same satanic luminance had dread settling more heavily in her stomach.

Something happened as Zane carefully lifted the groom's hand for a closer inspection. _What_, exactly, was beyond her, but she didn't expect her teammate to immediately jerk away and take a step back - or for Wainwright to do a complete 180, his creole overwritten by Vincent's unmistakable voice.

"_The vessel has been chosen. It is only a matter of time."_

"Winny, what are you saying?" breathed Alistair, appearing more distraught than before.

Shifting in his seat as though adrift and sounding equally bewildered, his other half grumbled, "...What? I- I don't...I don't know. But I do feel a bit...uh, sideways…"

Settling back against the plush chair, Wainwright closed his ruby eyes, earning the fullest attention of his future husband. It was doubtful that Hammerlock, in his intense concern, registered Mancubus addressing the unfolding situation.

"It is as I feared," the proprietor calmly lamented before mixing politeness with his eccentric and oddly threatening exaggerations. "Another moment of your time, if you would? At…_the counter._"

Shoulders slumping, Zane poignantly sighed and hung his head. Reluctantly obeying, he diverted his course enough to nimbly weave his arms with his two female teammates and steered them alongside him. Once there, Moze stood on tiptoe before blowing and popping a bubble by his ear.

Awkward as things had been between them, Amara couldn't resist the urge that overcame her. She flexed her arm against his and gave a showy pump of her bicep before teasing, "Do you need me to intimidate him?"

Whatever Zane was going to say was cut off by Mancubus' somber yet sinister voice. The siren found herself almost disappointed.

"That ring on his finger has powers beyond mortal comprehension," he explained vaguely while adjusting his spectacles. "The Lodge is slowing the effect to a degree, but the outcome is inevitable. You must find a way to remove it, or I'm afraid he will miss the ceremony..._entirely_."

From then on, the beady-eyed host suggested they seek out a man named Burton Briggs. For whatever reason, Mancubus seemed certain that the detective would be successful at steering them in the direction needed to break Eleanor's supernatural spell.

With time being of the essence, the Vault Hunters lingered in the Lodge long enough to ensure Hammerlock was settled as securely as could be. That was a tall order, given the unwelcomed situation, but at least Gaige had eagerly agreed to stay with her most favorite person. No one had any qualms whatsoever with entrusting her and Deathtrap to protect the grooms.

Sympathetically, Amara watched Alistair continue to fret over his troubled lover. Between softly calling him "Winny" while holding his hand and brushing back his wild hair to gently kiss his forehead, the explorer proved himself to be a doting lover. Try as he might, there was little he could do to hide his upset, though he mustered what composure he could.

None of them could blame his worry, though for the sake of his pride, they didn't address it openly. Instead, they stood around in thoughtful observance and wracked their minds about how to reverse the spell. They could only hope that removing the ring, _somehow_, would do the trick.

What they _did _know was how imperative it was for them to figure it out - if not for the wedding, then for the grooms' sanity. None of them approved of Hammerlock worrying his monocle off or watching Wainwright thrash in his seat with eyes devilishly aglow. The ceremony could always be postponed, but none of them wanted the events of that day to leave negatively lasting impressions.

As desperate as Amara was to fix the situation, she sent Zane a death glare when he indicated Wainwright's finger and made a scissoring gesture. "_No_," she mouthed, catching onto Moze's silent chuckle. At that, the operative gave an _I Tried _shrug and went back to contemplatively stroking the length at his chin.

Fond as she was of Wainwright, Amara couldn't bring herself to think how she would have handled a teammate being possessed. Any one of them could have picked up that evil ring. If its victim had to be a man, then Zane would have been the only other target.

Based on Eleanor's comments, she could only guess Vincent's prospective host needed to be someone with a loving heart. Wainwright certainly fit the bill as far as Alistair was concerned. As for Zane - well, her mind simply didn't go there.

Later, when they were safely back aboard Sanctuary, Amara would consider what difference it would have made if Zane had been in Wainwright's place. After all, he already had a glowing eye, often fidgeted while sitting still, and spoke in gibberish. How different could he have been if possessed?

None of that mattered now. Instead, the operative drawing her attention had gone on to further reassure the grooms - one of whom was staring incoherently into nothingness - that it was no skin off their backs to assist their friends.

"Jus' glad we're here to help," she heard Zane say, watching as he patted Alistair on his tasseled shoulder and gave him a reassuring squeeze. "We've tackled _far_ bigger problems than this! We'll get yer lad back in order an' see that the two o' ye get married happily ever after."

Recovering his distinguished posture, Wainwright nodded and gave his quietly sincere thanks. From how he grasped his lover's hand and drew up a chair to remain beside him, Amara didn't doubt that his heartfelt trust in their team was what kept him from experiencing a breakdown. Still, not even hope could keep the frown from his voice.

"I'm sure everything will be fine," Alistair repeated, choosing to embrace hope and having little other option. "Thank you, Vault Hunters."

Despite Mancubus' words of warning, their foursome returned to the streets teeming with Bonded. Determined as they were to save both Wainwright and the wedding, they followed their only lead to The Eye Witness agency. They could care less about facing more freaks along the way.

Sparing a moment to shake off the annoying remnants of Claptrap's latest transmission, Amara focused further on the task at hand. She, like the others, cared just as little about the robot's makeshift mission as Eleanor's sadistic threat to play with them.

Mancubus' cautioning, they soon discovered, was more than founded with how many tentacled mutants, floating eyeballs, and hazy apparitions attacked them.

…

Burton Briggs was, indeed, a "detective of sorts". In Amara's opinions, he visually fit her expectations so far as his slick hair, trench coat, and deep voice were concerned. It was his amnesia that crushed her expectations like a cluster of eridium.

Unfortunately, it wasn't his agency they located him at. Instead, another delay managed to grate on her nerves, his absence forcing them to comb through the townsfolk and search for answers. As entertaining as Zane's unnervingly casual way of chatting up the locals was, it couldn't distract her from their ticking clock.

She was, however, relieved when he struck up a conversation with the top-hatted woman who proceeded to hurl all over the ground. Being uninvolved allowed Amara to remove herself far enough away that she didn't gag at the scent of vomit or swallow the urge to join her. Considering the Pandoran's vices, it was no surprise he was thoroughly equipped to handle the situation while casually pressing for information.

Between the sick lady and the twitchy man FL4K cornered, they didn't accomplish much. When she first heard the fellow's startled outcries and the alarm in his tone, she assumed their deadly friend was to blame. Instead, the AI returned to report that he had been hallucinating and reacting as though ratches were nipping at his fingertips.

Deciding she was next in line to contribute to their cause, Amara approached the next person she saw. That happened to be a woman sporting a mohawk matching the obsidian leaking from her eye sockets. Undeterred by the contemptuous composure she had, her arms crossed and chin held high, the siren didn't hesitate to enter her glaring sights.

"_Please don't be weird, please don't be weird,_" she whispered to herself, _really _hoping this one didn't regurgitate on her boots. That was one aversion she strongly had, and she didn't care to prove it. Still, she addressed the vest-wearing woman by asking, "Hello?"

Even knowing how strange everyone behaved in Cursehaven, the last thing Amara expected was for the woman to lash out at her, throwing her arms out as her expression screwed together with hatred. It took her aback, her violet gaze widening as she was verbally spat at.

"Oh piss off with all that!" the punk crowed. "I don't need this right now! Or _EVER_! Screw you!"

Stunned by such undeserved animosity, the Partalian felt her jaw fall slack. That delayed her retort for a moment - long enough for backup not only to arrive but physically step between them.

With Zane suddenly there and jabbing an accusative finger directly in that sourly sneering face, Amara's urge to bite back was interrupted.

"_Woah there now!_ Ye don't gotta be comin' at 'er like that!" he barked before backing down just a touch to explain, "We're jus' lookin' ta find Burton Briggs is all."

Huffing, the bitch put her hands on her hips and leaned in at the waist, unafraid to brush nose tips with the taller man while fanning him with her acerbic breath.

"Burton? That drunken moron who plays detective?! _Yeah_, I know where he is! Told me he was going off to freaking cemetery - like an _idiot! _Now get outta my face!"

Before Zane could say more - like point out the fact that _she _had shoved her ugly mug into _his _handsomeness - Amara hooked a finger in his belt and pulled him away. It was good that she did, and even more so that the operative obediently followed her, as the woman threw back her crested hair and vented more of her bitter anger.

"Morons! Everyone's morons And I'm so angry about it!" she expressed with a screaming "_damnit!"_

Tempted as Amara was to slap the woman, if not floor her with a punch and force her into taking an excessively needed nap, she settled on throwing her voice across her shoulder. She didn't, however, bother looking back as their reunited team continued traveling down the road.

"You know, when I'm angry, I usually just punch a cement truck. Maybe try that. _Bye!_" she offered with a bitter roll of her eyes.

At the time, Moze was visibly debating having Iron Bear smash their offender flat. She angrily snapped her gum before spitting the flavorless mass onto the street and only reluctantly followed when Amara encouraged her along.

"Good luck with your blood pressure," the soldier muttered before double-checking that the Tiger alongside her had slaught off such unwarranted negativity. Satisfied that she had, both women glanced at FL4K to find them leading their creatures as always.

"_Sheesh! _Who put a bee in her bottom?" eked Zane in exasperation while falling nonchalantly behind them. Clearly the curse was accountable, but what did that matter anymore?

At least being force-fed that serving of attitude wasn't without purpose. After warding off another swarm of Bonded in Olmstead Square and continuing down more mazes of narrow streets, they felt they had finally made progress. That was, until another abomination greeted them at a bridge, its deformed body more hulking than the rest.

Lowering its horned head and further displaying the glowing pustules consuming its back, it rushed them with raging speed. The beast's powerful aggression forced them to dodge its massive, tube-laden arms as it launched itself into the air and slammed its fists into the ground like a virulent gorilla. Immune to the rounds rupturing its bloated vessels, it continued to thrash until enough of its fluids spewed that it succumbed to its injuries.

Shortly after hearing another rambling of Claptrap's wild adventures, the Vault Hunters finally reached Withernot Cemetery. It, like so much of Cursehaven, was infested with kriches eager to rupture from their cystic nests and attack with burbling hisses. Even the more substantial krichidons proved little match for a well-wielded band of shotguns.

Like the rest of the settlement, the path they followed was winding. It led them past headstones and beneath yet another gargantuan tentacle. They were deep within a tomb and breaking into a tentacled chest when they overheard a new voice cursing the infestation plaguing the area.

There, at the top of the hill, they discovered the very detective they had been searching for. Even before confirming his identity, they rushed in to exterminate the skittering kriches closing in on him. They didn't hold back in opening fire on their bulbous bodies and popping that first wave of them like screeching pimples.

Soon enough, from his hunched position, a fifth shooter joined their efforts. Caught up in the rush of her powers, Amara barely noticed, her astral arms poised with mudra as they glowed fiercely behind her. Embracing the electricity flooding her, she leaped into the air and shattered the ground with her fist, sending fissures of cataclysm toward their enemies.

Wriggling bodies rained, bursting as they landed. Alien viscera and fluids spewed from torn tissues, splattering freely. Remains tattered by her teammates' lethal aim added to the gore, leaving the cemetery vividly macabre.

Amara noticed Zane perk up as he studied their newest ally. Possibly he was delighted to see someone more of his handsome ilk, if not a man with comparable age. Either way, she didn't know if the threat of him developing an instant attraction sat well in her gut but promptly reminded herself that it was none of her business. Maybe she simply didn't care to see him trip over himself with the distinguished detective as he had Ember.

"_Love _the stache, boyo! Need more of 'em 'round these parts," complimented the operative with a dashing grin accentuating his own.

"Thanks, friend. Same to you," replied Burton's appealing baritone, officiating a special bond between mustachioed men.

Crossing her arms, Amara resisted the urge to smack Zane upside his head and demand to know if he could go a single mission without eyefucking someone. She certainly would have, albeit playfully, had it not been for their intimate past. What right did he have, anyway, to be such a horndog if he regularly screwed his digiclone anyway?

She _at least_ wanted to remind him that Wainwright's and Hammerlock's wedding was _infinitely_ more important than him listening to his dick, but still refrained. Already, it was debatable whether or not her older teammate paid much attention to anything _but_ his genitals.

Still, she recognized that Zane hadn't _actually_ made any missteps at the casino, nor was his developing a mancrush on Burton going to doom or otherwise interfere with their mission. Her bitterness wasn't flattering, she knew, but at least she managed to keep it to herself. It wasn't like she volunteered for the hurt she felt still simmering under the surface...and really, thinking about it didn't make her distractibility any better than Zane's, did it?

If anything, she was being unfair because Burton's appeal wasn't lost on her. How was it that she encountered so many older, handsome men? Somewhere, stars had to be aligned in her favor. She didn't think she was developing a particular taste for guys in their fifties, but even then, maybe she simply hadn't recognized their allure before being subjected to Zane's cocky - and experienced - antics.

Burton's voice alone could have done it for her, rich and deep as it was. Listening to him was akin to having warm velvet grazed along her senses. The way he spoke was so composed and eloquent...even when he experienced frequent lapses in his recollections. As it turned out, the detective was very much a man of mystery - too much, in fact, as he baffled even himself.

Between his large tufted mustache and the side sweep of his charcoal hair, Burton Briggs was an arcane and intriguing man. Not that it mattered, but she couldn't decide whether he was older than Zane or not. Between his heavily lined forehead and the stark crevices between his brows, he seemed so melancholic. His eyes, stained with the same cursed drips as the other townsfolk, gave him the appearance of a woeful bloodhound.

It wasn't just those sorrowful puppy dog eyes that made Burton endearing. As it turns out, he was a friendly fellow. After FL4K had helped him to his feet and Mr. Chew had subjected him to a thorough sniffing, he hadn't wasted any time in expressing his genuine gratitude.

"Hey, you really saved my ass, friends," he acknowledged with sincerity, pausing only to brush off his coat. "Thank you. Now, what was I doing here? Oh, right, I almost forgot that I can't remember anything. It's my curse."

Brows lifted all around, save for FL4K, who gave a dark hum of acknowledgment. The Vault Hunters were instantly reminded of the troubles haunting Cursehaven's residents. Based on Burton's admission, they didn't blink when he questioned himself. He appeared so accustomed to wracking his brain and didn't think twice about demonstrating that before his newest audience.

"Name's Burton. Burton Briggs. But I think I go by Burt," he said with hopeful conviction. "Let's try it out."

Conversationally, from the brash operative of the bunch: "Uh...Howdy, _Burt_! How they hangin'?"

Hesitantly, from the gunner: "Uh...what's up, Burt?"

Factually, from the Tiger of Partali: "Your name is Burt."

Spoken by FL4K's sinister voice modulator: "Greetings...Burt."

Having thumbed his chin while listening so attentively, Burton dropped his arms in disappointment. He then casually thumbed his holster with one bearish hand while holding his hip with his other.

"No, that's not right," he sighed with a shake of his head. "Burton it is. So, what's your story, friends?"

All eyes shifting to the most talkative member of their group, Zane didn't skip a beat in speaking for them.

"Some mad lad dropped a cursed ring that got itself onto our bud Wainwright's finger. Tryin' ta figure that whole thing out."

That covered their situation well enough. If any of them felt it hadn't, they would have pitched in their two cents. They certainly had in the past, though their veteran hitman was well-versed at giving relevant details on a need-to-know-basis.

"Cursed?" queried the detective while a glint caught his eye, something surely stirring within his amnesia. "_Hmm. _I've got a hunch that it's got something to do with those Bonded. And I always follow my hunches...I think. But if it's the Bonded you're investigating, you should head to the town archives. Here," he said, beginning to rifle through the pockets of his fur-lined coat before producing an old-fashioned key. "This should get you in. My way of saying thanks."

Accepting the offering, Zane spun it around his index finger before tossing it over his shoulder at FL4K. Anticipating his maneuver, the bot caught it while remaining ominously silent. Meanwhile, Burton went on.

"As for me, I can't remember what in the six-and-a-half hells I was doing here, so...I'll head back to the old...lonesome shop. Now that we're working together, here's a completely unsolicited monologue about my life-"

Zane's attempt to intercept - "Actually, I was enjoyin' the quiet for a-" - went unnoticed, causing his two female companions to smirk while he pursed his lips.

"-It all started…well, I'm not sure. I'm a man without memories. There's just a cloud of dark fog in their place. But I know I'm searching for something. Answers to questions I've already forgotten…"

Caught up in his own histrionic musings, the detective trailed off. A moment passed, leaving his forced audience to hang onto his last huskily spoken word...until he blinked himself out of a haze and discreetly cleared his throat.

"Wait, what was I saying? Ah, nevermind," he dismissed, respectfully sidelining himself. "You're busy."

They certainly would be once they managed to get back on track. The sooner that happened, the better. While Amara couldn't speak for the others, she was becoming more and more aware by the minute how little Wainwright could wait.

...

Why they needed a key for the gate, Amara didn't know. They could have easily broken the latch, had Zane pick the lock, or had Meat Thief unlatch it from the other side. Why had Burton been in possession of it anyway? Deciding he would be completely clueless as to why, Amara forfeited her curiosity.

There, Bonded greeted them with an annoying vengeance. They seemingly appeared from every direction, massive khellga vok making the ground shudder beneath their bullish strides before Amara could suspend them mid-air. She was in the middle of crushing one in a cosmic fist when Hammerlock's oh-so-polished English cut through the chaos.

"Just between us, Vault Hunters, I was afraid this weekend wouldn't have enough excitement," he began, far removed from the combat they were experiencing but his voice brimmed with exhilaration regardless, "but now we are embroiled in occult secrets, diabolical curses, and great big monsters! It's the wedding I've always _dreamed_ of!"

Watching Zane withdraw his bayonet from the spine of a spasming executioner before spearing it deeper, Amara noted him shaking his head. Not far beyond him, Moze was busy slapping another clip in her rifle and racking it loudly. Across the space, FL4K seized the hood of a Bonded and decapitated it with their bone saw. They proceeded to toss the head to Mr. Chew, who eagerly caught it in his jaws and began bounding in circles of glee, his blunt tail wagging all the way.

Seemingly relieved to have _someone _to express himself to, Burton spoke over the ECHO.

"I'm still wrestling with this mystery. I really don't know whether I go by Burton or Burt...Quandaries abound, friends."

As she climbed into Iron Bear and disengaged its autopilot, Moze released an exasperated sigh. She didn't have to _say _how frustrating she found the detective's concerns to be, but her impatience was obvious to her comrades.

It became even more pronounced when she, while grasping the controls, flung Iron Bear's bulky arms out in disbelief and demanded, "Why doesn't he ask someone who _knows _him?!"

Otherwise occupied, the other Vault Hunters made mutual sounds of acknowledgment while they used their specific skills to decimate the depraved cultists disrupting them. It wasn't until later that the Pandoran-Irishman further considered the detective while errantly scratching his facial hair. It seemed he couldn't help but think of the gent and his impressive mustache.

"Burt's quite the lonely soul, ain't he? Looks like he _really_ needs a blowjob an' a cuddle," he decided, causing Moze to snort and shake her helmeted head. Before her mouth even _began_ opening, he intercepted: "I'm jus' sayin'!"

Nobody could really disagree, though no one else was openly volunteering. Instead, the operative's companions sighed at him.

From there, Cursehaven's archives weren't far. There was no missing the multi-story monument and the frost-encrusted tentacle permanently caressing the gothic structure. Long, narrow windows glowed violet from within, beckoning attention as much as its construction did. Everything else about it was an ominous shadow that promised more secrets than answers.

...

It surprised no one that the records hall was teeming with Bonded, same as everywhere else in that hexed city. And it went without saying that a particular siren was more than _over _encountering them, if only because they couldn't provide her a bonafide challenge - but what was new?

Fighting their supernatural adversaries proved to be annoying in ways taking on the CoV never had. The portals they spawned from were the worst of it, forcing their foursome to divide their attention more with ever dimensional expansion. Try as they did to gun through whatever flew in, they were often outnumbered. The dark magic the Bonded spun was enough to keep them on their toes while maintaining a constant watch over each other to ensure another sparking rift didn't feed more freaks past their defenses.

Cursehaven's dusty library was the worst of it. As highly as Amara respected the plethora of printed information its shelves contained, their sacrifice was necessary to save Wainwright. For that reason, she didn't linger on the neon graffiti defacing much of the space, the spraypaint showing vividly despite the tenebrous corridors. She did, however, appreciate the purple lamps mounted on the walls much as she did the sound of Burton's deep voice while he encouraged their search across the ECHOnet.

That, of course, wasn't without the detective having his own moments. At one point, the amnesiac fumbled to grasp the situation, earning Amara's silent sympathy.

"If _I_ were the Olmsteads, I'd hide my past where nosy citizens wouldn't happen across it. Wait, _am_ I an Olmstead? No, _no_," he corrected, his frown poignant across the transmission, "that's not right. I'm Burton. Burton Briggs. Or Burt."

Nope, none of them were going to start _that _again. For as much as they already liked Burton, he would have to chase his own tail. Fortunately for them, he temporarily spared them his confusion by informing them he needed time to be "stoically pensive".

Harriet, the cantankerously ancient librarian who had granted them entrance because of a favor Burton had done for her, somehow didn't mind the combat that ensued. It was odd, considering she had snapped at them in her sneering witch voice because, god forbid, their footsteps had made noise. Despite her crowing at them that the library was a "quiet place of learning and solemn contemplation", she didn't complain about the destructive commotion that shook the grand halls.

Then again, the old bat had probably finally keeled over. Amara wasn't about to backtrack and check, but she couldn't imagine anything else silencing the arthritic custodian. Violent as their journey became, she was more focused on the circles of emerald flames swirling up from the floors and the deformed souls ascending through them.

Between Eleanor calling them worms, the shrill-pitched tones of her aerial minions, and the growling boom of her bulkier henchmen, there was plenty to keep them busy. Every time they retrieved a recording and uncovered another part of the Olmstead's history, another wave of Bonded swarmed them. Plasma rounds and bullets tore through amassed manifests and irreplaceable records, forcing Amara to accept that _they_ were not responsible for the destruction. The witch was, given how she was forcing their hand in survival.

It went without saying that none of them would risk Wainwright for anything. He was an ally - and a friend, most importantly - who had asked for their support. Beyond him, Hammerlock had been an accomplice of the Crimson Raiders for quite some time. With his heart so set on Wainwright and full of nothing but genuine love, how could she _not _fight on their behalf?

In the thick of it, she remembered only the safety of her team. She watched as Moze lobbed a grenade through the mysterious gape of a portal and instructed Iron Bear to send a series of missiles through the next. About that time, Amara raised her rifle to pick off a shield-hulking bastard as he lumbered toward Zane, who alongside his clone was fending off other Bonded. The burst of rounds she shot off caught the mutant in his exposed back. Had he gotten even a step closer to her partner, she would have captured him in a phaselock and thrown his mangled corpse across the hall.

Following that, Zane drew his lips back from his teeth and nodded his thanks. Recognizing the threat, the four of them butted up to each other, back to back, as he deployed his shield all around them. It succeeded in giving them respite, the energy attacks directed at them dissipating within the hard light barrier. Still, it could only endure so much abuse before depleting, leaving Zane to maintain a constant awareness of its status. His warnings allowed them to reload before it disengaged and then draw a breath when it flashed to protect them again.

Blasting their way through the archives seemed neverending, their discoveries leading them to understand the bizarre situation as much as they could. Fortunately, locating the scattered records was more inconvenient than difficult. She watched Zane gracefully ease into a ventilation duct in order to retrieve one, his former profession having honed him for the maneuver. Others were discarded atop desks. The operative rolled his eye as he poked a hidden button within a skull, effectively triggering a shelf to slide aside and reveal a hidden nook containing another.

"These folks are _never _original! After all me years stealin' all sortsa goodies, I expected _someone_ to try harder at hidin' 'em! If it's not some skull ye gotta fiddle with, it's a snooty bust ye gotta knock the block off'a or a fancy book in need of pullin'...Boooooring!"

Unlike her partner, Amara couldn't bring herself to be disappointed by lacking originality. If anything, predictability only expedited their progress when they most needed it.

After so much time weaving through dark corridors, ascending and descending staircases, and triggering the collapse of accumulated book towers, Amara was surprised to see digital record banks anywhere within the archives. She, for one, was tired of working around precarious stacks of hardbacks and dodging their inevitable spill when combat took precedence.

Technologically avoidant as she was, she steered clear of the supercomputer dominating the center room. She did the same when she encountered the column of energy situated in the adjoining area where she located another holotape. Had a burly Bonded not crashed through the wall in a spill of brick and plaster, she might have been tempted closer by the calming blue beam. She found it far tamer than the high voltage wires strung throughout the balconies, their lengths fluorescing more intensely than her siren markings.

Her tattoos glowed even more vibrantly as she grinned in accomplishment and waved the new cassette at her teammates. While retrieving it was a simple task, she hoped it brought them one step closer to saving Wainwright.

As proud as she was, the luminescence of her glorious markings dimmed when Zane, upon recognizing the recording in her grasp, flashed her a grinning compliment.

"You _go, _girlfriend!" he rallied before thinking, his better judgment kicking in a moment too late. She could see the regret flicker across his face before he bowed out of her way and, with a sweep of his hand, directed her toward the holography chamber.

Long gone were the days when such playful commentary was adorably harmless. Reminded of that fact, things had never gotten awkward so very quickly.

Without looking back, Amara didn't doubt his cramped expression persisted through at least another corridor before he recovered. Had either Moze or FL4K had the gall to mention it, that might have exacerbated things. Instead, yet another wave of Bonded coming from every conceivable direction interrupted them yet again.

Distinctly above the ensuing commotion, Amara could hear Burton's masculine guidance. In encouraging them to return to the holoprojector and play the next installment of the Olmstead's history, he repeatedly stumbled over himself. Every time, he made a point of insisting he was trying to be helpful rather than order them around.

Thinking nothing of it, the Vault Hunters didn't give Burton any reason to fret. His concern only served to make him a more appealing ally. Instead, they focused on killing the Bonded surging at them. Between Iron Bear lobbing its arsenal and Fl4K's pack running amuck, the building shook with destruction. She couldn't count the number of times she had seen Zane transpose with his digiclone or witnessed it disintegrate with a light burst, while Zoomer navigated the twisting layout with its bullet-strafing aerials.

The Bonded had no chance in hell of keeping them from their objectives. One tape at a time, they managed to uncover more and more background behind the Olmsteads. Accessing the holoprojector after they discovered each new addition showed them snippets of Cursehaven's grim history.

According to their own records, Victor and Eleanor Olmstead had arrived on Xylourgos in pursuit of a legendary creature described by a dead language as the "Eater of Hearts". It was Gythian, the dreadful monstrosity, whose enormous tentacles were frozen around the settlement.

In search of xenobiological discoveries, the Dahl researchers had connected the creature's origins to a vault. After all, what else could a "treasure trove of ancient ruins" be, particularly one full of alien technology? Their team was too well-acquainted with Eridian advancements to ever misinterpret that.

Together, the Olmsteads believed Gythian's heart was still beating within its frozen body, the monster's so-called eternal life somehow connected to an alien civilization. As unnerving as it was, Amara thought back to her initial reaction of seeing its frightful silhouette and realized that maybe she _might_ have an opportunity to kill it once and for all.

After the last scene of Eleanor sitting alone and spilling her heart out, Amara felt sympathy for the researcher. How could she not with how she pleaded with Vincent to remain carefully diligent in conducting his experiments? Even before his fate came into play, it became clear that not even his wife's love could save him from himself.

The more she heard of the Olmstead's story, the more she felt for the couple. Vincent had paid an unexpected price for his scientific curiosity and Eleanor, vowing to make any sacrifice for her husband, had somehow fallen under the same evil spell. Ultimately, she must have chosen to stand by her beloved regardless of the consequences and, thanks to Gythian, share a love lasting all eternity…

Their devotion to each other had been beautiful despite it having ultimately led to their downfall...and even then, after being possessed by the unnatural evil, their passion had persisted throughout time. It was a macabre romance if there ever was one. For as much as Amara respected the ethics of their love for one another, her support of them ended there. Nothing could change the fact that they had become monsters no better than Gythian itself.

In contrast to the soulful, vulnerable woman on the holograph, the supernatural entity who now shared her likeness had grown infuriated.

"Wriggle all you want, worms. It will make no difference!" hissed Eleanor - and with that vow sent wave after wave of her henchmen at them.

Amara couldn't understand why the witch hadn't preemptively destroyed the records, but even then, that didn't stop her from unleashing her Bonded to destroy the holography equipment. Having gotten all they needed from it, the Vault Hunters allowed it to go up in flames. There was no point in protesting her teammates' selection of incendiary weapons now, and besides, her own eight hands were equally responsible for trashing the archives as they, at Burton's insistence, covered the remaining grounds.

Another ornate iron gate led them across frosted glass floors toward the office Burton claimed the founders had. In search of it, they dodged more attacks from the endless afflicted while circumventing the slippery ropes of blackened goo stretched between the ceiling and another holography platform. Just beyond that, what once appeared to be a massive solarium had been infected with more tumorous krich nests and ropy trusses of flesh. Putrid puddles of congealed fluids squelched underfoot, smelling of sour blood.

As repulsive as their lair was, she could at least find the humor of watching flying kriches freeze mid-air and fall as solid blocks of ice. Recognizing Zane's handiwork, she didn't know when he had transitioned between firearms, but she certainly had no complaints. She was even more grateful when they found themselves outdoors and able to breathe open air, leaving the cryo-afflicted bodies behind them like headstones.

Despite the grotesque tentacles tangled overhead, the courtyard seemed deceptively peaceful. With the sky so consumed by its vast appendages, it seemed they had never been closer to Gythian. Now, the Vault Hunters weren't so much intimidated by the revolting monstrosity as they were accustomed to its looming presence. Surely, the same could be said for the woman afflicted by its paranormal spell.

"You want to see true power, worms?" Eleanor demanded from beyond, her hatred boiling to the surface as she called upon someone, or _something_, of her following. "Bonded Champion! As Gythian's strength flows through me, it now flows through _you. Destroy them!_"

A furious portal opened, crackling with an intensity unlike the rest. From it, the jagged crown of a new adversary emerged. Garnet-sharp crystals gleamed, boasting the sinister glow of Gythian's paranormal powers, sparks dancing off the humanoid figure trailed by tentacles and a whipping cape.

"I shall do as you command," proclaimed the sorceress in multidimensional voices. With that, it raised a wicked staff and promised, "And I will enjoy it."

Descending upon them, their team retaliated with heavy firepower. Amara unfurled her siren arms with a startling explosion of electricity, and yet every attempt she made at phasegrasping their formidable opponent was immediately broken.

Resorting to her hefty shotgun instead, she conserved her energy for the lesser Bonded destined to back their superior. And that they did, arriving through portals not with the initial intent to fight, but to cast a restorative force field on their decorated fighter. As others followed from that wicked dimension, those who surrounded the Empowered Scholar did so with single-minded sacrifice.

It didn't take but a second of quick thinking for the Vault Hunters to prioritize destroying those fortifying their primary threat. While capturing the enemy closest to her and squished them like an insect in her astral fist, Amara looked to her right in time to see the orbs of Zane's own shotgun explode his target into sizzling smithereens. To her left and across from her, her other teammates exterminated the remaining spellcasters with the same finesse, disrupting the powers they bestowed on the scholar and preventing it from replenishing itself.

Without that dome of magic granting the sorceress invincibility, the squid-like entity was exposed to their attacks. The pain of rounds slamming into its rubbery flesh knocked it back between hurling spells from its nefarious staff, its own survival dependent on darting maneuvers and teleporting itself between summoned rifts.

Among the chaos and frustration of missing shots, Amara caught sight of her partner reloading plasma canisters into his alien shotgun. He never failed to move with impressive coordination and speed, working over his firearm with the same mastery he could a lover. Discarding the thought, she channeled her frustration on the next Bonded doomed enough to be suspended by her siren orb. Even as her teammates peppered it with gunfire, she crushed it to a rancid pulp.

The vortex summoned by those supernatural powers was strong enough to shatter boulders from a nearby pillar and suspend them in swirling motion. At the center of the chaos, the Empowered Scholar appeared with its minions and used the dangerous whirlwinds as a formidable defense. Amara could only growl at the tactic. Had she been any more reckless, she might have jumped those treacherous platforms and personally pummel the sinister creature with her fists.

Instead, she took a cue from her teammates and projected her powers toward the nuisances charging the scholar. One by one, precise sniping, siren magic, and a vicious jabber took them down. She all but laughed while watching Meat Thief swiftly leap from rock to rock until finally, he grabbed a Bonded in his meaty, primate fist and yanked it from its levitation. Tentacles flailed as he thrashed it against the cliff like a helpless chew toy before discarding the carcass.

With the streams of energy interrupted, the shield broke and dropped the scholar suspended within. In that same instant, it felt like the entire planet suffered a massive quake, the visible teeter of that pillar causing the Vault Hunters to sprint in the opposite direction. Amara didn't need to look back to anticipate the deafening _crash_ as the landform collapsed against the courtyard, sending their team staggering. Knocked off her own feet, she found herself spared from landing on her face when FL4K caught her by an arm.

To their right, Zane wasn't as fortunate. For as quick as his reflexes were, catching himself on flat hands didn't spare him the brunt of Moze tripping over his boots and taking a nosedive on his back. The Partalian heard his pained grunt before she managed to regain her balance. By then, the gunner had rolled off Zane and was straining to help him to his feet while he sputtered on debris and brushed more from his facial hair.

"Watch the beard!" he spat, his half-hearted glare already waning as he cranked on his own back. "And me organs!"

Moze's smartass apology was cut off by a dozen portals opening past them. At least as many Bonded fell to the courtyard, propelling Amara into action, her need to protect her recovering friends propelling her ruthless assault.

Throwing herself into the air, her wrath circulated around her, her cosmic arms rearing back to punch the ground in devastating synchrony. Her impact was a thing of savage beauty, a mosaic of sparkling orange spreading like a mandala marking the massacre of her victims. Their corpses shattered and dissolved into nothing, leaving only her and the flare of her siren markings.

For her, it wasn't enough. The moment she rose up, her eight hands thrust toward the next rush of cultists, carving through them with incandescence. So lost in the rush of power invigorating her, she didn't notice her team regrouping and providing their cover fire.

It wasn't until the scholar ruptured into countless pieces and left a shower of loot in its wake that her adrenaline drained from her veins. Her tattoos quieting along with it, she found herself slouching with exhaustion from using her abilities so relentlessly.

Muscles heavy and beginning to twitch, she growled as Eleanor's arrogance abused her ears. "You are stronger than I presumed. We shall see how long that lasts, worms. In the meantime...once you wriggle back to your burrow, tell my Vincent I'll see him again very soon."

Zane's unamused grumble of, "How soon're we talkin'?" went unanswered, so he responded for her: "Ah, right. _Never!_"

Not realizing how fatigue she appeared, Amara blinked as a familiar hand clasped above her elbow and gently lent its lifting support. There was no mistaking the cyan sensors that embellished the knuckles or the fingerless gloves that arrived to assist on her other side.

Scoffing quietly, she shot her teammates a pompous smirk before giving a showy flex of her biceps. As _if _she needed their help, but she appreciated it enough to give them a good eyeful before Mr. Chew trotted up, carrying a promising rifle in his mouth.

Accepting it for a closer inspection, she absently asked her hovering companions, "Reminded me what that battle accomplished again?"

"Well, we pissed off that witch bitch, for one," smirked Moze while unwrapping her newest stick of gum.

Giving his mustache and beard a lingering stroke, the operative added: "Cooked some calamari...nasty shite _that _is."

Stepping in to shadow their shorter bodies, FL4K's no-nonsense voice imposed a more serious answer. "The founders' office awaits us."

Ah, right, _that. _Quiet as their destination was, it seemed underwhelming compared to the mayhem they had encountered to reach it. Complete with busts depicting men spouting tentacles from their heads, the study had undeniable Olmstead vibes all over it. Sparing them only a sneering glance, Amara decided she was tired of their aesthetic.

She said as much about vomit when they encountered a mantle-mounted anglerfish that called out to them in a voice as annoying as Claptrap's. After telling them one hell of a painful joke - "What do you call the head of a fish college? A _sar-dean_!" - it proceeded to hurl up a weapon _someone _must have stuffed it with.

She found that as strange as people stocking their porta-potties with munitions because they definitely didn't do that on Partali. Instead of lingering, she widely circumvented the pool of puke and held her breath. Only when she was on the other side of the room did she draw in a shallow inhale and gust out a revolted exhale. "I'm _so _done with puke. So, _so _over it."

Unperturbed by the mess, Zane absently kicked at the pistol before deciding it was subpar. He then proceeded to wipe the bile off his boot using an upholstered chair nearby. Soon after, something else captured his attention and had him crossing the room to pick up a mystery item.

Probably Amara would have seen it first had she not briskly passed it in order to manage her emetophobia. FL4K was otherwise occupied with feeding their pack whatever scraps they stashed away in their coat, while Moze had paused to adjust her chin straps.

It was Gaige who excitedly butted in across ECHO, eager to identify the object Zane had discovered while he turned it over for further inspection.

"Woah, that's a Delta-3!" announced the mechromancer, _somehow _watching them - maybe through Zane's cybernetic feed? "_Super _old Dahl tech. My granddad had a player. They're like, impossible to find anymore."

Muttering under his breath, Amara could swear she heard the operative make some snarky remark about them being current in _his _time, but she couldn't make out his exact words. Still, his dour expression suggested as much as he thumbed open a pouch on his utility belt and stored the outdated cassette.

"Ah," piped in Mancubus, his creepy voice unmistakable, "but the Lodge _always_ provides. I possess a vintage Delta-3 player. Return to me and we shall reveal the dark secrets within."

None of them commented on the host's strange choice of verbatim, but they were so much on the same wavelength that they sensed each other's visceral reaction - or in FL4K's case, an errored computation.

At least now, they knew where to head next...and also had some hope that whatever they uncovered would lead them to reverse Wainwright's possession. If nothing else, they could check up on the wedding-bound couple and assure Alistair however they could.

...

Fast-Track technology enabled their journey to be convenient and without complication, even if the Partalian _still_ didn't entirely trust the process. Something about having her cells disassembled and entrusting a computer to perfectly reconstruct her just didn't sit right with her. The static that persisted afterward wasn't exactly comforting, either.

Regardless, she was the first Vault Hunter to scale the stairs toward the Lodge and reach for those broad doors before looking back at her teammates. As common as it was to see their operative opting to fall behind in calculating observation, she expected him to follow immediately behind her in his eagerness to reach the bar.

Instead, Zane had parked himself on the porch overlooking the dark mist surrounding the Lodge. She didn't need to see him reach into his jacket to decipher his intentions - as if his usual line about catching up with them wasn't revealing enough. If he insisted on cloying his lungs with carcinogens instead of joining them, that was on him.

What she didn't expect was to turn back indoors and discover his digiclone already poised atop a barstool. There, it had arranged itself to observe the activities going on within the lobby. Crossing its legs while propping its blue chin atop one hand, it undoubtedly transmitted its audiovisual feed to its user - all while casually bobbing one ankle.

The moment Amara made eye contact with it, it winked and blew her a kiss. Had she not been convinced that the entity had a personality of its own, she might have stalked back to Zane, seized him by the back of his belt and jacket, and hauled him out into the deadly abyss. Instead, not wanting to make a scene, she shot his coded lookalike a glare and noted its subsequent frown.

At least its attendance proved that Zane had _some _concern for someone other than himself, though she still didn't appreciate his addiction taking priority over checking on the troubled grooms. Then again, not everyone could be as empathetic and disciplined as she was, she recognized with bitterness.

"Might I say, welcome back to my humble establishment," greeted Mancubus upon seeing them. To his credit, he didn't seem off-put by having one less Vault Hunter physically present - or by the way they briefly acknowledged him before approaching the refined couple still situated by the fireplace.

"How's hubby doing?" Moze asked Hammerlock. She carefully tweaked the feather in his hat before leaning down to inspect Wainwright where he was settled in. Unlike before, he appeared to be resting, if fitfully.

Seemingly unable to tear his loving gaze from his partner, save for the brief nod he had given them in greeting, Alistair reached to give his larger hand a squeeze before stroking it gently.

"He's come around a time or two, like before, but he still reverts to speaking gibberish...and of course his eyes are still frightfully colored, I'm afraid to say. However, as much as his condition has not improved, it has not worsened. Aside from the obvious, I haven't much reason to complain."

"We're one step closer to fixing this," promised Amara with resolve, the truth feeling pleasant on her lips. "Just give us a little more time. There hasn't been a challenge we haven't overcome."

_Yet,_ she thought, but even then she wholly trusted their team to conquer any odds ever stacked against them. If nothing else worked, they had the unfortunate option of physically detaching the finger afflicted by the ring. Still, nothing short of violently destroying the Olmstead's would be satisfying.

She would have gone further to inspire Alistair, who managed to smile and offer his sincerest, "I know you will," except Zane's re-entrance interrupted her. There was no mistaking the creak of heavy hinges that divided them from the frigid outdoors.

Brushing his hands off on his pants, he stepped in from the blistering cold. Considering he had the Delta-3 tape in his possession, his return _was _needed. Then again, she couldn't be sure of his mission as he sauntered directly to the bar.

"'Ey, skinny m'link, you said ye could help with this old thing?" he asked, flashing the bulky cassette at the barkeep as though he was flaunting a winning card.

"Indeed," replied Mancubus smoothly. "Please place this relic you've uncovered into the player so that we may reveal the mysteries of the young groom's curse."

Up the staircase he went, toward the DJ spinning tracks and manipulating the tools of her trade. From what Amara could make out on the balcony, a few locals were busting moves to her latest tune...including a man who appeared to be the one _cursed _to dance indefinitely. Apparently he had accepted his fate.

It took only a moment for the stereo system to switch over. For as "outdated" the Dahl tech supposedly was, the sound quality was crisp. Eleanor's voice, as it played from the speakers, was that of an authentically caring woman, if one clearly troubled.

"Personal log day one hundred and seventy-five," she began, and Amara swore she could hear the researcher wringing her hands together while she described what haunted her. "Vincent went into Gythian's heart chamber alone. I chased after him, but I was too late. The heart…_consumed _him. But he still lives, entombed within. Perhaps there's still a way to free him.

"Vincent's research showed the precursor technology had some sort of bond with Gythian's heart," she confessed, managing to speak while simultaneously seeming lost in thought. "I will need something to focus this bond. A ring...yes," she decided, no doubt rotating the symbol of marriage present on her anxious fingers. "I will bring a sample of Gythian's heart back to our ship for further study."

With that, the recording ended, leaving Amara grasping onto the researcher's final words as though hoping for more. Mancubus, in contrast, seemed satisfied with what he had heard.

"Ah, of course. The ring's power comes from the heart itself," he said like it made the most common sense in the world. With pitch-black eyes twinkling, he regarded the Vault Hunters gracing the foyer, and yet it was Hammerlock who spoke up with conviction.

"Well then, our purpose is made clear: we must destroy the heart. Eldritch adventure, ho!"

As much as Amara respected his desire to involve himself in saving his soulmate, she intended to intervene. Without confirmation of his true intentions, she had no way of knowing if he was simply using a figure of speech.

Before she could insist against anything, Mancubus offered his invaluable knowledge. With his arms positioned politely behind his back, he tipped his hooked nose back and further elongated his strict posture.

"The monster's heart lies deep beneath the town. Directly below the wedding venue, in fact. That same power coursing through the young groom is blocking off all access."

Had they sent someone to do recon while their team was collecting intel? It seemed they had, but then she didn't put it past the proprietor to have other strange means of knowing with such certainty.

Gaige stepped up, the vibrancy of her glossy hair emphasized by the fire burning nearby. At that same time, Zane descended the staircase and propped himself back against the table boasting wedding gifts.

"Well, what if we used the power of the heart to cut through the forcefield?" she suggested wisely, a look of determination sharpening her otherwise adorable features. Still, her voice was lifted in contemplation. "Eleanor said there was a piece of heart on her research ship."

Glancing at Zane, who had a history of using his deployable barrier to disrupt and disarm other shields, Amara expected him to add some knowledgeable commentary. Instead, he remained mum while appearing to listen attentively.

At some point, he had clasped one gloved hand on his other armored elbow and crossed his arms in that manner, his conduct remaining curiously silent. It figured - the times she expected him to offer his expert opinion, he held his tongue. Then again, maybe maintaining secrecy was a lasting habit for the operative.

Regardless of his motives, Zane was unfairly handsome standing there. With his remaining eye focused on Gaige, Amara found her gaze meandering down his body...and lingering where leather encased his slender hips.

Despite her commitment to the task at hand, she found her attention distracted by the prominent bulge stretching the teal material. Nowhere else were his pants as snug as they were there, inadvertently reminding her how well endowed her partner was. Against her will, she remembered feeling him growing hard in her possessive hand or when brushing, hot and hungry, against her rigid stomach. She all but bit herself when thinking of taking him between her tasting lips, the urge even greater when she thought of how full he always stretched her.

_Now is _not_ the time!_ snapped her conscience, incredulous of her own audacity. Like whiplash, she returned to her senses and made an internal sound of disgust, agreeing that there was_ never _a suitable excuse.

"Ah, there is an old Dahl research ship high atop the cursed mountain known as Negul Nashai," Mancubus was saying, his weaselly voice finally cutting through to her.

It was promptly replaced by Gaige's upbeat announcement, the mechromancer overtly eager for them to get their asses in gear and save the wedding she had put so much effort into planning.

"You heard Tall, Dark, and Spooky! Head to that mountain!" she ordered, clapping her hands together in finality before placing one atop Hammerlock's nearest shoulder. "I'll stay here and keep an eye on the grooms."

A nod of agreeable consensus passed through the ranks. Their team dispersed not long after, sparing only the necessary time to visit Marcus' vending machine and replenish their supplies. They could better kick ass with full clips and extra ammunition overflowing from their pockets.

…

Despite not planning to directly interact with her male teammate, Amara couldn't help herself. Throughout the trek between the Fast-Track and the local Catch-A-Ride station, she found herself eager to pick her partner's complex mind.

It took her a moment to catch up to Zane and the lucent accents of his signature jacket, and another couple steps to match his long strides. Only then was she able to view his profile and catch his attention with her presence. At the time, he had been taking a generous swig from his flask.

Apparently Mancubus' creepiness hadn't kept him from a refill. True to himself, Zane was more than willing to use the gut-warming effects of liquor to ward off whatever chill set in. He did so with relish, her attention drawn to the hypnotic movement of his adam's apple as he drank and then expelled a cloud of satisfied breath when finished.

"What do you think about Gaige's plan?" she asked quietly, though she had no real intention of them having a private conversation.

Sparing her an intrigued glance, he went right back to swallowing his booze before stopping and cocking an untamed brow at her.

"Sounds good to me. Probably our best option, honestly, if not the only. 'S what I'd do."

"Why didn't you say as much?" she questioned, eyeing him curiously while he shrugged.

His mustache quirking, he smirked at her. "Ye really think that fierce lass needs an ol' guy lobbyin' for 'er? _Ha! _Silly, considerin' she's a bit o' a tech savant."

Letting the subject drop, Amara quietly exhaled while reaching to divide and tighten her ponytail. As their foursome fell into a silence she _wanted_ to be comfortable, she wished she didn't care so strongly about striking up conversations with her partner. Never before had it seemed so tedious, and she couldn't quite swallow the idea that the complication was solely hers.

While heading toward uncharted destinations, it wasn't unusual to listen in on Moze and Zane gossiping about recent events on their favorite ECHOnet sitcoms. She, personally, didn't kill her brain cells with trash TV unless she was cuddled up with her teammates...or when she happened across them, surrounded by a plethora of beer bottles, vegetating on the dilapidated couch in the commons.

Unless it was a televised fight circuit, Amara couldn't comment on the shows they watched. Given all the scripted drama and mind-numbing nonsense they consumed, that was perfectly fine by her. Still, it was entertaining to hear them bickering over things that were so trivial. When left to her personal devices, she much preferred reading hard-bound books and sipping freshly bloomed tea.

She missed those days and felt their absence like a sore tooth. Equally as much, she still grieved the nights she spent wonderfully warm and satisfied in her partner's arms. Thinking back to those nights spent so intimately held, as he nuzzled into her hair and slept like a disheveled grizzly bear, made her ache in ways that had nothing to do with the cold.

It made her want to grab the stupid bastard by his wrist, prevent him from walking one step further from her, and drag him down so she could kiss him breathless. Their teammates could go on and leave them to settle every difference between them right there in that frozen wasteland.

Instead of enacting that fantasy, she fell away while simultaneously watching Zane put more distance between them. That way, she could better work on swallowing her grief, and she wouldn't risk turning them against each other with any impulsive actions. Given Wainwright's predicament, the last thing they needed was to waste time yelling at each other when so many enemies were waiting to fight them.

Rehashing old problems, particularly _now, _wouldn't help anyone. Besides, it wasn't Zane's fault she couldn't make such a clean break or better manage her hurt. And it wasn't like he wasn't taunting her with mixed signals, given how his choice had so clearly been _final._

With everything going on, she should be tired of cursed hearts.

…

Situated in the passenger seat beside her older companion, Amara recognized the prime opportunity to more thoroughly prod his opinions on their mission, and yet she couldn't bring herself to. For as routine as their seating arrangement had been for them in the past, she found that it posed uncomfortably new challenges.

Even as she gripped the roll cage in her tattooed hands and anticipated hitting yet another ice patch that might send them skidding, she couldn't help but find herself inundated, again, with memories of riding the operative exactly where he sat. Her body seemed unfairly determined to remember how amazing it felt to be full of him and passionately returning his kiss.

Like so many others, the experience felt fresh on her senses. She swore she could still smell his musk. Maybe his aftershave had triggered her, signature and familiar...and as alluring as it had been when their mouths had melded back then, his tongue hot silk against hers and his stubble so masculinely abrasive.

Cursing the neglected need in her womb, Amara turned to scowl out of her passenger window. Still, her mind clung to those unbidden memories. Physically, her desires convinced her that she could still feel his heartbeat buried so deeply inside, where she was so swollen and sensitive for him. As her eyes drifted shut, she swore she could hear the pleasure in his accent as he husked how wet she was and how amazing she felt…She could still vividly feel the pliant leather of his gloves guiding her gyrations as she rode him...and the way his gaze worshipped her like a goddess as she cried out in orgasm.

Instead of subjecting herself to that, she really should have climbed out that window and joined the others in the truck bed instead. Unfortunately, the skidding of the heavy technical losing traction yet _again _had her more tightly clutching the metal frame.

In contrast, Zane remained unphased as he smoothly let off the gas and knowledgeably relaxed his hands on the wheel while it spun uncontrollably. With patience and a few easy motions, he managed to coax the vehicle back onto their course, allowing the tires to regain traction before picking up speed again.

Steering them toward the perpetual eclipse in the sapphire distance, they sped across the frozen sea. For as stunning as the sight was, it was soon interrupted as bloodthirsty natives rushed out to chase them, the rattle of their mounted turrets shattering the planet's surreal silence.

Swinging her assault rifle out the window and returning fire, Amara braced herself while hearing Moze and FL4K take their positions. With Zane sharply focused on outmaneuvering their opponents and weaving the technical through the treacherous tundra, she was grateful for his experience.

She preferred watching the bandits on their tail lose control of their vehicles, tires shrieking as one spun out wildly and a second flipped entirely. The crunch of compressing metal was deafening, like an aluminum can being crushed against someone's head, and reverberated in her ears long after Zane whirled them around a jagged outcrop.

Seemingly out of nowhere, more hollering natives barreled toward them, their outrunners kicking up shards of ice. Bullets pinged off the siding of their technical, a fine trail of smoke rising from the back, and yet it didn't compare to the plume of destruction billowing from their nearest pursuers.

Between the operative's aggressive hand-over-hand steering and the shrill squeal of rubber, the world was a blur of somber color. Amidst it all, FL4K shot off a flurry of tracking rockets that spiraled through the air before zeroing on the outrunner catching up to them. On impact, the payload detonated, tossing the vehicle as easily as a children's toy. Moze, in turn, took advantage of the other driver's distractedness and shot out their front tires, sending their front end careening into a protruding hillside.

Over the gunner's victorious whooping, Amara barely heard Zane's curse. A split second later, the technical violently bucked before leaving a bloody streak across the ice.

"Anyone need a fur coat?!" shouted the Irishman before cackling madly. At the same time, the surviving wolven forfeited their chase, choosing instead to lift their muzzles to the sky and howl in a disappointed chorus.

From then on, the technical was alarmingly juddery. Mechanical fluids were striping their tracks, but with Zane keeping a close eye on the numerous dashboard gauges, she trusted they weren't about to lose their ride anytime soon. Not even the final pair of outrunners that set off after them could say otherwise, as she cast a massive fist up from beneath one - and immediately after, the second was captured by its twin, their wheels spinning uselessly.

Angry natives spilled out of their seats like fleas, as overhead, she brought both automobiles together in a brutal _SMASH _that reverberated off their glacial surroundings. She then slammed their twisted remains down like pancakes atop those idiotic enough to flee in clusters, leaving the survivors to throw themselves face-first into the snow like cowards. To the sound of two teammates giving her applause and the other chuckling heartily, she took a bow before settling smugly into her seat.

Beyond that, their trip was relatively peaceful. Without anyone or any_thing_ trying to kill them, the winter landscape was almost serene. It would have been even more of the same had they been traveling on foot, but covering that expansive distance would have taken them far longer than circumstances allowed them.

Despite that underlining sense of urgency and Zane laying hard on the accelerator, it still seemed to take forever before he throttled down. Only then, as they neared a strange landmark, did the powerful roar of the engine decrease until finally, their tires slowed to a stop. They found themselves facing a very primitive display, a massive skeletal arrangement beaconing them with lit torches...and a sign painted with 'TRUST' hung just beyond the vicious maw of oversized teeth.

"_Very _welcoming!" Zane appraised before adding, "So _rustic!_" Sarcasm aside, those weren't the words playing through her mind as they jogged the gradual incline situated beneath the ribbed spinal of the deceased beast.

With Mr. Chew tromping off ahead and barking excitedly at all the bones, Amara couldn't help but feel that the scenery fit FL4K's nature best. Predators and death about summed up the beastbot, who hummed their profound approval while following behind them with an impressively long rifle balanced between both hands.

Beyond that long stretch of remains, they encountered a rather large settlement. Given the harsh conditions, she didn't expect to see so many dwellings present. Where there were shelters, there were bastards - at least that was the general rule of thumb, and that location was no exception. As soon as their foursome progressed ten feet past the human corpse strung across the archway like a trophy, club-wielding aggressors began to rush them.

Amara soon discovered how she had underestimated their opponents given the primitive appearance of the settlement. The ensuing firefight grew so heated, the shoulder of her vest tore from a near-miss and forced her to take cover behind a stack of lumber. After all, she had no desire to attend the wedding ceremony with a bullet wound.

Impatiently waiting for her shield to regenerate, she remained hunkered down while behind her, a series of explosions shook the ground. Debris showered down onto her, her arms reflexively raising to shelter her head. She would have considered the chaos too close for comfort had Zane's brogue not breached the ringing in her ears.

"Back away from 'er, ye fugly arseholes!" he barked, his threat punctuated by dual eruptions of identical gunfire. Not ten seconds later, the silver-haired operative left his digiclone to the task so he could slide into a graceful crouch beside her, the limited refuge forcing him so close, they could have kissed.

Instead, that evocative eye of his analyzed her before a relieved smile tugged at his lips. She had a moment to notice that frost was once more collecting on his mustache before he asked her a vital question.

"Ready to give 'em a wallopin'? There's a whole mess of those manky gits jus' beggin' fer a painful lesson!"

With that one-sided spell broken, Amara pumped her fists a series of times while drawing from her bank of energy. Radiance intensified across her whimsical markings before burning through her eyes, punctuating her deadly intent. With that and a glint of arrogance, she vaulted over the barricade and rushed toward their adversaries, her shield rippling around her - and launched herself into the air.

Glowing ponytail whipping behind her, she felt _immortal_ as six arms of manifested rage extended behind her, ghost-like and lethal. Together, all eight of her fists plowed into the ground, her violent surge crumbling the bodies caught in her wake.

She was still thrumming with exhilaration as her teammates rushed around her and rained hellfire down on the wave of opponents bold enough to stand their ground. With Zoomer throwing strikes of white lightning, the three Vault Hunters granted everyone's deathwish until she, recovering enough to stand, paralyzed the largest brute within a cosmic sphere. Two clean headshots ended him, his corpse dropping like a meat slab when she released him.

Only after Zane recalled his digiclone and she spared the time to retie her hair did they proceed with their guard raised. With so many dark structures funneling them through the ice-encrusted walkways, they didn't need any hiding misfits getting the jump on them.

More skeletal archways lined the hillside, along with more human arranged like morbid decor along the way. Dynamite-wielding kamikazes flocked toward them, announcing their intentions with arms raised and lethal fuses spraying. A single well-placed shot was enough to have them detonating into fleshy paint long before their team was in harm's way, but that wasn't her specialty. Instead, the beastbot and operative divided the territory into halves and addressed every bomb-flailing threat with expert precision.

Between that reliable cover fire and the onslaught she unleashed alongside Iron Bear, they reduced the camp to piles of mutilated bodies and smoky haze. Once Moze dismounted her mech and gave her a high five, they pushed on, their taller counterparts following behind them.

A reassuringly sturdy bridge led them to a series of caverns situated high above sea level. Until then, it hadn't dawned on the siren how much elevation they had climbed until she looked out across the barren icescape so frighteningly far below them.

Needless to say, that wasn't the position they wanted to be in when Alistair reached out to them with an unsettling update.

"So...how goes the expedition?" he asked with deceptive casualness, no doubt trying to downplay his desperate urgency while biting at the bit for a promising update. "Winny has taken a turn for the worse, contorting himself and babbling in tongues. All I can do is sit here and wait. If only our situations were reversed...He's so much better at this sort of thing."

Palpable as Alistair's torment and tribulation were, it was difficult to hear. Noises of distress ran their course among the Vault Hunters, their jaws held tightly as they suffered from sympathy.

It went without saying that they all felt strongly about wishing they had better protected Wainwright, though they could have never predicted the paranormal turn of events that had unfolded. Hell, who could have?

Not that it wouldn't be a curse all its own, but that wasn't the first time Amara wished her siren abilities enabled her to see into the future. God knew she had more than one reason to use it.

All they wanted was to help and yet there they were, scaling a mountain. Though their purpose _was _to save Wainwright, being short of that goal was unbearably frustrating. How her older companions managed to maintain such patience was beyond her, but Moze appeared as agitated as she felt. Personally, she only wanted to punch something so hard, the destruction somehow made everything fall into place.

One thing was certain: she was going to pulverize the Olmsteads once she laid eyes on them. Until then, she could only embrace her hatred and allow it to build, knowing the annihilation it would fuel when finally unleashed.

"Hammerlock," she transmitted, hating to say what was needed but felt confident they could refer to his knowledge. The territory they know encountered appeared to fit his forte, after all. "We've reached a dead end. There's some sort of hunting camp here."

Asking for his advice seemed wiser than watching Zane consider the gate like a demolitions expert or noticing the way Moze pointed at it and said, nonchalantly, "Iron Bear's nuke will _so _take that out."

"_Stop it_," she hissed, feeling like the mother of two rambunctious children. Alistair's prompt response didn't allow time for a lecture.

"Ah! Yes, I have read about the local hunting traditions," he conveyed, surprising no one. "Do you see a horn nearby? Often we hunters use those to announce our arrival, so we aren't mistaken for an animal. Give that horn a mighty blow?"

"There are _so _many jokes I could make," chuckled Zane, evidently entertaining a few of them.

Knowing him as well as they did, his fellow Vault Hunters leveled their stares at him. In return, he threw his arms out to either side, his hands flattened outward as he defended, "But _did _I? _Nooo!_"

Indeed, there was a horn situated atop a natural pedestal bordered by primitive torches burning as brightly as the skull mounted above the gate. The corkscrewed instrument might have been an antler at some point, if not some sort of shell.

Snorting wryly, the gunner stepped forward to lift it, intending to ignore the questionable state of Zane's lungs. Instead, she grunted beneath its weight and made a few attempts before forfeiting. With a dirty smile, she chose instead to point her finger at the operative before directing him to it.

Seeming like she couldn't _wait_ to say it, she commanded, "Get on your knees and blow it."

Zane's filthy, laughing outburst should have garnered the village's attention but miraculously didn't. Slapping his knees, he ended up doubling over at his slender waist and started dry coughing before he managed to collect himself. He was still wiping tears of amusement from his intact eye when he sauntered over to the horn.

On his way down, he grunted from age, but he proved he was a good sport as always. With mischief, he shot their shortest teammate a wink before cooing, "Ye have _such _a way with words, Mozie...and yer also in luck that I _love _puttin' me mouth to good use."

With that, he drew a dramatic inhale before expelling it into the mouthpiece. The acoustics of it were thunderous, tufts of snow shuddering from the lumber wall and collapsing to the ground below. The same could be said for the tribe members who maneuvered through slots in the gate and leaped down to their feet, their hands wielding rudimentary weapons.

"So it's welcome by combat! Ah, what a _thrill_! Have at it, Vault Hunters!" rallied Hammerlock, sounding more upbeat than he had in some time.

"Does that mean refrain from lethal force?" demanded Moze, appearing uncertain as she raised her firearm along with the rest of them.

In synchrony, the siren and operative shrugged. FL4K merely narrowed their lens. Amara willed her powers to quiet inside her, knowing how easily she could summon them when needed. Similarly, Zane appeared to refrain from deploying his digiclone, uncertain if their combined firepower would be necessary.

Expecting an "Indeed!" from their very proper guide, Hammerlock refrained from giving them a clear cut answer. "Allow them to decide!" he replied, unfamiliar with their exact traditions.

For as valiantly as the tribe rushed at them, animalistic war cries erupting from their scantily armored chests, their people fell too easily. She didn't hesitate to seize their primitive weapons mid-swing and turn them against their wielders, bluntly knocking some off their feet. She thrust hammers and clubs back like battering rams, knocking the wind from their sternums.

Across from her, Zane launched himself into a dance and whirled around his attackers on tiptoe. His flamboyant display of finesse resulted in fighters falling face-first into the snow while others growled at the taunting shake of his posterior. He bunted some with his pistol grip while sparing those most confused by his fancy footwork - until he spun his weapon and dropped them with tase rounds. All of his grand, sweeping motions further disoriented the tribe members turning to run from the huge mech putting unimpressed bear claws on its steel hips.

Impatiently, Mr. Chew circled with the other beasts on the outskirts of battle. Only the rakks participated, swooping down to lift a bellowing man by the back of his headpiece before dropping him onto a patch of mushroom blisters. Luminous spores erupted as they popped on contact, sparing their prey a harsh landing but forcing him to cough wildly.

Meanwhile, FL4K voluntarily took a club to an arm, allowing it to deflect as they grabbed their attacker by his face. The beastmaster effortlessly fixed him in place until he exhausted from his thrashing and collapsed to his knees.

Around them, those who hadn't been rendered unconscious bowed in defeat. Amara didn't glean a hint of pride from their easy victory, and besides...seeing their subservience caused sickness to stir in her gut. The sight reminded her too much of Pandorans yielding to Tyreen and all the tyranny she had reaped. It was enough to have her backing away - right into FL4K, whose intimidating stance resembled that of a robot assigned to overthrow a planet and command its systematic destruction.

Extending a metal hand, her teammate reached to steady her. At the same time, their green optical sensor focused on her until a flurry of motion abruptly diverted their attention.

None of them had expected a man beyond the gate to launch himself high into the air and slam down before them wielding two massive sledgehammers. Cloaked in a fur-tufted tunic made of sinew-stitched leathers, the newcomer greeted them with gallant enthuse.

"Bally-ho, Gai-dos! So a band of hunters emerge! You have bested my warriors! Well done! I am Eista, leader of this tribe, and that is all you need to know. Enough chatter!" he announced with a broad swing of his ham hock arms, his exposed underarms as brawny as his beard. He then displayed his weapons with a downwards cross fierce enough to toss his long mane and declared, "We slass!"

No one hesitated to translate 'slass' as fight, its meaning strongly implied as the barbarian boldly rushed them. For as impressive as his kickoff was, forcing the Vault Hunters to adopt fighting stances and cock their weapons, Amara didn't anticipate him suddenly braking in his valiant assault.

Stone Age weapons yielding, the man's furred boots skidded to a halt in the snow fifteen feet from her. His abrupt stop threw her off, same as the way he stared squarely at her. Even then, she was familiar with how her radiant markings sometimes caught others off-guard, the expanding whites of his eyes a dead giveaway of his surprise.

"A siren," the man exhaled, his expression one of full-fledged wonder - until Zoomer collided with the back of his head and sped off. Meaty hands immediately rising to rub the site of the collision, Eista snarled and exposed a fang while the drone circled well out of reach.

"Didn't anyone teach ye it's impolite to stare?!" harped Zane, his Irish accent dripping with sarcastic amusement before he snarked, "'Course not! Jus' look at ye, ye feckin' caveman!"

Releasing an uproarious laugh, Eista spun on the operative and the beastmaster, commencing battle. In a display of grinning bravado, he proved himself to be a beast of a man - as if his sure size and attire didn't suffice. Atop his shoulders, a large rack of horns displayed a spear that he threw at them not once but twice. A true brute, he repeatedly lashed out with his enormous hammers as though they weighed nothing. The violent way the ground quaked and fissured with each furious strike proved otherwise.

For as fiercely as Eista fought, he was outmatched by their teamwork and firepower. Still, that didn't prevent him from embracing the challenge. As busy as his ruthless swinging and destructive onslaught kept them, he was no match. Zane proved as much with a single precise throw, his deployable shield skidding to a strategic stop between the barbarian's feet. A split second later, it imprisoned him within its iridescent dome.

Hands on his hips, the operative admired his own handiwork. "Ain't gonna hold ferever, 'specially against a biggun, but it'll give 'Mara here plenty o' time to pick 'im up in a fist an' shake 'im like a snow globe!"

Not sharing Zane's childish enthusiasm, Amara crossed her muscular arms. Instead of rolling her eyes as she felt inclined, she marveled as Eista swung his hammer overhead and slammed it into the glimmering shield, the hard light flashing upon impact before the shockwaves dissipated across the hexagonal network.

Smirking, the operative copied her posture with his smug own, though his teammates noticed the twitch in his brows as the tribe master aimed his next roaring strike at the shield device itself. With a scuff being his only achievement, Eista growled in dissatisfaction. He wasted no time in lifting his dual weapons overhead and unleashing them on the holographic wall in a sideways smash.

"An admirable gadget, I admit, but a true warrior does not need technology!" he swore, continuing to bash at his confines.

It seemed deceptively easy to misjudge the digital construct by its transparency, as Eista continuously proved. If nothing else, his rampaging put the hairy girth of his arms on impressive display and proved his determination...even if he slouched by the end of it, heaving with exertion long before reluctantly dropping his hammers.

Always appreciative of a hot-blooded fighter, Amara felt somewhat bad for the disadvantaged man. Still, he had stood his ground until he couldn't. Even now, he chuckled good-naturedly while shaking back the damp length of his onyx hair.

"Looks like ye need a drink," suggested Zane before that sheen of hard light dissipated, freeing the hulking man within.

Responding with a rich guffaw, Eista reached out to him. "Help me up, will you?"

Genial as ever, Zane extended a hand to do just that. Amara watched as both men grasped each other by the thick of their forearms and collaborated to hoist the fur-clad fighter up. Side by side, the larger man appeared more brutish than ever. His bellowing announcement of "I _riiiiiise!_" only added to the effect.

There was delight in his barrel-chested laughter, even as he slapped Zane heavily on his back and knocked the wind from him. "Good slass, Gai-dos! I went easy on you this time."

"_Ohhhh,_ did ye now?" challenged the operative. Evidently he found it unnecessary to inform the tribesman that _they _definitely had.

"You did not," countered FL4K bluntly, his pack finally making tracks as they closed in to reunite with their master.

Amara had to give it to Eista - he was a valiant warrior and serious about representing his clan. He was also more than proud to allow them entrance and welcome them as his honored guests.

Grateful for his benevolence and his allowing them that much closer to the mountain ahead, she had to compliment him. In her opinion, no one was more deserving of a verbal fist bump than a fellow warrior.

"A fight to greet your guests, huh?" she mused, her voice the velvet purr of a tiger. "I like your style, mister."

"I mean _sure! _I guess a fight's one way to get your guests," added Zane, upbeat and breathy with amusement.

Nodding to their new host, FL4K acknowledged him while offering each member of their pack a meaty treat from their pockets. "We enjoyed sparring with you, fellow hunter. Do you 'slass' with all your guests?"

Pleased to meet a group as stouthearted and intrepid as himself, Eista grinned robustly. "How else can you know who to share your fire and kife with? Now, let us share tales over the flame! Time to feast!"

Given the chaotic directions their misadventures on Xylourgos had taken them thus far, _everything_ suggested they would have a more outrageous narrative to share soon enough.

For now, they needed to hold their tongues and press on.

...

It soon came out of the woodwork that both Hammerlock and Eista knew of each other. That was as unexpected as anything. Amara certainly hadn't predicted hearing the polar opposites sing each other's praises as renowned hunters. As superficial as it was for her to judge him, she would have never expected Eista to be educated - but then he _did_ behave much like a caveman.

The way she caught him looking at her only reinforced that theory. He stared at her much as he did his kife, breaking into a slow and wolfish grin. If the way he puffed his chest was any indication, the skewered meat wasn't all he hungered for. He clearly had no reservations about openly admiring her physique and, despite the threatening glaring she shot him, gave a delighted chuckle.

"I have never encountered such a powerful woman," he declared, his dark eyes raking along her from head to toe. "A mythical beauty you are...so chiseled and impervious to the elements...A goddess fit for commanding my people. Perhaps someday, you will rule beside me while garbed in bones and glorious fur...and, as my queen, bear many powerful children!"

There was no mistaking the flush of heat saturating her face...or the competitive spark in Eista's bearded expression, invigorated by the death glare she continuously gave him. As much as she could appreciate a man willing to fight her head-on and prove his prowess, now was _not _the time for that. Perhaps later, she would twist one of his bulky arms behind his back and pin him to the ground, effectively putting his testosterone to shame. Until then, she whipped her ponytail behind her and dismissively turned away.

Was it offensive for her to make a sound of disgust? No more than his comments were, even if it was fully acceptable by his people's standards. She expected some backup from Moze, at least, had the gunner not been watching their mustachioed operative begin sniffing - and then loudly inhaling - some delicious aroma.

Chuckling grandly at his tantalized searching, Eista took the lead and gestured toward a fire nearby while wearing an expression of burly generosity.

"Feast!" he invited, raising a hand in offering toward the glistening bounty. "Nourish yourself for the next slass! I insist! You are my honored guests."

Zane was on it, snatching up the spit before chirping, "Don't mind if I do!" Even before he could hold it without tossing it between his hands with a grousing string of "Ouchowouch_shite_," he began ravenously tearing into the dripping meat chunks.

Apparently being middle-aged didn't stop him from inhaling food like a rabid teenager. Then again, of course he was famished. No matter how many times she had informed him that slugging back whiskey didn't constitute a well-balanced meal, he routinely started his day replacing breakfast - and chucking back his daily regimen of vitamins - with shots. For as long as she had known him, she was convinced he would bypass the galaxy's biggest buffet for booze.

Why Zane insisted on skipping actual breakfast was lost on Amara. All she knew was that he had opted out almost every time she and Moze had attempted to feed him in the morning. She remembered his resistance, too, because that particular habit of his went against everything she practiced, much like many of his other questionable proclivities. She wondered if it had some relation to his age and an unfounded paranoia about his metabolism.

Regardless, his stomach began audibly burbling as the first essence of fire-roasted meat reached them. For as distracted as she was by surveying the sizable settlement and all its boned accents, she couldn't miss the starved squealing of his organs. The way Eista presented the browned roasts to them suggested he had planned to treat his newest _gai-dos_ to them since their victory.

Forfeiting caution, Zane didn't hesitate to accept the offering. He seemed particularly Pandoran as he gnashed at the flesh and paused only to swallow while sucking at his juicy fingers. If he intended to flatter the locals and thank them for their primitive magnanimity, he succeeded. Eista watched with palpable satisfaction, his massive arms crossed against his chest.

"Not worried about poisoning today?" Moze asked flatly, earning the operative's shrug. For once, he seemed too preoccupied with inhaling the juicy roasts to divert his mouth for verbal purposes.

After swallowing one final time, Zane punched himself in the chest and belched under his breath. There was no hiding his satiation as his single eye widened in wonder. Turning to Eista, the contract killer appeared in awe of whatever he had greedily eaten.

"I feel damn _incredible_!" boasted Zane, his expression equally as mystified as his audible confusion. "What in the _hell_ is that?"

_It's food, _thought the siren before muttering to FL4K, "Typically people ask that _before _they eat mystery meat."

Tilting their hooded head in calculation, the sentient AI continued observing their bearded teammate. "Evidently the operative deduced that the red meat is not of poultry origin."

Whatever '_kife_' was, Amara didn't care to find out. Just as she had tired of hearing Eista repetitively refer to them as _Gai-dos_, she was fed up with all talk. Her only goal was, apparently, to melt the strange ice blocking their path and reversing Wainwright's curse before it was too late.

Of course, she didn't know about _that _complication until Eista informed them of it.

"Kife is strength, Gai-dos! It is power! Now, what brings you to my camp?"

"Headin' to that cursed mountain. Sound like a good time!" replied Zane, gleaning entirely over their vital mission.

Amara hoped Eista only looked to her for further understanding and not for any other reason. She narrowed her eyes to cover her bases.

"We're climbing it to defeat evil," she reinforced, crossing her arms in visible defiance.

Nodding within the curtain of his thick hair, the tribe leader made a deep sound of contemplation. "You journey to Negul Neshai...That mountain is a place of corruption. Of madness. You have bested me, Gai-dos...and so now we are friends. If that is your destination, then I will help you!"

So long as that didn't involve him joining them while thinking they were engaged in some sort of primitive courtship, Amara would accept all the assistance they could get. If he _thought_ he could follow her while envisioning her ripe with his child, she was going to end him.

Soon enough, it became apparent that that wouldn't be the case. With a village to lead, Eista was offering his guidance and little more. Raising a hand to the erected wall nearby, he cast their attention to it.

"The path to Negul Neshai lies beyond that mighty gate," he explained, but not without reservation. "The ice that blocks it is... _unnatural_. To melt it, we will need a very special kind of kife! The kife...of the Wendigo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments keep this story going and assure me there are readers, so if you'd like to see it continue, please let me know! Feedback is the best motivator there is and I'll definitely need it as I adjust to mothering two kids. I'd love having an excuse to maintain a hobby that keeps me happy and I would still very much love seeing this story to its intended ending.


	26. Echoes of Winter Cont. [Fighting Hearts on Xylourgos]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crap continues.
> 
> Don't worry - I doubt I'll ever write a detailed DLC chapter again...though the Krieg one would be kinda fun.

Together, the Vault Hunters found themselves sliding on their asses down a smooth and powdery mountainside. It might not have been the most dignified method of travel but it might have been the most fun. Following that, they found themselves running toward the nearest Catch-A-Ride and subjected themselves for a bout of deja vu.

Across the icy plains, they traveled again...in the same uncomfortable vehicle...with assholes trying to kill them as always. Now, Eista's distinguished growl was speaking across their ECHOs, explaining both their latest objective and his own past.

"You must go to the cave known as Kasari Dabar: the dark and twisted home of the Wendigo. You will find it deep within the Cankerwood, across the frozen waters.

"This planet breeds rare and dangerous beasts. Back home, I was the regent's tracker, but soon my quarry became predictable and unsatisfying. That's why I came here. No warrior can hunt the same quarry year after year - not without losing his edge! A hunter can never stop hunting!"

"Or talking," Moze muttered, inciting snickers all around.

Conveniently, Eista went silent after that. They all did, focusing solemnly on the mission ahead - until another transmission lit their ECHOS.

Compared to the hunter's deep rumbling, Gaige's high voice was mousy. Her intentions for broadcasting her conversation with Hammerlock were obvious, informing them of an unexpected change in plans.

"Okay, Hammerlock?" she was saying, sounding thoroughly exasperated. "I love you, my guy, but you're making me antsy with all this pacing. Why don't you go help the Vault Hunters? They're tracking a legendary beast. That's SO totally your wheelhouse."

Complications aside, the mechromancer was by no means wrong - and did anyone really need to enumerate the dangers? As an adventurer experienced like no other, Hammerlock was beyond qualified. Still, his reservations were founded. His reply sounded thoroughly conflicted.

"Oh! I'm not sure...I really should be here for-"

"Go!" insisted Gaige, refusing to take 'no' for an answer. "I'll watch him. He'll be okay."

A thoughtful moment passed before the logic of her stance dawned on the dignified gentleman. Only then did he react with gusto - and an audible note of relief provided by the belief that he could actively do something to help his beloved.

"You're right," decided Alistair, and then with more enthusiasm, seemed truly convinced. "By jove, you're right! Vault Hunters, I shall join you in the woods! If my efforts to hasten your journey to the cursed mountain, then I must do my part!"

"Greeeaat," drawled Zane, his handsomely aged visage pained as he recalled the last time one of the grooms had accompanied them.

"It will be fine," assured the Partalian, truly feeling it in her veins despite her former reservations. "Eleanor is already set on her host. Why would she need another?"

"That's a fine question. Maybe we should ask Hamm-o. Love the fella dearly but jaysus, there won't be much of a weddin' if we lose both grooms!"

It was unlike Zane to have misgivings - that he voiced, anyway. Still, what option did they have?

Giving a sigh, Amara nodded and asked, "Without Wainwright, what will anyone have to celebrate?"

…

Eista was undoubtedly a more sophisticated man that she had given him credit for, though that didn't earn him any significant traction with her. More than anything, it had her chastising herself with reminders about the fallacy of judging people by their appearances. He only chose to conduct himself like a Neanderthal.

Given that Hammerlock was well into his sixties, she was convinced there weren't any caveman etchings around for Eista to grunt and beat his chest at. And that was the last thought she had as she dodged a rocket spiraling in her direction, as the next leg in their journey was equally as unwelcoming as the rest of the planet.

A small gathering of metal carts had greeted them at the entrance of the Nethes Mines, the infrastructure there befitting its purpose. A series of old buildings and a network of pipes lead to the shaft cored into the distant mountainside. The rule proved true: where there was shelter, there were assholes with guns, and that area was no exception. Meanwhile, as their foursome rushed in with firearms raised, Hammerlock engaged Eista in respectful conversation.

Amara might have heard more of their discussion had she not been sweeping brawlers off their feet and throwing their acid-sluiced bodies into their vertically challenged cronies. Screaming enemies flailed as they were caught in the splash zone, often meeting their end when they landed in the crosshairs of her trusty teammates.

In the background, two hunters were busy bonding.

"Eista…" trailed Hammerlock in reflection before he verbalized his curiosity. "Your name rings familiar...You aren't the same royal tracker who slew the antihydra Suc'Naath, are you?"

"Suck what?" huffed Zane from ahead of her while at the same time, he wrenched his wrist blades from a beefy bludgeoner and kicked his body to the side so he could continue his impressively swift running and gunning.

"Because Eista is such a common name," grunted Moze while taking out the side of a hut - and the cowards rushing inside it - with a tracking missile.

From back at his village, Eista gave a chesty and ebullient laugh. "Now that was a slass! One monstrous head, three be-clawed bodies! All the realm feasted on kife that winter!"

"I read all about the hunt in the quarterlies! Eista, I am impressed! You are a fearsome hunter."

"If you are the same Hammerlock who slew Hemovorous, the Varkid Queen, it is an honor for our paths to have crossed. We should hunt some time! Together!"

"That's one way to put a positive spin on things!" laughed Zane under his breath, leaning over to high five his digiclone before they reloaded their weapons in uncanny synchronicity.

Alistair, as it turns out, was more than

agreeable.

"Oh yes, that would be delightful!"

That wasn't exactly the word Amara would use, but then they weren't focused on the situation at hand now, were they?

…

"You are near the woods now, Gai-do," promised the tribesman, his rich voice audible above the clang of their boots following the mine cart rails. "I wish you luck in your slass. And, if you fall...if the Wendigo stains the snow with your blood...I will skin it, and make its pelt into a matching hat and coat to wear at your funeral. For we are friends."

"Nice feller, all things told," hummed Zane as they neared the mineshaft opening, their footfalls steadily hurried. "Didn't take 'im fer one to coordinate his attire, though. Sure proved me wrong!"

Whether or not they could entirely trust Eista, Amara wasn't entirely sold. Alistair seemed convinced, however, being the extensive source of knowledge he was. The large game hunter claimed to have encountered tales of the Wendigo and seemed positively enthralled by it becoming a key element in their journey.

And so the Vault Hunters found themselves in Cankerwood, the territory consisting of strange trees that seemed more like oversized fungus. Between canopies that resembled expansive mushroom caps and trunks that looked like narrow stipes, Amara felt they were in some sort of fairytale land...even if the forest was more demented than whimsical.

Phosphorescent spores lingered in the air from the pillowy fungi lining the way. The densest patches gave entire areas a glittering haze, adding to the strangeness of that mysterious and snowy forest.

Shortly after their group had paused to take in the new scenery, Hammerlock made his entrance. He did so by skidding down a sharp embankment in a manner that was more wild than dignified - all while exclaiming, "Unhand me, you thorny bushes of the devil!" Still, the instant he caught his balance, he squared his shoulders and reverted to the courtly old chap they all knew him to be.

"I do hope I'm not crashing your hunting party, but I was developing a case of cabin fever," he explained as a means of apology. As they shrugged, he smiled and finished thoroughly dusting off his beige attire before nodding to the path ahead. "Well then, shall we track down and kill this no doubt majestic creature together?"

"A few rounds with a legendary creature?" asked Amara with arrogance, flashing the adventurer her stunning smile and most alluring wink. "You know I'm in!"

It was a shame, really, that her fans weren't crowding nearby and swooning for their Tiger. It would have made a hell of a photo op, though she was satisfied with her teammates' hearts stuttering at her conceited glory.

"That's the spirit!" rallied Alistair with adventurous cheer. "We hunt!"

As much as Amara worried for him, everyone silently agreed that he could benefit from the distraction - and that Gaige, paired with Mancubus' grasp of everything, were capable of looking after the incoherent Jakobs.

Despite his guilt of leaving Wainwright's side, Hammerlock proved that he couldn't overcome his insistent desire for adventure. Without a doubt, it had been emotionally detrimental for him to standby and helplessly witness his lover's struggles

It went without saying that his sudden attendance heightened their alert and added complexity to their mission. None of them wanted to carry additional guilt of a groom being injured on his wedding day. Hell, it was bad enough that one had become possessed by demons while on their watch. Needless to say, they weren't adding that to their resume.

The proper gentleman Alistair was, his choice of firearm seemed relatively old-fashioned. While the rifle he wielded earned their looks of admiration and a low whistle from the Pandoran-Irishman, he needed more protection against the acid-spewing kriches and wolven that dominated the landscape. Amara was prepared to volunteer her shield until Zane stepped in with one in hand and poked the distinguished hunter in the chest with it.

"Ahh, I started carryin' a backup extra diligently after all the times Ava fergot 'ers," he explained. Alistair nodded in permission while the operative took care in fixing it to his belt. Only after engaging the device and giving it a good tug to ensure it was properly secured did Zane grin at the older gent, "Ye can thank me later with a pint! S'gonna work jus' fine fer ye. It's a good'un. Can't have our man o' honor gettin' roughed up, can we?"

They absolutely couldn't, and Alistair was that much happier receiving their caring attention. Even then, he proved himself to be one at ease with his own expertise as he jogged ahead fearlessly. With shoulders held squarely back and his arms stiff, he took a few strides before unstrapping his rifle. Much like Wainwright's zest while leading them to the wedding venue, his fiance gave them no choice but to follow.

Given how Hammerlock insisted on leading their expedition, his security was paramount. As they encountered the aggressive wildlife teeming throughout the region, Hammerlock proved himself to be a capable marksman. He didn't disappoint, given his esteemed reputation in hunting the most feral and rarest game throughout the galaxy.

Even then, Amara wasn't alone in practicing caution and erring close to the dashing old fellow. Her teammates felt the same, stationing themselves evenly around the groom-to-be and wasting no amount of ammunition while keeping the fauna at bay.

"Ah, gunplay!" Hammerlock commented in delighted reflection as he shot down the first wolven that crossed their path. "Reminds me of Winny and I's first date!"

Were any of them surprised? Not necessarily, though it set the scene for who had initiated their first romantic escape. In fretting as he had before his possession, Wainwright painted a clear picture of how smitten he was with his lover and his impressive desire to satisfy his intrepid whims.

Left to his own devices, Alistair was nimble on his feet and masterful with his rifle. Even as the quadrupedal beasts took advantage of the jagged terrain and swiftly maneuvered through the dense foliage, he put down each one that landed within his iron sights. Even their most airborne lunges were no match for the marksman, his adroitness impressing the Vault Hunters.

They should have expected nothing less of the seasoned hunter - or the way he remained on task while they guarded his back, their own shots bringing the wolven down with sharp yelps. It was Alistair who guided their attention to the environment, encouraging them to search for tracks possibly left by the alpha predator.

Given how the prints left indents of embers, flecks of which drifted in the air, their presence was easily discovered. She happened across Zane staring down at one while indicating to it with his pointed beard. Based on that mark alone, the Wendigo seemed like a beast wielding sharp claws and fiery elementals.

"Found somethin', Hamm-o," the operative both figuratively and literally pointed out, drawing the other's immediate attention.

"Well done!" rewarded Alistair, brimming with excitement as intense as her own and confirming what she hoped to be true. "The Wendigo must be fearsome indeed!"

After tuning into its heat signature, Zane's augmented sight was able to locate them long before they were visible to the naked eye. The way FL4K directed them to others, sending his pack sniffing toward the markings, suggested they had the same technological advantage. Willing to follow their guidance, Amara planned to redeem herself later by dominating the fight with the beast.

"I've got you in my sights, Wendigo," she threatened as they happened across yet another set of footprints. With that, she cracked her knuckles before curling her fingers into ready fists.

What a shame it was that her vow was only a figure of speech. In reality, they still hadn't seen more than traces of the beast. She wondered who felt the most impatience among them and decided it must have been her. She lived to fight, after all. In contrast, Hammerlock's priorities seemed conflicted

"This weekend, I did not expect to spend quite so much time watching after my demon-possessed soon-to-be-hubby, but ah, such is life! Still, it is nice to get a breath of fresh air," he expressed with forced optimism.

For that, Amara appreciated Alistair's undeniable strength. Despite the odds, he was at least trying to embrace action over anxiety. Considering his many prosthetic limbs, it was obvious he allowed absolutely nothing to cripple him. Still, as much as she refused to accept that venture suffering an unhappy ending, she feared what one would do to the loving partners.

Sure, their objective was to cause heartbreak, but only the kind that could return Wainwright to himself and reunite their friends in holy matrimony.

Amara had no interest, or intentions, of witnessing the impact loss would have on a proud man like Alistair. It was sad enough to see small facets of his composure crack under the weight of his fears, try as he might to hide it. His utter destruction, as a result of Wainwright's, would stay with her forever if allowed to happen...therefore it couldn't. In a sense, her own pride was hinged on their love story having a joyous ending.

With her strides matching her determination, Amara almost marched right into Alistair, who had knelt abruptly. Wandering up behind them, her teammates joined her in watching him trace his metal finger along another brightly stamped set of footprints.

Situated so closely - and involuntarily - next to Zane had her senses to tingling as she caught a hint of his cologne. Instead of treating herself to his scent, she resisted the temptation. She knew better, now, than to subject herself to it...or to memories of a time when his nearness didn't leave her feeling bruised.

"This one's fresh. We're getting closer!" celebrated the explorer, giving an exhilarated hook of his fist. That was her excuse to withdraw from that gathering and put distance between herself and the dumb bastard who didn't suffer her same affliction.

With an extra person among them, it was only a matter of time until someone said something to more thoroughly redirect her mind. Within moments, someone satisfied her need for a distraction.

"Vault Hunters…" began Hammerlock from beneath the brim of his feather hat before backpedaling with reluctance. "No, never mind. We should focus on hunting this fearsome Wendigo!"

Just because she chose to internalize her problems instead of beating them over Zane's head didn't mean she supported others avoiding theirs. The way the distinguished gentleman spoke before thinking better of it was proof that his emotions were strong. He had enough piled on his shoulders already and didn't deserve to carry the full weight of his burdens.

Mustering her sincerest empathy, Amara urged him on. She considered the compassion in her voice to be reassuring while also leaving her friend an open stage to air his feelings.

"Got something to say, Hammerlock?"

Hearing him make a soft sound, there was no doubt he had a lot on his mind. The other Vault Hunters seemed convinced of the same. Even FL4K, for as artificial as they were, acknowledged as much.

"You are disconcerted. I can sense as much," they said, sounding more humane than Amara had ever heard them.

Then, from behind her right side, Zane offered his own friendly nudge. "What's on your mind, boyo? Get it out now."

His shoulders gently sloping despite their purposeful jogging, Alistair breathed a sigh of relief.

"I love Wainwright," he declared with all his soul. "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. It's me I find myself questioning...Winny needs someone at his side, but every nerve in my body was pulling me out of that Lodge. It's all rather...confusing.

"No matter. Let us focus on the hunt!" he redirected without so much as missing a beat, clearly not wishing to entertain any more discouraging feelings.

Amara could only hope that in confessing his gnawing insecurities, he discovered that he was aiding in their mission as best as he could - and that by putting his skills to such important use, he was doing what was best for Wainwright. After all, no one was more fit to hunt the Wendigo than him.

For as much as she didn't want Alistair to doubt himself, she cared even less to hear Eleanor writhe her tongue through their ears. Still, the demented witch thought it was the perfect time to remind them of her wretched existence - and worse, attempt to persuade them to share her sick beliefs.

"You see it now, don't you? His doubts echo the fears I see in Wainwright's heart. Their love is brittle, a delicate thing that cracks at the slightest pressure."

"The fuck?" came Moze's scoff of disbelief seconds before she aggressively spat her gum aside. "This bitch really needs to check herself if that's her perspective. She's the one who lost her hubby to an octopus sidepiece."

As darkly amusing as the truth was, Amara shared the same disgust they all felt. Blatantly ignoring the bullshit spouting from Gythian's puppet, she sympathized with Alistair again. As much as she wanted to lend him her shoulder and caring consolation, she respected his decision to focus on the task at hand. Besides, she needed time to decide how to best express her beliefs. How could she convince him that his insecurities were common for everyone who fell in love?

By putting one's heart on the line and caring so deeply for their significant other, how could someone not wonder if they measured up? Whether their worries were rational or not, it was natural to want only the best for one's favorite person….Still, the mark of a deserving lover was their willingness to try anything and everything to be that for their partner.

As passionate as she felt about the subject, and for as profound as her beliefs ran, she couldn't find a concise way to convey so much. For now, she could only hope that Alistair would learn to trust his heart. What Wainwright needed was for him to follow his loving intuition and support him until he drew his last breath...and cherish his memory even beyond that.

She could understand the regret he vehemently felt for leaving his partner's side, but in reality, he only excused himself to ensure their team came one step closer to saving him. One way or another, Alistair was fulfilling his purpose regardless of the guilt inundating him. In effect, Wainwright's fate took priority over everything else.

How Hammerlock couldn't see that suggested he was blinded by remorse, which was another testament of his dedication. Everything he did, he did with his lover in mind. In time, he would surely recognize that. It would be easier once Wainwright recovered and that entire ordeal became nothing more than an unwanted memory.

Soon, Amara hoped she could say the same about kriches, glad to be out of the forest and away from the latest swarm of them. Side by side, their group paused atop a hillside and gazed down on the lumber structures of another chilled settlement. This time, however, she situated herself the furthest from Zane and appreciated the distance.

"This outpost is more fortified than others around her," Alistair pointed out, his knuckles touching together behind his perfect posture. "And it seems they've pulled up the drawbridge. See if you can go around and lower it from the other side, Vault Hunters. I shall stand up here and keep an eye out for predators."

In other words, the explorer was admitting he was not as keen for combat with humans as he was with wildlife. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to be when he had four seasoned killers at his beck and call. Compared to facing thousands upon thousands of COV, gunning their way through whoever controlled that bridge would be a cakewalk. With so much at stake, the Tiger of Partali had no reservations about punching through anyone foolish enough to stand in their way.

Their detour consisted of climbing ledges - though she didn't care to identify the yellow substance smeared across them - and following a snaking walkway that crossed the spill of a winterland waterfall. For as stunning as the view was, there was no time to sightsee, and she only needed a sprinkle of its spray to have her calling upon her fire elementals to better ward off the chill.

Beyond, more blustery caverns awaited them, chock full of kriches that spewed warbling cries as they tried to ward off the trespassers. Amara turned up the heat, projecting a spiral of fists that rammed through their repugnant bodies and set fire to everything in its wake. She, along with her coughing teammates, rushed through the noxious smoke of roasted flesh. Even cooked, the creatures smelled rancid, the stink furthered as the inferno burst their fluid sacs like gooey popcorn.

Until then, there had been a vast number of things she would have done for a cozy fireplace and a hot meal...before the stench killed her appetite.

As eager to escape the fumes as they were to conquer the outpost, they maneuvered through the caves, climbed ledges, and leaped across drop-offs until a wall of black vines blocked their path. Iron Bear's hydraulic arms effortlessly punched through and tore aside the organic barrier. Before the mech was finished, Zoomer zipped through to survey whatever lay ahead.

Across ECHO, Hammerlock's polished English came through. "While I have a moment, I suppose I can check in," he said - to Gaige, because only she was qualified to answer when he asked, "How's my Winny doing?"

Eager to know the same, the Vault Hunters slowed to a stop in unspoken agreement and to better hear the important update of the other groom's unusual condition.

Seeming reluctant to respond, yet maintaining her upbeat persona, the wedding planner was no doubt chewing on her lip.

"Oh, he's...not so great, but, uh, he's only a little glowy right now."

Maintaining his dignified composure, Hammerlock responded helpfully, "Well do keep the warm ginger ale flowing, won't you? I'll be back soon."

"Do not worry!" assured the mechromancer, affirming that she had everything covered. "I got this! You just enjoy your hunt!"

As of now, what was there to occupy him? He was waiting on them - a reality that was bound to change after they broke through another rootbound wall granting them access to the outpost. Grunting quietly, the four of them stepped from the drop-off, their boots thumping on the wooden deck below.

The perimeter of Sweetfruit Village was a dark maze of cramped structures. The center offered little in the way of cover other than an assortment of holding tanks and barrels decorated with warning decals.

Raising his pistol, Zane targeted the largest first and waited for one of the armed scouts to wander alongside it before depressing the trigger. The resulting explosion was their signal to race in with guns, drones, and clones blazing. Like a deadly aftershock, the FL4K pack followed, while Iron Bear's tanky body tore through a bridge like scissors severing a red ribbon.

The ensuing battle was short-lived, the locals reduced to corpses and ash before their defeat even dawned on them. Even with their numbers and weapons, they weren't capable of standing a chance against such heavy-hitting Vault Hunters - and no one could compete with a siren.

Ears still ringing from the chaos, Amara jogged to the drawbridge and inspected its mechanics. The sound of Hammerlock initiating another connection, presumably to offer assistance, was cut off by the sound of two gunshots shattering its chains. Brittle from the cold, the links snapped loudly, spilling everywhere a millisecond before the structure came crashing down.

Amara looked behind herself to see Zane and Moze fist bump each other before reloading. She watched as the bearded operative ejected the spent shells from his revolver and drove home a speedloader in one smooth motion, the empty casings clattering to the ground like a brass wind chime.

The sound of rushing boots had her turning back to see Hammerlock pumping his arms in an accomplished dash as he made his way toward their position. Even from a distance, she could see the stunning white of his teeth, his full-lipped smile showing how thrilled he was to reunite with them.

There was little cause for celebration, they soon learned. From within the shelters, crowds of natives rushed out, alarmed by the abrupt crash of the bridge. Lips pulled back from furious teeth, they raised their assorted clubs and guns. They welcomed their uninvited guests with a storm of bullets, rioting toward them with lethal intent.

Behind them, the explorer raised his handsome rifle and squinted down the scope with a gallant call of, "Oh ho! An ambush! To arms, Vault Hunters!"

Contrary to her expectations, Hammerlock didn't hesitate to assist in the firefight. One trigger pull after another, he helped drop their assailants in their tracks. She enjoyed the classic sound of empty shells melodically hitting the ground, followed by the swift resetting of the bolt. The rifle was so perfectly representative of such a gentleman and was a welcome addition to the modern firearms wielded by their foursome.

Together, they rushed across the bridge and stormed the other side. Taking the low ground as Zane split off high, her violet eyes tracked him climbing to the balconies three stairs at a time. His digiclone appeared at Alistair's side, efficiently gunning down threats in every direction. Flattered by the protective attention, Amara could hear the monocled man thank the clone with jubilant praise as the rest of them charged ahead through the camp.

Marching ahead like a mechanical Grim Reaper, FL4K slashed throats with his mandible saw. Meanwhile, Moze blasted down bandits to their left and then right, dropping whatever body came into her shotgun sights. She made quick work of the bruiser Zane kicked down from the balcony, the man screaming until buckshot ripped through his skull.

The last thugs too foolish to run met their end from a storm of astral fists. Amara threw herself into the air before coming down amidst them, her impact launching them sky-high before they rained down in broken pieces. She simply couldn't resist putting just a touch of her abilities on display for their distinguished friend, nor could she resist striking a pose and shooting him a show-stopping wink.

Clapping with composed delight, Alistair grinned from beneath the brim of his hat and cheered handsomely. "Good show, good show!"

Much to her relief, Alistair had held his own against the club-wielding madmen and their shorter gnashers. It surprised no one how clean his kills were. Like a respectful marksman, he had put down those who tried to wrong them as he would any other wild beast.

"Well routed, Vault Hunters," he complimented, his obvious fondness for them transforming their title into a term of endearment. "Let's get that gate open!"

In a matter of seconds, his command would be fulfilled. With a brilliant spill of blue, Zane's digiclone appeared on the second story walkway. Giving them a wave, the holograph reached for a lever and gave it a pull before flaking away in a dispersion of pixels.

Delighted by their progress, Alistair nodded to the divided gate and dropped the lumbar cross of his arms with increased pep in his step. "Not far now! Not far now, indeed. Come on, the Wendigo awaits!"

Or at least its droppings did, they soon discovered as another section of forest funneled them to a narrow chasm. The foul scent of a wild beast leaving its mark throughout the landform had them making sounds of disgust - except FL4K, who observed them passively.

Not even the large game hunter was immune, but even then, he was far from perturbed by the fetor accumulated within the narrow space.

"Oof, the stench is powerful in there," commented Alistair while wrinkling his nose above his facial hair. Still, he was anything but discouraged as he squared his shoulders further and valiantly marched forth. "Let's go in!"

Not even the consuming darkness could distract from the nauseating presence of stools that Amara nearly stepped into twice - and that was two times more than she considered acceptable. All around, she could hear her teammates proceed cautiously while waiting for their sight to adjust. Meanwhile, Hammerlock and his cybernetic eye was busy taking in their surroundings and mentally counting each mound of reeking dung.

Becoming an instructor, the explorer waved them over to a particularly spicy pile. It was pungent enough to make their eyes water.

"A rather large creature, isn't it? Or a busy one. Let us pause for a moment. A hunter never goes in for the kill until he knows his quarry outside and in. In this case, in."

Pained expressions were visible all around as their foursome watched Hammerlock kneel and plunge elbow-deep into the massive mound of droppings. Personally, Amara didn't know what was worse: the sound of fecal waste being stirred around or the fresh stretch erupting from it. Understandably, they were all void of his gusto, but that didn't prevent the adventurer from insisting they perform their due diligence in tracking the Wendigo.

"Pungent," described FL4K, familiar with the waste of his many beasts. "It must be fresh." No one disagreed.

Sadly, he wasn't satisfied with searching only one sample. He sent them off to locate others and participate if they so desired. Amara, for one, did not...and given how her human teammates awkwardly directed the brave explorer to their findings proved neither were keen.

"Here's one, boyo," traveled Zane's brogue from afar, his gruffness deflecting down the stone walls. Then, sounding as though regretting his proximity to it, he strained, "Ohhhgh, it's a whiffer!"

A second later, Moze piped up. "I've bunked with soldiers so I've smelled worse. Barely."

It went without saying that digging through piles of crap was far from pleasant. They left the task to FL4K, whose sensors spared him olfactory input and instead numerically analyzed the data. Impressively, Hammerlock didn't require such advanced technology to determine what the droppings consisted of. Between his bold inhales, critical combing, and expertise, he grew certain of the creature's nature.

Still, the sight of him smearing shit between his fingers and humming in thought was enough to have Amara cringing. Not that she would have ever been so desperate, but she was forever grateful that responsibility wasn't hers. Even then, she couldn't help but feel like a deep memory was revived by some nuance of the odor. She found herself unable to put her finger on what, exactly it was, until-

"Yuck," she vented aloud, her features screwing up in acknowledgment. "Reminds me of the Partali slum yards."

Perking up, Alistair must have known a thing or two about her homeworld, as he seemed to quickly associate the scent with the crisp meats offered by vendors frequenting the larger cities. Among them, citizens suffering from poverty and lacking lavatories accounted for the stink of human waste.

"Ahh, the odor of seared flesh! The Wendigo must burn its prey to death before eating it. Fascinating! Perhaps we'll find its weakness if we keep searching."

"Oh that sounds greeeaat," chimed in the operative. At the same time, he reached to remove his earpiece before digging into the canal with a twisting pinky.

Men. No one saw her or Moze cleaning out their orifices with such nonchalance or burying their forearms in crap. As she watched Zane withdraw his invasive touch and give a sigh of relief - and then inspect his fingertip before flicking off his discovery - she doubted that human males were actually more sophisticated than cave beasts. Smirking to herself, she knew better about Alistair because at least his purposes were educational. The Pandoran-Irishman, on the other hand, wiped the wax off onto his pants before reinserting his hardware.

Having rifled through another heap, Hammerlock informed them of his findings. "Ah, that one is mostly bones. The Wendigo must feed on small creatures and also something... earthy," he determined with a thoughtful tone of peculiarity.

It didn't take but an analytical couple of minutes for the versed tracker to reach a conclusion. Through whatever trustworthy means he had in his professional arsenal, he grew convinced that in the absence of prey, the legendary beast supplemented its diet with local mushrooms. He then laid out an official plan: that they would first bait the Wendigo and then strike. Naturally, the reality was less simple than that.

"First: geselium avantus, a rare and deadly paralytic. It won't kill a creature the size of a Wendigo, but it should daze it enough to be a fair slass! Here."

Reaching into a compartment on his belt, Alistair produced something Amara couldn't quite make out from afar. Still, it didn't surprise her whatsoever that he had arrived on Xylourgos prepared to hunt large game, prone to interweaving professional propensity with his personal affairs.

He didn't hesitate to pass them onto their middle-aged operative, placing three feathered vials into the palm of his gloved hand. Of course, none of them were as amused as Zane was when he pretended to prick his finger on the dart. Together, she and Moze rolled their eyes at his childishness, while FL4K released a flatly mechanical sigh.

Rolling his eye, Zane whined, "Aw c'mon! The lot of ye are no fun."

"Can't wait to hear you say that when you die of stupid causes," countered Moze, earning the siren's agreeing hum.

With that, the soldier stepped up and deftly plucked the feathered flechette from the operative's grasp before placing them into a pouch of FL4K's massive pack. As much as they wanted to trust Zane to act as mature as his age, no one wanted to take a chance. Knowing him, he would run the risk of dancing and stabbing his ass with the quill in the process.

A man of proper posture and official business, Hammerlock clicked his heels together while he folded his arms behind his low back. "Now," he said, commanding their attention once more, "to create an effective bait, we will need wolven meat and the juice of some local mushrooms. Meanwhile, I will keep on the Wendigo's trail and make sure the devil doesn't elude us…"

He didn't have to go into detail about any of that. With so many wolven wandering the forests in packs, they would have no trouble collecting a feast.

As expected, the beasts didn't disappoint. The Vault Hunters had barely left the cave when a dozen of their kind descended on them, jowls dripping and howls announcing their lethal intentions to every pack member in the forest. Even the alpha males, larger and covered in spines, couldn't see past their hunger to turn tail and run.

Between the four of them, they collected a supply of meat that didn't disappoint. With Mr. Chew and Meat Thief having recently had their fill of carcasses - and living up to their namesakes - transporting the meat was simple. Using the mandible they wielded like a saw, the beastbot carved off to hefty hind legs and instructed their pets to obediently drag them along.

"Tasty," grimaced Moze while noting the blood trailing behind Chew's happily wiggling posterior. "What next?"

"Bring on the shroom juice!" came Zane's excitement, causing Amara to consider how unpalatable that sounded.

Hailing them across ECHO from wherever he had followed the legendary beast's trail, Hammerlock's classy English counseled them.

"It would take all day to forage enough mushrooms to bait the Wendigo, and as enchanting as that might be, I've got a more expeditious solution. Our ghastly yet hospitable proprietor mentioned a factory not far that makes a sort of mushroom tonic."

Ever so omniscient, Mancubus entered the conversation. Perhaps his discussion with the groom had been recent but still, Amara wouldn't have put it past him to be summoned by his mention like some dark spell.

"Ahhh, the fungal brewers believe their tonic gives them visions of the worlds beyond," pitched his brittle voice. "Perhaps. Reality, like...a lodge where multiple doors exist to endless rooms...If a tonic can provide such splendor, then I say drink up!"

Zane didn't hesitate despite having all nearby eyes turning to him in accusation. "Don't mind if I do! In me freetime, o' course," he specified, giving a stilted laugh that transitioned to him coarsely clearing his throat.

The Fermentation Station certainly wasn't far, proving Mancubus' word to be as reliable as ever. Still, despite being a convenient manufacturer of the exact resource their objective required, the compound was vast. Large vats full of green fluids churned, weird fumes rising from the exposed concoctions. Broad pipes lead seemingly every which way, responsible for transporting the swampy sludge.

Amara didn't attempt to count the number of valves present among the extensive infrastructure, though the massive holding tanks full of bubbling brew most caught her eye. Everything appeared so toxic, but at least there was a surprising amount of caution markings and fluorescent safety striping throughout the facility. Sanctuary and all its dark corridors - and abrupt drop-offs - could have taken notice.

Naturally, there was an abundance of personnel determined to defend their bounty. Clearly they were not the negotiating types, and besides, they didn't have time to hash out an exchange. It wasn't like any locals outside of the Lodge or Cursehaven hadn't already tried to kill them, and Amara wasn't going to give anyone the opportunity. Running in stride with her, firearms raised and expressions fierce as they branched off in different directions, her fellow Vault Hunters strongly felt the same.

The storage facility was only an appetizer, the actual manufacturing plant far larger in scale. Mancubus' haunting voice had only just told them as much.

"One could lose themselves in the copper labyrinth that is the brewery, but what you seek is a mixing device," he told them before adding sharply, "Look upstairs."

And they would have, had it not been for the small army of gun-toting enemies that flocked to them. The variety between them ranged from brutes wielding large shields and clubs to midgets who were aggravatingly swift on their feet and burrowed into the snow before attacking from an unexpected direction.

Far from sweating, their team tackled the chore of killing the mob off but not without strategy. This time, when her back bumped into Zane's, Amara steadied her feet and stood her ground. Not far away, Moze and FL4K were engaging their own mass of enemies and covering each other. Long ago, it had become her second nature to collaborate with her bearded partner and his technical arsenal.

Somehow, amidst the ensuing cacophony of heavy gunfire, bleeding screams, shotgun blasts, and the rapid dings of assault rifle rounds ricocheting off metal, Amara still felt grief tug at her heartstrings. Engaging in combat as a unified force and reliving the intense trust they shared only served to remind her of the closeness they had sacrificed.

In effect, she had allowed her hurt to drive a wedge between them. With the stakes against her emotions so high, she had distanced herself from Zane and rejected the harmony they shared as both friends and teammates. Reliving the intrinsic synergy that made them so unstoppable in battle served to remind her how their partnership had to come first.

Biting her lip, she rejected the urge that nearly overcame her. Such impulsiveness rarely struck her. Still, it took her fighting tooth and nail with herself not to link arms with Zane and initiate the dancing reel he showed such an affinity for. Even with how deeply she wanted to let loose and allow his inertia to swing her while freely pulling her trigger, that environment definitely wasn't fit for it. They couldn't afford to rupture so many pipes and risk sabotaging their purpose.

For now, they minimized what damage they could. Rounds still went wide and passed through bodies, striking whatever existed beyond. Relying on her shield and Zoomer's precise programming, she spared the wiser assholes taking cover behind pipes and allowed the drone to hunt them down.

By the end of it, the facility was bathed in blood. Crimson-stained bodies were strewn about, their wooden shields reduced to splinters and their intact limbs sprawled. Corpses half-collapsed across the drain lines and second story railing dripped gore onto the diamond-plated flooring, the overlapping plink plink plink of droplets resembling rain.

Not yet prepared to drop his guard, Zane stepped away in favor of his tactical training. In the distance, Amara witnessed Moze adopt the same hunched stance as the two of them proceeded to give the area one final sweep, maneuvering through the walkways like venomous snakes.

Anything but a soldier, the siren more casually followed behind, balancing her shotgun in her grasp. By the time Zane stood to his full height and lowered his pistol, she was immediately behind him, the unexpectedness of her proximity causing him to react.

Before she knew what was happening, and before the operative could override his reflexes, he seized her by the wrist and slammed her against the nearest wall hard enough to dislodge her weapon from her grasp. In that blink of an eye, she was gasping from pain and staring with shock up at his face, his nostrils flared and expression outright deadly.

The instant he recognized her, his demeanor changed. He simultaneously snapped back to his affable self, though his lined expression was laden with guilt. His mustachioed mouth moving, he couldn't even get a word out as he quickly holstered his resolver and began apologetically rubbing her arms where they had connected with the wall.

"Jaysus," he eventually managed while attempting a humorless smirk. "Give an ol' man some warnin' 'fore ye sneak up on him."

Huh. She wasn't exactly stealthy on her feet and cocked her scarred eyebrow to suggest as much. He must have been entirely concentrated on his task and hadn't thought to register her position on his ECHOeye.

"It's fine," she assured him, reaching to give his shoulder a confirming squeeze. As she did, she could feel the muscle beneath the expensive leather flex as he kneaded her elbow gently.

As it turns out, that was a mistake. Their eyes met, and damnit, there it was: the exciting bolt of intense attraction that palpated her heart and filled her with warmth. It was that same catalyst that made her ache now that her desires were unrequited.

In unison, they released each other, though in contrast to Zane's calmly hand retracting, she drew hers away as if burned. Quietly, he cleared his throat while leaning down to retrieve her shotgun and present it to her. Diverting her gaze, she accepted it with a businesslike nod and a simple thanks.

That experience gnawed at her until FL4K appeared nearby and gestured for them to follow. Together, their team regrouped on one of the upper stories and stared at the massive apparatus mounted overhead.

As much as she expected their mechanically inclined operative to appreciate the setup, she discovered him stroking his beard and scrutinizing the recipes posted about the control room.

"Sooo, this tonic is hallucinogenic, 'ey? Wonder how long the effects last," he wondered with naughty curiosity. Then, giving a soft laugh, he reconsidered. "On second thought, no one tell me! Might get meself in trouble."

Oblivious or otherwise unconcerned with Zane's inquisitiveness, Mancubus acknowledged their discovery.

"Ah. That juicer allows the user to make whatever concoction they desire. The brewers have indeed left their favorite recipes nearby...For your dark needs, I suggest you brew only the strongest available option."

How were they supposed to identify those, Amara wondered? One brief skim of the nearest poster gave her the answer...which made her question the Irish-Pandoran's sanity that much more.

Leave it to him to consider having a drink when the instructions were stamped with numerous skulls. None of the mixtures presented throughout the area seemed safe whatsoever. Even the simplicity of the shorthand led Amara to doubt the intelligence of the workers there...and question if maybe the noxious fumes permeating the plant destroyed brain cells.

Mancubus suggested as much but only after they succeeded in synthesizing the deadly tonic. It took them only a moment of prodding the controls and punching buttons before the right quantities of each component spilled into a single holding tank. Manipulating the simplified setup one press further, a pedestal extended from a latch in the floor and introduced them to a container of the threatening substance.

"Ahh...perfection," stated their creepy guide from afar, "but don't...breathe...it in.."

Glancing at the sealed vessel, Amara experienced twice as much reluctance to approach it when Alistair insisted on them handling it with utmost care. Before she could walk past the control panel, Moze hurried ahead and took hold of the tonic - and promptly handed it off to their murderbot for safekeeping. It was the wisest choice, seeing as they had no reservations about handling it.

"Excellent!" expressed their trusted explorer, proceeding to inform them of exactly what they wanted to hear. "I believe I've tracked the Wendigo to its feeding ground. Come meet me there."

Like so many other tasks, ECHO made it possible. Not having the convenient connection with it that her tech-savvy teammates didn't prevent her from carrying hers in hand. There were, after all, many other things she preferred to have on her mind than microchips and circuitry. Unless manning Iron Bear, Moze had the same disadvantage, but she also had no reservations about leaning close while inspecting her favorite siren's holographic display.

Together, they hurried toward Hammerlock's ping. All she could think about was how they would finally be one step closer to breaking Wainwright's curse once they slayed the Wendigo. For the time being, she spared herself the reality that its kife would only lead them to scale a mountain - or in other words, yet another leg in their journey.

And to think she had previously anticipated the wedding as being a joyous celebration. Aside from hunting, which had been all but promised in the invitation, the disarray of everything else had thrown them a curveball. As much as she loved fighting, she decided it truly had no place in holy matrimony.

She would have spent more time reflecting on the peacefully passionate life she wanted for the grooms had it not been for Claptrap's unexpected, and deafening, wails shattering any hope of that.

Still convinced that Gaige had fabricated the whole Pearl of Ineffable Knowledge goose chase she had assigned to the robot, Amara had all but forgotten about it. For as much as she didn't mind the cubic construct, its voice was grating, and she wasn't particularly keen on it suddenly interrupting their mission.

As always, Claptrap had found its cowardly self in trouble well over its nonexistent head and in need of rescuing...again. Its predicament took Amara back to the first time they had encountered the bot and how it had been captured by the COV so shortly after.

Given how its maximized volume exceeded that of the cruel laughter stemming from the natives, Claptrap was easy enough to find. Phasegrasping the men circling it was even easier, her plum lips curling in a satisfied grin as the one wielding dynamite detonated, massacring both bodies in her orb. The added fact that the interdimensional rift contained both the blast and their splattered remains was that much sweeter.

Rushing on ahead, her teammates set about violently addressing the other barbarians in the settlement. As their brawling siren, she would have joined them had she not noticed their cowering ally instead. As pesky as Claptrap and its inflated ego were, she still felt a lurch of sympathy when seeing it withdrawn into itself like a casket. Shivering as severely as it was, its metal panels rattled.

Hearing the fatal screams of their enemies dying down made Amara's decision to console the bot that much easier. Kneeling beside it, she placed her gloved hand atop its dinged top. Despite her calmly soothing it, telling it that it was safe and not to worry, it didn't unshield its eyepiece until the telltale grunt of Zane kicking someone off his holoblades promised its harassers' deserved demise.

Following that, Claptrap extended up onto its wheel and unfolded its pincers. Frankly, as a typical robot, it wasn't thrilled to see the Vault Hunters as they converged around it. It did, however, give them a simple, "Okay, I've got a mission update for you!"

Why not tell Gaige instead? she was tempted to ask, wanting to spare them what would undoubtedly be a garrulous rendition of some outlandish journey. In fact, no one but Zane felt inclined to touch Claptrap's zealous rambling with a ten-foot pole. How he managed to sound so sincerely interested in its accomplishments made Amara question if he was actually curious. She hoped he was simply being more friendly than gullible.

"Hey there, boyo!" greeted the operative, talking to the unit like it was just the most adorable thing ever. "Havin' a lovely little adventure of yer own, are ye? What's been goin' on, bud?"

As much as Amara wanted to think Claptrap wouldn't delay them with some tall tale had Zane not asked, she knew it would have. There was no shutting it up - or ignoring its piercing synthetic voice - ever. She knew that for certain as soon as it launched into its far-fetched tale of nonsense.

Well, at least Claptrap nailed the finale. As glazed over as they had become by the bot's tangent, their eyebrows raised as an interdimensional portal appeared behind it and transported it elsewhere, making its story seem considerably more believable.

"Ooookay then," said Moze, giving her helmet a little wiggle of adjustment before thumbing an itch on her nose. "Moving on…"

Together, they settled for that.

…

Given what little she had gleaned about Hammerlock's reluctant experiences with Claptrap, Amara only blinked twice when happening upon the hunter waiting nearby. She did, however, give him the benefit of a doubt and assumed he had only just arrived on-location and would have assisted their ally had he been available.

...Then again, he hadn't wanted the uninvited CL4P-TP unit at his wedding, so maybe its untimely destruction would have served to his benefit.

Nevertheless, Alistair welcomed them with his full-lipped and handsomely distinguished appearance. He was very much rearing to go, his hold on his rifle boastful and very much exuding bravado.

"Splendid, Vault Hunters!" he said with gusto, "I could not imagine better hunting partners! Winny isn't one for hunting...He's blind in one eye, you know. But the good one, oh, looking into it sets my heart aflame!"

If that wasn't relatable for the siren, what was? She had experienced the same with her blue-eyed partner whose gaze she had stared so intensely into. Far from thinking about their former lovemaking, Zane gave his head a shake while not standing even three feet away.

"Lotsa eye problems among us old folks!" he remarked with a whistle and then spared a second to scratch along the edge of his metal replacement...nevermind that he had been single-sighted since childhood.

"Indeed, it seems," agreed the adventurer while granting the other man's cybernetic patch a moment of attention before nodding toward the awaiting cavern with determination. "Nonetheless, we haven't a moment to lose. To the lair, Vault Hunters!"

Krich after krich after krich scurried out of the walls to greet them after they happened across another nest. It seemed the vile creatures infested every dark crevice on Xylorgous, causing Amara's lips to draw back in contempt as she splashed acid toward their masses. Bulbous egg masses lined the large area like morbid bubble wrap, connected to fleshy tendrils that ran across them like distended arteries. Tolerant as her stomach was, she awaited the day she encountered her last bloated pest.

Needless to say, the swollen tick intent on getting in her face didn't last long, even if an errant splatter of its exploding guts caused her to shout in disgust and hastily wipe herself clean.

Thankfully she didn't have to repeat the process despite all the streams of bile being spewed at them. Zane's deployed shield spared them that, the dome flashing to life in time to deflect the slime and send it cascading down its iridescent surface. Fond of his leathers as he was, it went without saying that he had no interest in dry-cleaning his favorite outfit or risking having the caustic retching damage it. Another plus to the barrier was that it enhanced their shots and helped exterminate the pests that much quicker.

Even then, the Partalian wasted no time in taking point and leading their team far from the atrocious nest. She didn't care to have another mass of hatchlings rupture all around them.

"Should we have invited Eista on this hunt?" queried Hammerlock curiously, the nearness of his voice suggesting he was just shy of catching up. Out of respect, she slowed down and allowed him to. Soon enough, they were all scaling back to a jog and reserving their energy in anticipation of the slass they were destined for.

Continuing on, he continued treating them to his elegant accent. "Quite the accomplished tracker, isn't he?" he praised, though only he knew best. "Truth be told, I admire his free spirit. Roaming around the galaxy, collecting trophies and fame...A hunter must hunt, after all."

"Oh, I'd say he was hunting something," teased Moze, her hand coming out to pat Amara on the back. Her surprised reaction granted Moze the second she needed to dodge her friend's embarrassed jab.

"You shut up right now," the siren hissed, her expression instantly threatening. Unfortunately, the way Moze laughed suggested she was immune to the consequences.

"Also sounds like he wants to settle down!" she cackled - and took a hastily formed snowball to the face for it. Not far away, Zane chuckled merrily. For once, he was the mature adult in their bunch.

He did, however, nod at Alistair's back as the explorer slowed to a trot, inspecting the solid wall of vines that FL4K stepped forward to slice. Disinterested in human antics, the beastbot wanted only to hunt and remained hyperfocused as though already inspecting the latest spoils of his kill.

"If Hamm-o wasn't here to get hitched, I'd say ye had competition!" winked Zane, lending Moze an assist. If only she still had the element of surprise on her side, Amara was confident she would have landed her second snowy attack.

Catching wind of their antics, the eldest man among them gave a highly amused "Pish posh" before waving them along like a misbehaving band of children.

As it turned out, a large drop separated them from the Wendigo's lair. Regardless of age, each of them grunted as their boots struck rocky ground. Zane's wordless curse was sharp with pain, instantly filling her with concern. Had he not stood upright and recovered as quickly as he did, she might have checked on him. Even Moze withheld her usual jab at his age despite the prime window of opportunity, both of them glancing at each other as he squared his jaw and shook out his afflicted knees.

The sight that welcomed them was primal, the cavern looming and vast. Piles of debris burned like torches, the heat they gave off impressively sweltering despite the distant walls jagged opening. Intimidating spires made of icy minerals hung overhead, their tips gleaming menacingly with the daylight reflecting off the outer snowscape. Already, Amara felt like they were surrounded by teeth.

"Here we are!" announced Alistair, and though he had been there before, he still seemed in awe of that natural shelter. "Steel yourself. From what I gathered of this creature, this will be no easy hunt! It's gone for the moment," he said, stating the obvious. "What luck! Quick now, give me the bait."

That task was shared among the FL4K pack, the alpha shrugging off one strap of their rucksack in order to retrieve the poison darts and tonic. At their instruction, Mr. Chew spat out the wolven limb it had been dutifully carried while Meat Thief handed his away. Immediately after, the jabber romped off on all fours to leap and scale the walls of the rocky chamber, its long tail assisting behind it.

Steadying themselves and double-checking their munitions, the Vault Hunters keenly watched Hammerlock kneel and assemble prime Wendigo bait. He began stripping the wolven meat off the bones and proceeded to wrap the fleshy tendrils around the paralytic darts like a present. He then situated the strange-looking roast near the center of the territory. Only then did he stand back and drench the offering in the mushroom tonic, the odiferous substance pungently wafting through the space.

"Can't say I'd bring meatloaf to a first date, but I s'pose I might if it put 'em on all fours!" quipped the Irishman, earning sighs from all around.

Meanwhile, Alistair bowed his head over the offering and spoke a soft prayer. "Give me strength, Winny. All I do, I do for you."

Her heart fluttering, Amara embraced the welling of fondness she felt for the grooms and their true love. Even then, she kept her wits about her enough to heed Alistair's advice told to stand back. While the need wasn't dire at first, their wait only lasted a minute or two. Soon enough, the thunder of approaching, predatory steps had them frowning in stoked determination and raising their most capable weapons.

"The creature is coming! Here we go!" warned the hunter - more in excitement than out of necessity. Then, hushing them with a single finger against his lips, he hunched down and, at the onset of a bone-chilling roar, braced his stance.

After opening so many vaults and never knowing what to expect, Amara accepted the instinctive twist of anxiety that prepared her for anything. Even then, she couldn't help but entertain the thought of something looking as innocent as a bunny making an appearance after such elevated suspense.

What lunged from above and fell swiftly to all fours was definitely not deceiving. Instead, the skinned red of its sinewy body and its hostile posture was that of an apex predator. Its eyes, rabid yet cunning, fixed on them the instant it lashed its ugly head around to search for the tantalizing bait. Gnarled and toothy as it was, the Wendigo had a face not even a mother could love.

Later, Amara would question how someone could want such an atrocious trophy mounted in their studies. As much as she understood a hunter's pride in displaying the impressive beasts they had conquered, she couldn't grasp voluntarily staring at such a gruesome creature.

They wouldn't have to for long, she swore as she summoned her siren strength into her balled fist and sent her eight extensions rocketing toward the snarling predator. It swiftly vaulted from its taloned feet and deflected off the wall before kicking off and flying overhead, exposing them to its gore-stained underbelly.

It just wasn't Zane's day, it seemed, as the Wendigo proved itself to be a flamethrowing beast. One glance at the white-faced operative convinced Amara he quickly began feeling his pyrophobia, and for good reason: not only did the quadrupedal monster breathe fire but lit its broad antlers in it, tendrils of heat licking dangerously from the sharp tips. Still, despite nervous sweat breaking across his waxy brow, Zane racked another clip into his heavy machine gun.

Wendigo's aggression would have made it a convincing vault creature, same as the way it shook magma off its lethal horns. It launched itself from ledge to ledge in a spree to dodge their attacks, the force of its powerful legs sending tremors throughout the cavern. The violence of its landings, combined with its cave-shaking roars and the rising heat of its inferno, caused stalactites to crash down and pierce the ground with their deadly points.

From beginning to end, their battle with the creature was a blinding blur. Her heart pounded throughout it, her mind racing as its onslaught kept them on their toes. For its size, the Wendigo was fast, darting about the cliffs so quickly, it was difficult to track. Like any predatory beast, it seemed to fixate on Zane, whose terror must have smelled palpable.

If Amara thought she had already seen her teammate move at his fastest, she was proven wrong. Hyped up on pure adrenaline, Zane was practically a blur as he spewed a storm of colorful curses at the atrocity pursuing him. No matter what her and the others did to catch the bloodthirsty beast's attention, the Wendigo charged at him like an infuriated bull. Formidable as it was, relentlessly pursuing and slashing at him with ignited antlers, she had no chance of holding it within a phaselock.

It wasn't until Zane tripped and abruptly scrambled behind a stalactite that he had a moment of respite. Blinded by its bloodlust, the monstrosity rammed its head into the mass of ice with enough force to send itself careening onto its back. Rushing toward the stunned behemoth as the operative plastered himself behind cover and fought to catch his haggard breath, his team took aim at its fleshy underbelly and laid heavily on their triggers.

It wasn't enough to kill the alpha predator, much to their dismay. Instead, after it thrashed itself back onto its feet, it immediately sprang onto the ledges above and pierced their eardrums with an enraged and defiant roar.

Recovering quickly, Zane reunited with them and stood his ground...until a hungry flame licked his forearm and rushed to consume his arm. After that, his brave exterior crumbled beneath his pyrophobia, his outburst of terrified screams loud enough to rattle the stalactites hanging precariously overhead.

Reacting quickly, Amara clenched her fist toward his panicked flailing and phaselocked him enough that the orb surrounding him suffocated the fire. It was over within a second, the sapphire scrollwork across her brightening before she ceased the spell. Sweating and gasping, Zane immediately locked eyes with her and swallowed while nodding his thanks.

Cursing Captain again, she would later despise him further for so deeply traumatizing her otherwise fearless partner. She only hated the bastard more when comparing Zane's reaction to the terror Claptrap exhibited to flames. There was no denying how the pyromaniac Flynt left lasting scars on man and robot alike.

There was one point where she feared the operative locking up again, her eye catching the way he hastily staggered back from one streak of fire and collided with a fallen shard of ice, his finger off the trigger and his eye wide with panic. She captured him in another gentle phasegrasp and used it to suspend him in its cooler inner atmosphere while Moze, catching onto her intention, steered Iron Bear beneath him. Upon his release, Zane was perfectly situated to fall into the mech's turret, strategically distanced from most of the flames and grounded by manning the minigun.

With Iron Bear's full arsenal tearing into it, the Wendigo staggered. Stunned as it was, an explosion of her most focused power knocked it off its feet and threw it violently into the nearest pillar of ice. Exhausted as it rendered the Partalian, causing her to double at the waist and clutch her knees, the undeniable pain in the beast's bellow filled her with satisfaction.

A moment later, after Zane swiftly bailed from his mount, the heavyweight mech collided with the abomination, pinning it like a 15-ton battering ram. Hydraulics punched metal fists into the frigid surface and solidified its hold, allowing FL4K to approach with its massive rifle.

Impassively, the beastbot stood before the legendary predator, observing as it thrashed within its confines and opened its morbidly toothed jaws. It was the Wendigo's fatal mistake, its body lurching as the Vault Hunter shoved the barrel of its rifle down its throat and pumped a number of rounds straight into its organs.

Flesh and blood burst from its back, the creature's head spared. Spasms wracked its dying nerves as its limbs collapsed, sending the defeated predator buckling at the knees.

Opening her hatch, Moze cautiously leaned out from her beloved death machine before hopping down. Only then, with gloved hands on her tattooed hips, did she inspect her handiwork up-close and gave Iron Bear a thumbs up. The mech deconstructed after that, leaving the Wendigo's corpse to finally slide against the ice and fall flat onto its side. There, crimson drained from it and pooled below, the once fearsome animal reduced to so little.

"Take that, ye horny feck," sneered Zane. Amara finally noticed the position he had adopted, casually leaning against another impaled stalactite so that he could best admire the monster's demise.

As proud as the operative likely wasn't about his performance, it didn't seem to negatively impact his swagger any. Then again, he understood the depths of his traumas more than anyone else. The fact that he put himself above judgment proved he had every reason to react as he had...and that his triggers exceeded his stubbornness in a way few other things did.

She, personally, had no intention of hovering over the carcass. All she cared about was that the Wendigo was good as dead...and that they were finally able to collect its kife as instructed. How they went about doing that remained ambiguous, but she fully entrusted Hammerlock's knowledge.

Standing nearest their prim companion, FL4K regarded its fellow hunter with the dimmed glow of its sensor. They then turned their attention to their deceased prey.

"Should you wish to display this kill, I left its skull intact," they indicated, voice synthetic and resonant.

Nodding, the Englishman patted the tall figure near its shoulder before replying, "I see! How very considerate, my good chap. Indeed, I would love nothing more than to add this mighty beast to my revered collection! However, we have more pressing matters at hand."

Kneeling beside the felled animal, the man beneath the feathered hat clapped his hands together in celebration.

"We've done it, we've done it! Ahh, look at those trophies! That must be the kife," he announced, indicating something flaming along the Wendigo's underside. "Grab them for Eista!"

Wait, Amara thought before her mind skipped, reluctant to associate the tribesman's description of kife with...with-

"Ahh kife is balls," identified Zane in revelation, determining what she feared with a terse nod. "Got it."

Initially, he didn't seem perturbed by what he had so heartily, enjoyably, and unknowingly eaten. Still, he seemed to scratch his mustache in thought while they stood around the fallen Wendigo. With mixed expressions, they watched FL4K cut off the flaming testicles.

From then on, Zane's commentary was what anyone would expect.

"That damn Eista! What a sneaky way to get,

his balls in me mouth! He could'a jus' asked," pouted the operative in mock offense. Then, despite his teammates ignoring him, he laughed. "I'm kiddin'!"

Offended, still, by the clan leader, Amara couldn't help but think, Better you than me. Hell, Eista would likely have more luck with bedding the operative than he would her. She barely resisted making a sound of disgust while Zane, cocking a hip where he stood beside Alistair and his overly proper posture, rambled on.

"So does that mean ye hunter folks mount nuts to mantles like other trophies? Sure brings literal meanin' to goin' balls to the wall! Ha-ha!"

Alistair managed a startled smile at the other man's gravelly cackle. Surely he must have overheard Zane's boisterousness before, but it was one thing to hear it over ECHO and another to experience it disruptively spout off in one's ear.

Never one to be dissuaded by someone's silence, the former hitman went on. Had she any expectations of him toning himself down in the presence of a true gentleman, those hopes were easily dashed. Good-naturedly, the groom smiled at his ongoing yammerinng.

"Ahh, shiiiiite," trailed Zane in lofty amusement, giving a husky giggle. "I've had exes threaten to nail me giblets to a plaque. I s'pose they were huntin' big game!"

As the first one to break, Moze expelled a breath of exasperation. "Alright, peanut gallery, settle down."

It must have been painful for Zane not to capitalize on the gunner's unintentional pun. From the sound he made, it was a wonder he bit his tongue. Amara composed a mental note to never let him eat testicles again if this behavior was the result of it.

Admittedly, she still had her doubts. Were they sure that's what kife was? Should they have confirmed it with Eista first? Then again, Hammerlock's approval was evident as ever. Studious as he was, he would have corrected their error. Instead, his reason for speaking up was much more solemn.

Half hoping that was his intention to redirect them, the quiet seriousness of his voice filled her with concern. The wrong he wished to correct certainly had no involvement with testicles.

"Vault Hunters, before we go...a word."

At least she wasn't alone in having her attention seized by their prestigious companion. It was clear, based on her teammates' expressions, that they detected their friend's same soberness.

Certain he had captivated his audience, Alistair went on.

"About what I said earlier...about my confusion. When I laid eyes on the Wendigo, I felt fear in my heart. But then I thought of Winny, and I knew that nothing so pale and formless as fear could ever get in my way. I first became a hunter because for as long as I can remember, I have always been searching for something. Now I see that I have found it, and I am no less the hunter for it.

"Now," he finished, drawing in the breath of relief he had been waiting to take, "I wish to be at Winny's side. You have the trophies - return with them to Eista. Good luck, Vault Hunters!"

…

"Someone tell me I ain't imaginin' things, but isn't there a song 'bout great balls o' fire? Ah, wait, that'd be way before yer times - 'cept bot boyo's."

"Sounds like an infection to me," snorted Moze from up ahead as she led the way, introducing everyone to the back view of her star striped helmet.

Amara had to agree and went to say as much, but the sounds of battle cut her off - and for good reason: Eista's village was just ahead.

The unmistakable pandemonium of heated combat spurred them into action, the four of them breaking into a sprint. As much as they didn't want trouble to befell their newest ally, they definitely didn't need any last-minute complications preventing them from finally, finally, setting off for Negul Neshai.

Exhilarated laughter permeated the air as Eista gave his booming war cry. "We slass! We slaaasss!" From that alone, the Vault Hunters hoped the battle had only just begun.

The threat became clear even before they raced through the settlement gates, the strange laughter and shrill tongues of the Bonded abusing their ears. In their absence, Eista and his people had been attacked by the cultists, their tentacled numbers emerging through the green portals Amara found more aggravating than intriguing.

The bearish tribe leader took notice of them the moment they charged into battle. His pleased invitation called out to them as he swung his colossal hammers overhead and brought them down upon a larger Bonded, the impact crushing the shield and squiddy body beneath it. At the same time, Amara announced their arrival with destructive fists created by her own calamitous powers, her display only serving to further invigorate the leader.

"Gai-dos! Your aid would be most welcome! Slass at my side, friends!"

Between the flash of Zane's digiclone summoned to join the fray, the cracks of Zoomer's streaming lightning, and Moze cooking humanoid calamari with Iron Bear's mighty flamethrower, the battle created an impressive light show.

At least none of their new allies littered the ground by the end of it. Having had her doubts, Amara allowed her powers to dissipate while thanking the gods that none of Eista's people seem to have been injured in the crossfire. The eager fighters they were, the prospect of standing back and letting the Vault Hunters take all the kills had never crossed the locals' minds. Besides, the territory was theirs to proudly defend.

All things considered, the clan reminded her of what she had seen of the Sun Smashers on Pandora. Had more settlements been as barbaric before the Calypsos had absorbed them into their cult? She wouldn't have been surprised.

"Gai-dos!" greeted Eista, his bearded expression bright with relief as he thundered up to them in fur boots. "The snows don't redden with your blood today! My friends, let us talk!"

It seemed his machismo never waned. The same could be said for his evident interest in her. Maybe now more than ever, after witnessing her in lethal action, his attraction grew even more intense. He very much looked like he considered taking her in one arm and brandishing one hammer overhead while pronouncing her his glorious queen.

Wonderful.

Apparently Eista decided he still needed his arms attached. While he showed her his best angle and puffed his barrel chest, he didn't progress further. Instead, he proceeded to lead the way toward the cursed ice they sought, the suede of his garments trailing behind him and his bare triceps bulging like melons. Those she couldn't help but appreciate, same as the thick hair trailing down his back.

"Those tainted souls have never dared to slass with me before," he told them, trailing into a deep hum before continuing. "The black wind is blowing. I can smell their putrid scent. The cult is growing in power, fed by the monster itself.

"But," he went on, turning to grin at them with esteem, "there is something else in the air. Perhaps it is their fear, Gai-dos! Of you! Gaha, but what of the hunt? What of the Wendigo?"

"We brought those balls back," their operative informed him before pretending to catch his so-called mistake and correct his nomenclature - but in typical Zane fashion. "Oh, sorry, 'kife'. Wink."

Unphased, Eista appeared to inspect each of them and experienced a swell of pride for their success.

"Hah! Gai-dos, you are not just hunters, you are one of us now! We will use the Wendigo's fiery kife to melt the ice that stands in your way. Place the kife there," he instructed, gesturing to the torches situated on either side of the gate, "and you will soon be back on the hunt!"

That had been their plan all along and it wasn't bound to change. Particularly after they had gone all that way, and lost so much time, there was no turning back and not a single bone among them that would have considered it.

"Come on, boyo," urged Zane, fighting to keep a straight face as he looked to the AI among them. "Cup yer hot balls fer us!"

Their optical lens going flat, FL4K produced the two key items. Holding one in each heat resistant hand, they deposited the testicles in each mount. True to Eista's word, fire erupted from the offering and spread, readily consuming the ice in a blaze that sent steam effervescing into the arctic air.

Well, at least the results weren't anticlimactic. Eista was undeniably pleased, his victorious roar rattled the icicles lining the huts nearby.

"Such power! This is true kife, Gai-dos! Gaha!"

Now, only bare lumber separated them from the path. The tribesmen who approached from either side of the passageway moved to open the gates and show their support for their endeavor. At the same time, Eista went on, his tone gruff with dramatism.

"Beyond is the cursed mountain. They say the wind carries the voices of the past. Many have gone there but none have come back," he warned, and still, they began to walk past. For once, Amara was grateful to have her teammates concentrating on what awaited them ahead. That way, they didn't witness Eista's hand descending on her shoulder, practically swallowing it whole as he applied a supportive squeeze. He then said, with warmth in his burnt umber eyes, "May you find what you seek, Gai-dos."

She could only think, as his massive paw fell away, what choice did they have?

...

Situated to morbidly greet them just beyond, human bodies were crystallized in dense facets of ice. A number of them lined the way, forever forced to stand like statues within the same cold that had stolen their lives.

It quickly became apparent that the climb to Negul Neshai was a steep and treacherous one - enough that Moze and Amara glanced at each other, and then at their black-lunged companion with shared misgivings.

"What?" came Zane's raspy response, their actions not lost on him. Apparently he wanted them to say what he detected them thinking. Already, he was glaring at them in stern opposition.

More arguing might have been in the forecast had Gaige not decided to pipe up and celebrate their minor victory.

"All right, all right! Looks like you got past those ball-eating barbarians - and I do say that with all fondness, by the way, but now it is time to climb, baby! Negul Neshai awaits!"

By no means was the mechromancer wrong, and the harsh slope ahead of them proved it. Neither Amara nor Moze bothered with badgering Zane further, certain that their point would be made as they began that treacherous climb. If he had any actual intention of downplaying the poor state of his lungs, the frosty air betrayed him. That and physical exertion aggravated his condition, causing him to cough in irritation. Amara lost count of the times she noticed him hacking behind one muffling arm during their ascent. Once more, she failed to see the benefit of his particularly toxic vice.

Pointedly ignoring him, the gunner hooked a thumb past her shoulder and sighed to the siren. "FL4K can drag him."

"That will likely be necessary," acknowledged in the AI, earning Zane's audible scowl. Probably scaling a wintery, steep mountain was the last thing he needed and they all knew it.

"Oh go fist yerselves," he rasped. He had most definitely sounded better, but then he had no one to blame but himself for the abrasion in his lungs.

Despite her teasing, Amara preferred that the gunner wouldn't claim victory. Their middle-aged companion had that stubborn look to him that proved he would prevail one way or another, regardless if his cardiovascular health was punishing him.

Holding back her smirk, the siren nodded. "We could always leave him to stuff his face with more testicles."

"Ye'd like that," came his snarky retort. Then, tilting his beard toward the summit, he obstinately propped his knuckles atop his slender hips. "The three o' ye fecked yerselves hard by challengin' me. Now I'm gonna prove ye wrong."

Amara certainly wished he would. In no way did she want to hear her former lover huff and wheeze as he had back on Pandora. Now, with a steeper climb and a more frigid climate, he had more working against him. As they resumed their trek, stuffing their boots into the snow and leaning into footholds for what traction they could muster, her own body cursed the brisk air. At times, the fine crystals permeating the winds stabbed through her throat like countless needles.

The more they hiked, the more her muscles burned, and the rawer her chest felt. Casting siren heat to her hands and cupping them over her mouth provided temporary respite - a trick she found herself resorting to more and more. She noticed soon after that the operative had, for once, secured the high collar of his coat in an attempt to do much the same. That, or to muffle the sound of his coarse wheezing. The disgruntled squint of his eye and the deep crevice between his brows made his discomfort evident enough.

Still, by sure bullheadedness alone, Zane trudged behind them. More than once, one of them would fall back to hover closer, only to hear his asthmatic huffing. Amara had to give it to him: he managed by the end, though the blue in his face was more from oxygen deprivation than the environment. As soon as the land flattened out and they agreed on a break, Zane dropped to his knees and leaned his forehead atop the glittering snow.

"Well, at least he managed," said Moze, sounding slightly impressed.

"Someday…" he barely just managed, a rattling cough interrupting and causing his torso to shake. With how guaranteed he was to blame being middle age, someone was bound to cut him off if his poor health hadn't.

Taking advantage of his collapse and finally standing above him, at 5'4", Moze knuckled her hips and laughed in disbelief.

"Man, you have to work on your comebacks the next time you can breathe. Look at you acting old as fuck again. I'm sure your black lungs have nothing to do with you smoking like a chimney," she mocked, as unamused with his bad habit as much as Amara was.

Well, at least the siren could standby and allow someone else to lecture him for a change.

As much as Zane was tempted to argue, another series of staggering coughs prevented his attempts. By the end of it, he hung his silver head and shook it - the universal sign for Not-putting-up-with-this-shite.

Victorious, the gunner reached down to beat his back and assist him in clearing his airway when the next spasm overtook him. After that was finished, she smirked. "Yeah, denying you smoke is like saying Amara doesn't pump iron - toooootal bullshit."

Cause for concern was how Zane forfeited that argument to instead sit and rest there on the powdery snow. The position he adopted was one she had seen him in often: with his left leg outstretched and his other bent upright at the knee while supporting his right wrist, his hand free to dangle over it.

With his respirations stabilizing, it was a relief to know they wouldn't need to resuscitate him. For as many times as he had gotten winded around them, that was the first that caused FL4K to hover. The beast bot seemed prepared to lift and transport the operative if needed, and though the arrangement would likely be more dignified, Amara couldn't help but envision Zane being carried by them like a dramatic damsel in distress.

Spared from the aching cold, Gaige blathered to them across the ECHO, her voice blissfully free of exertion. Back at the Lodge, she was clearly taking her responsibilities seriously.

"Ooh! Fun fact, just looked it up and Negul roughly translates to 'soul obliteration and Neshai means 'a soul tortured in hate gravy'".

"Well, that's...charming?" tried the siren, wondering what the latter consisted of. She couldn't say she knew of such a thing in Partalian cuisine and thought it sounded... bloody.

It must have been, as their resident Pandoran piped in, sounding as though he now had a lowkey hankering for such a thing.

"Ah, me granny used to make a mean hate-gravy!"

Goodness, Amara wondered, what were grandmothers like on Pandora? She was afraid to know, but even more than that, she had never considered their existence in that hellscape. No one on that planet was sweet and nurturing.

As they passed through another black cave climbing up to a jagged and winding path, Gaige went on. After all, she wasn't freezing her nips off or being suddenly pelted by steady snowfall.

"Mancomb Sheepgood at the bar said this place was an old Dahl facility," provided the mechromancer. As did Eleanor and everyone else. "They can be on the paranoid side when it comes to security, but I know all the tricks around that stuff. I was hacking Dahl stuff when I was, like, six."

Then, in a more excitable outburst, she addressed her BFF - and sounded a bit tipsy doing it.

"Yo, Deathtrap! Another marg! Ugh, yeah with the salt!" Like there was no other option.

Back to business, Gaige continued chattering to them. Amara couldn't help but smile when Zane, forcing a sigh from his rattling chest, muttered, "What're we gonna do with this feisty lass?"

"Okay, so I have been running some numbers, and I'm pretty almost totally sure my plan will work. We get a piece of the monster's heart, then use it with Deathtrap's sick-ass laser eye to blast down that forcefield around the venue."

Then, projecting her voice elsewhere, she rallied, "You hear that, babe?! Upgraded laser eye! Woot woot! Ooh, also? Yeah, uh - let me get an omelet. I gots the margarita munchies."

Moze had to ask, "Hey Zane, you sure she's not some long lost daughter of yours? I mean, she's so sciency and chatty - and she drinks. Plus her best bud is a robot she designed."

Raspberrying out a laugh, the operative flippantly shrugged. "I mean, I had a thing fer redheads - what lad doesn't? - but I'm preeetty sure most would've rather killed me than had me babies."

Could Amara relate? Basically. Her hair wasn't red-hot but her temper sure was.

Promptly redirecting her thoughts so that she didn't mentally slaughter her partner - because the urge still hadn't waned enough over the last month - she rolled her eyes at Moze's teasing. Hers was a compelling angle if there ever was one, which was particularly amusing if Gaige did indeed have daddy issues.

Happening across another small crowd of ice-entombed bodies, the Vault Hunters weaved their way through what felt like some eerie, modern art gallery. They were significantly less phased than their observing mechromancer was.

"Ah, well, that's only a little creepy, heh. Are all those dudes frozen solid?"

Veering toward one so she could tap one knuckle against the crystalline figure, Moze let the tink tink answer her. They all heard the redhead give an audible shudder, almost as though she was feeling the chill for herself.

As it turns out, a few of the bandits seemingly paralyzed suddenly burst into action, effectively startling them. Shocking as it was, their attempts at an ambush were wasted, their freezer burned bodies soon littering the otherwise pristine snowdrifts. Seeing no other way how they could survive being so solidly frozen, Amara didn't doubt they were afflicted by more of Eleanor's curses.

Readying her fists as she sharply inspected the remaining icy figures, she felt her guard lessen as Zane stepped into her periphery. Binoculars aligned with his eyes, she noticed him manipulating its settings to presumably focus on finer details.

"Looks like this Mancomb feller was right after all," he grunted. In agreement, Gaige spoke up again, convincing Amara beyond a doubt that she was watching his optical feed.

"Damn. Those are Vulture-class rail turrets. They've been out of service for decades. They pack a punch, but they suck up a whole reactor's worth of juice. Blow 'em up and the whole system will overload."

"Ahhhh, good ol' Dahl," reminisced Zane, who pulled at the hair at his chin while remembering some of the many bones he had to pick with them and judge after all his training. "Always throwin' money at shite systems with fatal flaws! All this is bringin' back memories, alright."

Raising his left arm, the operative pointed forked fingers at either turret. The familiar sight of Zoomer digistructing from his shoulder module and lifting off made his intentions more than apparent, the drone quickly zipping toward its targets.

Amara might not jive with technology but she could clearly see its advantages, particularly while witnessing Zane's creation engaged the security system. Attacking each mounted gun with white-hot bolts of electricity, Zoomer darted between the two too nimbly for them to lock on. Like an insect defending its hive, the drone remained in a constant state of motion, whirling and dodging railgun fire until their overloaded shields malfunctioned. After that, it engaged its machine guns to shear through their metal armoring.

Like a proud father, the operative crossed his arms and passively waited. Beside him, FL4K belatedly lowered the rifle they had prepared to provide cover fire. The entire process didn't last three minutes before the cannons spouted sparks and began spiraling out of control. Destructively malfunctioning, they exploded and rained down in pieces.

"See? Old tech! Tooooons of workarounds," Gaige repeated as if proving a point. Then, with renewed bravado, she verbally grinned. "Vault Hunters, get in there and find that research ship! We need to find a piece of that heart!"

As entertaining as it was to watch Zoomer working its magic, Amara's kind of fun introduced itself as oversized Bonded poured through the outpost's opening gate. Even through the hazy winds and the fine snowfall, the luminous green of the khel vods' oversized pustules and rubbery arteries gave away their hulking bodies.

Incendiary rounds flew, their chemicals instantly igniting, while at the same time Amara created her own electrical storm. More and more rifts open, misshapen warriors traveling from their dark dimension, only to have their unwieldy shields knocked away or decimated within their grasp. Dismembered tentacles writhed while spewing inky gore across white powder and steel infrastructure, while the last Bonded standing thrashed within devouring flames. Across the facility's steps, its remains collapsed into smoking ash.

Voice laden with displeasure, Eleanor struggled to keep her rage from boiling over.

"Playing with you has been fun, but I no longer find this amusing. I'm warning you. Your trespasses upon this mountain will not go unpunished."

"Awww, list'n to 'er," cooed Zane while fluttering his frosty eyelashes, "pretendin' like she doesn't have a tentacle usin' 'er as a sock puppet!"

Wanting to shake the image that gave her, Amara scowled while reloading her shotgun. Then, alongside her bearded partner, she shared the lead, their foursome storming the dark interior of the outpost and making quick work of the Bonded attempting to stop them in their tracks.

A steep mountain pass greeted them on the other side, and beyond it, a massive spaceship awaited them. Eager to reach that promised landmark, the four Vault Hunters staggered their butt sledding down the slick path.

Her stomach leaping into her throat from the expedited descent, Amara ensured she leaned away from the jagged cliff edges until her boot soles struck level ground. Zane's smooth leathers forced him to narrowly avoid her, lacking the same friction her denim and sash provided. Reaching down, she helped him up with a smooth flexing of biceps and offered Moze the same smirking assistance.

"That's a Dahl ship, alright," confirmed Gaige, also insinuating that Zane was studying the manmade monument. "Old, too. Raven-class. Built for deep-space expeditions. Don't see a lot of those anymore. Once built a model of one out of my dad's car, heh. I put it all back together. Eventually."

Speaking of cars, a bulky cargo truck was half-submerged in the snow not far from the empty garage that must have stored it forever ago. Without protection from the harsh elements, the vehicle was at its final resting place. Amara wished she could say the same for Eleanor, who slithered into their ECHO feeds again.

"There is no sacrifice too great for the one you love. If I must destroy the last vestige of our past to stop you, then so be it," she pledged with resolve.

Punctuating her sinister claim, the rocket systems on the vessel roared to life, the force of its thrusters shaking the entire mountain. Embedded as it was, the research ship rumbled while driving itself further into Negul Neshai. Even far away as the massive construct was, Amara could feel the intense heat soaking into her muscles, the fuel burned by the rockets all but blinding as it melted the landscape.

Biting her lip, the siren envisioned the ship becoming one outrageous pressure cooker - and her fear wasn't off the mark, according to Gaige. Her sassy voice sounded exasperated, even as Zane muttered a low "heck" beside her.

"Yep, that's not great," said their support redhead, continuing to state the obvious. "She's got the thrusters on full burn. That ship's gonna melt soon! You guys gotta get in there FAST!"

"And cook with it?" grumbled Moze, reverting to her pessimistic self. She had received so many damning orders, after all, and didn't see this as being much different.

Seeing how rapidly the situation was dangerously progressing, Amara couldn't blame the Ursa Corps gunner. She wasn't particularly intrigued by the idea, either, but what other choice did they have?

Determined for them, Gaige pressed on. "Well, looks like the only way in is directly through that concrete wall. See if you can find a way to punch through it."

All eyes were on the Partalian, suddenly, who never minded being the center of attention. "I wish," she sighed with a glowing flex of her fists. Even if she had formerly relieved stress by sinking her arm into a cement truck, she had her doubts about toppling a reinforced military barrier.

That didn't stop her from trying, though. Mustering all her strength and centering her chakra at the heart of her core, she drew a deliberate breath before willing her powers to erupt through her arm. Her flesh burned vibrantly, beautifully, as ghostly shadows overlapped her arm and multiplied her strike seven times. The result was thunderous, the force of the impact reverberating tumultuously to her shoulder.

Fissures spiderwebbed outwards until jagged shards exploded off the periphery and littered the ground, but beyond that, the wall remained solid. Wrenching her knuckles from the indent, Amara snarled in disappointment. She had only just begun drawing back for another punch when Zane's hand caught her wrist, forcing her to glance back and see the impressed elevations of her teammates' eyebrows...where applicable.

"Don't wanna go damagin' these beauties," cautioned the operative while giving the back of her hand a reassuring pat. "We'll need 'em at their best fer all the arsekickin' we're gonna give. Let's find another way."

About to open her mouth in protest, Amara ultimately decided against it. She trusted her best weapons to survive another two strikes before they developed a dull ache, but was it really worth the risk? She never wanted to find herself sidelined or unfit for firing a weapon.

Already, having scouted the area, Zane thumbed behind himself and directed their attention to a cement structure situated a thousand feet away.

"Another Dahl workaround!" he grinned with a cocky bob of his eyebrows, their tufts glittering with frost.

Amara couldn't say with a clear conscience that she had noticed the ice accumulating on his facial hair until then. Despite herself, she was mesmerized with watching the icicles dangling from it as he spoke, the rime blending in and visibly elongating his white-silver whiskers.

Suddenly pestered by that very same thing, he frisked his mustache and beard before reaching out to their friendly mechromancer. "Found a big arse security turret. Think that'll do, yeah?"

If Gaige said anything, Amara didn't notice. Instead, she caught herself admiring her partner's cheekiness and wondering why they couldn't all be so carefree about entering a ticking time bomb. While FL4K remained inscrutable, she knew they remained fascinated by death and had no reservations about it. Meanwhile, Moze was sweating in much her same way.

Together, they scaled the steel stairs leading to the artillery mount and jumped the ledges that comprised the quickest route to the top. The closer they got to it, the more its massive size promised that it could cave that wall. Surely that sort of destruction was its intended purpose, after all.

"Not as elegant as punching, but this big hunk of a security turret could do the trick," she said with a nod. Maybe she and technology could find common ground after all.

Joining in, Moze gave her two cents. "Huh. This looks promising. What do you say, FL4Keroo?"

"It will suffice," agreed the AI, accustomed to one of many nicknames.

Meanwhile, she discovered Zane crossing his arms and stroking his beard in thoughtful pulls while studying the oversized gun. It took him a long moment to notice her. When he did, he gave her a crooked smile that caused her stomach to somersault before she could squelch it. Why, again, did she have to have a teammate who knew how sexy he was?

"Always love me a biggun that packs a punch! Truth be told, I eyeballed some schematics o' this bad boy when developin' a shoulder canon fer meself. Wonder what happened to it?"

Giving a flippant shrug, the operative discarded that train of thought before frowning past her at the space vessel still burning rocket fuel in the distance.

"Oooh, good find!" agreed Gaige, giving her verbal thumbs up after finally catching onto their conversation. "Like I said, those things need a lot of power. Make sure it'll actually work when we fire it up."

Zane gave a hum before stepping forward and feeling along the maintenance hatch. Interrupting to guide his hands aside, Amara struck the offending barrier with the flat of her palm and sent it crashing to the snow.

Giving an impressed whistle, he gave her a smirk. "That works," he admired before grimly frowning at their discovery. "Annnnd this won't."

Furrowing her eyebrows, Amara realized she had been right to dislike technology in the first place. In their extensive experiences, nothing ever functioned without assistance. If it wasn't some defunct power cell that needed replacing, some other components were usually missing.

With so much time having passed since Wainwright's possession and still having everything on the line, she almost roared like a tiger in frustration. In contrast, the gadgeteers among them were far less cynical, preventing her overreaction.

"Missing fuses," diagnosed Gaige, sounding more annoyed than anything. "Okay, I got this. Uh, let me think...no fuse, no problem. If this place uses standard Dahl architecture, there should be a fuse in a redundant system nearby."

Maybe thirty seconds had passed before she spoke up again, sounding more than a little impressed with herself.

"Yes! Called it. Still need one more fuse but I thought of a solution. Go find one of those electric bugs that live around here. Its heart should work as a fuse in a pinch. Improv, baby!"

Moze wrinkled her nose with misgivings. "Seems a bit crazy."

"Only gotta work once! Plenty replacements nearby, too," shrugged Zane, not seeing the harm in trying.

Pulling a face of her own, Amara had been hoping to avoid kriches - not actively seek them out, particularly for a dissection. Hadn't they already tampered with organs enough already during that trip?

FL4K didn't think so. "Let us commence with the hunt," they said before defaulting to their favorite long-barreled rifle.

…

That was how they found themselves neck-deep in kriches yet again, their masses crackling with blue energy. By that point, the pests were nothing new, but never had they been in such tight confines with so many. The narrow passageway soon filled with static and arcing electricity, the air so thick with it that she felt her tongue tingling. That made her all that happier to fire on them and put them out of their dangerous misery.

So focused on her goal, she didn't see her partner drop his firearm. She barely heard the heavy SMG strike the ground at his feet, and only belatedly turned to see her partner stagger into a wall before falling to one knee.

More alert than herself, FL4K was there to assist. The massive beastbot backed alongside the grimacing operative and slung one inhumanly strong arm around him. While Moze cursed the swarm and unloaded Iron Bear's railgun on them, Amara had a free moment to watch the nomad haul Zane to his feet and half-drag him away from the scene. It wasn't until she carried the shuddering organ in her hand that she and the gunner reunited with their taller companions near the turret.

FL4K's protective hovering over their operative wasn't lost on Amara. In fact, no one with eyesight could have mistaken the way the massive beastbot positioned themself to shield him from half of the elements. The siren found herself oddly touched, again, at the sentiment shown by the sentient AI. Ever since Zane had begun conducting repairs on the bot, the two had developed a kind of symbiosis.

"All this interference doesn't quite mesh with me tech," the older man grit between locked teeth, still visibly bristling from the aftereffects of what he described. "Did it to meself, I s'pose, but goddamn. Gimme a minute."

With concern, they watched as he turned his back to them and wretched dryly, his hand barely preventing him from headbutting the cement structure. In unison, both her and Moze hurried over to lend an assist, their hands reaching for his upper arms as he slid back against the cold surface.

Between the hanging of Zane's head and the haggard draw of his breathing, she found herself doubting that he could go on. It would be a first, and yet the operative managed a groaning chuckle as he settled into the snow and cradled his aching cranium in one gloved hand.

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Jus'...don't wanna blow testicle chunks," he admitted with a pained swallow before dismissing them with a flap of his hand. "Prefer me balls to stay descended, honestly. Anywho, enough wastin' time. All of ye go on ahead. Ye gotta stop that ship from meltin' down. I'll catch up."

Glancing between themselves, both she and Moze opened their mouths to argue. It was FL4K's resonant voice that broke the brief silence, posing a surprisingly troubled protest. Evidently the beastbot felt strongly about leaving a pack member.

"My own sensors detected interference capable of endangering my circuits with prolonged exposure," hummed the AI, relating as only they could and suggesting solidarity with their companion. With that, they vowed, "I will stay behind and provide protection until you recover."

In return, Zane gave a lighthearted scoff. "Nah, totally unnecessary. Ain't like we haven't killed everything 'round here anyhow," he offered with a stifled chuckle. It seemed he had conveniently overlooked how the Bonded arrived through portals. "Go on an' look after the gals. I know yer all gonna miss me, but it'll just be a minute. I'm gonna ice me noggin' an' be back on me feet in a jiff."

With that, Zane lowered a hand to scrape at the snowy ground. Once he loosened enough to collect in his palm, he scrubbed it across the back of his neck.

Making a sound of discontent, FL4K continued looming over him like a statue. Surveying the operative with a slitted lens, their scrutiny must have felt tangible.

"Did it to meself," Zane said after a pause, deciding against shaking his head despite visibly considering. "Comes with havin' one's brain wired like a motherboard. No one go tellin' Tannis that or her she'd prob'ly try makin' a puppet o' me."

Looking to her, Moze's kohled face was etched with equal concern. Then, turning back to the ailing operative, she tilted her head. "Can't say I ever noticed you having issues before. I mean, those ones."

"And my powers grant me some immunity to electrical elements," Amara pitched in, noticing Zane's quick glance of envy.

The sight he gave slackened his entire body. "Usually I keep me distance or I'm the first one killin' whatever I know's gonna zap me. Wasn't so lucky this time. Too many of 'em...damn bullet sponges."

Reaching to rifle through an inner jacket pocket, Zane withdrew a single cigarette and poked it between his lips. Then, talking around it in ways that made its length bob, he produced his lighter in a similar fashion.

With how miserable he looked, she didn't feel so strongly about smacking the offending smoke from his shaky hand. If he needed something to calm his fried nerves, it was his choice. And given how he was making the proactive decision to sit one out, she knew better than to argue. She would have never fathomed him making such a cautious call. Still, she frowned as he took a deep drag from his now lit cigarette.

Closing his eye and leaning back, Zane let the warmth soak in before he gradually exhaled through his nostrils. Just as slowly, he appeared to relax.

"It's just not me day," he muttered with a quiet, yet raspy laugh. It immediately tumbled into an achy groan before he dropped his head back against the structure behind him, elongating the sour swallow of his throat. "First, I get chased by some flamin' moose from hell an' then...well, this," he finished with an ambiguous wave of his hand.

Whining, Mr. Chew took the motion as an invitation and lumbered over, bunting his face against the operative's shin. Again and again, the skag repeated the process until the target of his worried affections placed a hand atop his horned head and patted him reassuringly. Long tongue extending slowly, it rose to lick the side of his face, scraping stubble and sideburn until the operative drew away with an awkward smile.

After that, Chew didn't hesitate to lay across his boots and extend his back legs behind him, making a sound in his belly that said, clear as day, Not moving until someone makes me. Only then did his stubby tail wiggle with happiness.

Well, at least someone was comforted. Amara couldn't say the same as she narrowed her worried gaze in skepticism and demanded, "What, exactly, is this?"

Always one to catch her off-guard, Zane actually answered her. That was an indication of his unwell state, she was sure of it, which only furthered her concern. What he told her was not what she, or anyone, wanted to hear.

"Have some damaged components in me head that've been needin' repairs fer some time. Until now, I only suspected there was somethin' amiss, but without the tech givin' me errors, I couldn't be sure. Now I am," he irritably grumbled, pausing to palm at the side of his skull again.

"What?" she snapped before she could stop herself, her upset confusing itself with anger. "Why in the hell haven't you had it checked?"

"'Cause I haven't had time to have someone screwin' in me head," responded the operative like it was the most obvious reason ever.

Amara didn't even have a chance to sputter before Moze cut in. "Nah, he'd rather be screwed in the head," she smirked, earning his chuckle and stifled flinch.

"Not much gets me in the mood fer brain surgery, boyos. Ain't a kink o' mine. Truth be told, without knowin' the extent of it, there's no sayin' how long I could be down for. I wasn't gonna risk missin' this shindig," he explained before adding, with a bitter chuckle, "Glad I didn't!"

"Honestly, it hasn't been a problem 'til now," he defended with a shrug, appearing less cooperative with each passing moment. "So long as me systems aren't spillin' error codes an' me equilibrium is intact, it ain't somethin' I need'ta rush."

Amara was not one to agree. Her hostile expression made it known, her normally soft features sharpening with anger. Was it misplaced? Hardly, but it was difficult to distinguish it from loving concern. More than she wanted to physically carry Zane to treatment now, she wanted to beat him over his stubborn head. Now, more than ever, there wasn't time for either, nor was it appropriate if something was already broken in there.

"We'll find someone as soon as we return to Sanctuary," she affirmed with determination - to which Zane gave a predictably obstinate scoff. More than before, she wanted to throttle him for being such a stubborn, stupid man.

"I have people, thank ye very much. Ones I pay handsomely not to kill me or exact revenge. An' I go through the process of vettin' 'em every time."

For Amara, it was set in stone that she would attend his surgery whether he approved or not. He could hiss and spit at her all he wanted but he didn't have a choice. As his partner, she didn't trust anyone else to protect him - especially not for a hefty payoff. No amount of money would be reassurance enough for her no matter how insanely high the amount was. Without a doubt, both Moze and FL4K felt the same.

The mere thought of Zane pulling one of his vanishing acts to undergo something so dangerous was almost unbearable for her. Knowing he damn well would - and not only that but intended to - almost pushed her over the edge. She had to carve her nails into her sweating palms to get a hold of herself, the sting helping her sober. Had she considered the unthinkable consequences of his operation, there wouldn't have been a chance in hell of her composing herself.

Pausing to pull from his cancer stick again, Zane savored it before reaching out to the side and tapping off the accumulated ash. Then he admitted, with a lopsided smirk, "Probably time I get meself a new shield, too. The one I pack around resists electricity...but I was kinda shitefaced when I performed maintenance on it last. Woops, heh."

That's right, give me more reasons to shove your own head up your ass, Amara wanted to say, but instead, she bit her tongue and focused again on the spaceship in the distance. Watching its boosters still expelling cones of fiery accelerant, she still struggled with their only option. Uniformly torn between loyalty and duty, the others did the same.

"Still got me clone an' drone. I'm set," insisted Zane while tilting his pointed chin toward the ship. "Go on now. That thing's gonna blow if ye don't stop it, an' then this whole mess of a trip is gonna be fer nothin'. I dunno 'bout you guys, but I'd rather be back at the Lodge drinkin' an' partyin' then freezin' me arse off fer one more second."

It was an effective argument, as each of them could clearly relate.

...

As reluctant as they were to leave their operative behind, they really didn't have a choice. Gaige was repeatedly harping on them to get aboard the vessel and disengage its engines. To do that, they still needed to arm the turret and break into the stronghold. With renewed determination, the siren rushed toward the marker assigned to her ECHO and sought the likely whereabouts of a necessary fuse.

Splashing across puddles hissing with untamed electricity, she proceeded to take advantage of her fitness and made quick work of scaling the many ledges and collapsed walkways of the maintenance shelter. Graceful as a tiger, she captured finger holds and lifted herself with capable arms, thoroughly enjoying the taste of muscle-pumping parkour.

Seemingly in no time, she had woven her way up through multiple stories and pushed off a pipe to duck her way through an access tunnel. There, she dropped down and discovered precisely what she wanted to find - and didn't waste a second in snatching the fuse from its port.

By the time she had made tracks back to the turret and slapped home that vital component, there were three cigarette butts on the ground. She could feel the contrast between herself and the operative, who looked haggard while she glowed from an energizing workout. Had she been there a minute earlier, she would have seen him wretch out the contents of his stomach and hastily conceal it beneath a pile of snow.

Resisting her need to harp at him, the Partalian instead watched Moze squish the krich heart into its new home. She then presented the fuse for her friend to insert it much more gingerly. Only then was the circuit complete, though it took until the flip of the nearby switch to determine if their repair was successful.

And it was, thank God. At the first spark of electricity, the cardiac organ shuddered to life and began convulsing, sparks permeating its muscular fibers. It was a morbid display but an assuring one, with Gaige hooting over ECHO, "Righteous! Now blast it!"

The gunner manipulated the controls and targeted the concrete wall before firing. Sapphire and stunning, the cannon unleashed a plasma burst that ruptured the barrier and sent its remains crumbling...before shooting another, and then another, until Moze threw the lever to disengage it. Meanwhile, the mechromancer talked at them across ECHO.

"Hey-hey-hey, check this out. 'EXPLOSIONS! MEEDLY-MEEDLY-MROWWW!That's my Torgue impression. Heh-heh-heh...ah, I miss having friends. Anyway, keep on toward the research ship, Vault Hunters, and find a piece of that heart!"

What she would have given to see Gaige break into that while standing by the two grooms. Without a doubt, neither would have understood her antics. Did they even know anything about Torgue? If Hammerlock didn't, then Amara suspected he soon would...even against his own will. Odd as Mancubus was, she wouldn't put it past him to find her outburst somewhat strange.

For now, what happened at the Lodge wasn't significant. She couldn't allow herself to linger on the fact that Zane, instead of crawling to watch the destruction, had only grimaced as both it and the mechromancer's guitar solo had wreaked havoc on his head. Even then, he managed to smile before patting FL4K's kneeling form on their shoulder. Only then did the beastbot move to regroup with the others before the three of them slid down the embankment. Through that demolished wall, they entered the Dahl facility.

Desperate to make up for lost time, they continued toward that shuddering vessel with frantic momentum. If only they'd had Zane's speed, Amara thought while ducking and veering away from the thrusters igniting all around them. If only they had Zane. But he would catch up with them soon enough, she reminded herself, and honestly, he was far safer than the rest of them. After all, he wasn't rushing into that armed explosive just yet.

Of course, the Bonded were there in droves, eager to inhibit them every step of the way. Like flies on Eden-6, they swarmed and aggravated their team until Amara was shouting through her teeth and throwing phaselocks in every possible direction. She captured them, crushed them, and fought with her spectral fists until her body burned from the energy sapped from it.

Shipping crates and tissue-like masses dotted the large facility, interrupting its drab gray monotony. It just so happened that the cement maze they maneuvered through best bounced Claptrap's voice module when he gave them his latest mission update. Under such pressure, she barely listened.

Another steep incline greeted them out the other side of the hollow facility, spilling them into the disarray of an excavation site. Utilitarian generators and lights were scattered throughout, dotted by more bins ransacked of equipment. Similarly, assorted platforms created an obstacle course of half-submerged steel stairways.

Nothing was more attention-grabbing than the Eridian monuments dominating the grounds, their geometrical patterns carved into massive slabs of stone. Squares balanced on a point were bordered with alien scripts, effectively focusing the eye upon centered hieroglyphs.

There wasn't time to linger on the ruins - not when the Bonded arrived to greet them. Massive mutants lowered their heads like infuriated bulls and charged, destructive intent on their gnarled features. Humanoid cephalopods descended upon them, their tentacles twisting and writhing beneath them. Wielding staffs in their suckered grasp, they flung their magic at the Vault Hunters while darting wildly around.

With so much open territory, Zane's absence gnawed at her. She felt exposed without him guarding her back, further unable to let loose when she had FL4K and Moze situated nearer than ever. She both admired their coordination while also forced to remain acutely aware of their positions, not trusting herself to sense their presence as faithfully as she did the operative's. Forced to adapt, she couldn't so fully lose herself to the powers compelling her.

Throughout the thick of battle, she expected that handsome digiclone to flash to life nearby and provide that all-too-valuable cover she was so accustomed to. Similarly, she awaited the moment Zoomer would rocket overhead and blast their enemies down with deadly precision. She expected to hear that unmistakable accent cut through the commotion and begin spouting gems of comical nonsense and haughty taunting. Who else would remind the enemy of how sexy he was while cutting them down?

And yet it didn't happen. As Bonded after Bonded fell to the ground, spilling gore and gasping for life, Zane was nowhere to be seen. Amara couldn't see their accomplishment as a victory - and with so much still uncertain, how could it be?

The continuing fight was fierce among the Eridian ruins, the massive structures sharing similar imagery the Vault Hunters had encountered time and time again. Pillars stood, their tops crumbled from exposure. The triangular peaks of the detailed squares had fared better, the platform she found herself on relatively intact. She barely registered it, however, as she found herself separated from the others and blasting through Bonded foolish enough to engage her.

One after another, she cleared her own path of destruction. Between her firearm and cosmic magic, she spilled their inky blood. With her teammates no longer in sight, she could cast her wrath, speak her own praise, and prove how foolish Eleanor was to challenge a siren.

Except she ate her words, just once, as she descended down a sharp staircase. Her boot slipped out from beneath her and sent her toppling. Her ponytail whipped across her cheek as her elbows struck snow, her mind briefly reeling from the unexpected fall. She would later find herself bruised but not from the brutish executioner who bared down on her with his tentacle shield.

She didn't have time to linger on the mesmerizing, veined gem that embellished the center of his massive escutcheon. The stone had only just caught the dull rays of the perpetual eclipse before a bullet shattered it, the scintillating of its eruption startling.

Before she could blink, the rapid succession of Zane's wicked Monarch knocked back the Bonded's shield and chewed off his hooded head. She twisted at her waist in time to see him swiftly disengage the assault rifles bipod before she shifted to push herself off the slippery steps. Appearing before her, his digiclone offered its corporeal hand and assisted her to her feet - but not without bestowing a kiss on her knuckles before giving her a dashing grin.

The smack Zane gave the back of his copy's head caused it to disintegrate, shimmering pixels flaking away. Following that, he spun on his heels in search of another target, his untamed brows furrowed with deadly intent. From her vantage, Amara could see a trail of victims already left in his wake.

For one crazy second, she considered what the operative would say if she asked for his clone to satisfy her needs - not that it would mend her damaged feelings any, but at least feeling herself intertwined with his silent lookalike might somewhat satisfy her lingering desires...right?

Instead of entertaining that preposterous idea further, Amara gave him a lingering glance, and said finally, "Thanks. You're looking better."

"I'm always charm - just sometimes more than others," he replied with a hint of teeth. With that, he waved as their companions trekked into view and began jogging toward them, giving the siren little choice but to follow his arachnid-clad back.

Filled with relief and rejuvenated energy, Amara took point alongside her handsome partner. Together, they rushed up the stairs two at a time and crossed the bridge leading directly to the underbelly of the ship.

There, plumes of dirt and steam billowed outward. Insane as it seemed to submerge themselves in the hellish inferno created by the thrusters, they had no other choice. Whatever cold had made itself home in her bones was instantly vanquished by the distorting blaze.

Uncertain how long they could withstand the intensity, Amara couldn't be sure, but she had no intention of trusting her luck. Sweat sluiced her forehead and arms, the cut of her abdomen accentuated the same drip that trickled down her navel. Between weaving around the intermittent rocket blasters and navigating the torched, irregular landscape below, they found themselves dodging Bonded.

"I wish you could understand what's at stake here, but our bond is so far beyond your comprehension," Eleanor defended, finally feeling the pressure of their hell-bent pursuit. She then demanded, "How far would you go to save someone you love?"

"Far enough to go through all the shit we have and still destroy this bitch," Moze responded, her kohled face cracked into a profane grin. Feeling unstoppable, Amara couldn't withhold her bitter laugh. If only the Olmsteads hadn't underestimated them.

Still, Eleanor seemed intent on making the same mistakes. Desperate as she was, she insisted on sicking her minions on them. "Bonded!" began her furious demand, "hold them back! They must not reach the ship!"

As intense as their inertia was, Gaige's update was an unwanted interruption. It definitely wasn't what they wanted to hear and yet it motivated them even more than the extreme conditions surrounding them.

"Wainwright's lookin' real rough right now. He started like, uh...hissing? Ugh, it's super creeptastic."

They would have taken her word for it, but even then, the raging sibilation that dominated the airwaves had Amara's features knotting in trepidation. Clearly the mechromancer was not lying. Gythian's curse seemed to have transformed the once dignified businessman into a bloodthirsty snake.

Chuckling uneasily, Gaige verbally backed away with a placating, "Yep, you keep doing you, buddy."

Aggressive calamari was the least of their worries when heavier artillery kicked up the ground at her feet. In the distance, the explosive kick of a sniper rifle ruptured the glowing face of the Bonded taunting her, allowing her to lock onto another mounted turret and crush it with one amorphous fist.

Another cannon froze solid before she could cast her energy toward it, disarming it until she tore it from its mount like a loose diamond. She then threw it at a large Bonded rushing Moze, earning her thumbs up and grinning wink.

"May I just say 'nice'?" asked their perky cheerleader from afar. "Nice! Now get into that ship!"

"Right ahead o' ya," Zane assured while punching the call button of the lift they had finally, finally located amidst all the combat and fiery chaos surrounding them.

From above, a broad platform descended, granting them access to the looming vessel. Meat Thief was quick to leap onto the I-beams and swat the controls with its tail, initiating the slow rise of the lift while swiftly climbing ahead, hand-over-hand.

Significantly cooler, dark corridors greeted them, many blocked off by locked doors. Other hatches were in a state of incomplete shutdown, allowing their team to duck beneath the low clearance. It wasn't long until they happened across signs of dysfunction, a series of pipes spewing pressurized flames. Other tongues of fire seeped through failing junctions, but at least they were easily maneuvered around. The network of coolant lines they scaled were inert, allowing their foursome to easily cross them and progress deeper into the facility.

All in all, the ship was deceptively quiet, showing few signs of its own sacrificial meltdown. Metal creaked, sounding lonely in the otherwise latent structure. Cutting through that tomblike stillness, Gaige's upbeat words were sharp as a blade.

"All right, now you are gonna have to do a little hacking to get me into the ship's system. Then I can check the logs and track down where they kept the piece of the heart."

That sounded like a good plan to Amara, who looked around the expansive room they found themselves in...and the series of complex computers, paired with countless buttons, controlling some aspect of the ship. After having seen the massive exterior of the vessel, she didn't need to glance at her ECHO to know that the floorplan was one sprawling maze - one they didn't have enough time to comb through.

For as friendly as she was with Gaige, Amara was perfectly aware of Zane's expertise. Not that she could remotely decipher any of it, but she had seen his breakneck programming in action. She instantly looked to him, trusting he could swiftly break open the system and make it his bitch. Instead of cracking his knuckles in preparation, she found him absently pulling one side of his mustache while casually walking two fingers along the command console.

Just like so many times before, she viscerally craved the sensation of those silver bristles brushing her neck or tickling along the corners of her lips. Inwardly ridiculing herself, she averted her gaze back to the multiple screens available to them.

"Yeah, yeahhh I know how to hack," he assured the mechromancer, now thumbing his chin as though she was present. "That's when ye grab a nerdy fella and smash him into the monitor 'til he gives ye his password, right?"

Blinking, Amara wasn't alone as she regarded him with confusion. Had all that electricity really gone to Zane's head and blown a fuse? She had to wonder, as he absently poked the command console again.

Noticing their stares, he shot his teammates a wink. Only then did she realize his plan: to have Gaige send Deathtrap to do the job so they could watch him in action. Besides, what would it hurt to have another teammate killing alongside them? His methods worked despite the young woman's admitted reluctance.

"Hngh, okay…" she relented, far from thrilled. "I guess I gotta send Deathtrap up to help you. I don't like being away from him, but he's the only way I'm getting into the system. But...we don't have time for him to fly all the way up the mountain, so you are gonna have to access the onboard digistructer so I can send him up to you."

Cocking a brow at Zane from beneath the brim of her helmet, Moze aggressively popped her bubble before crossing her arms and putting her cleavage on display within the leather neck of her jacket.

"The heck was that about - retirement? Such a douche move, making that girl worry."

"Bah," the operative retorted with a dismissive roll of his eye. Instead of overhearing their conversation, Gaige was speaking to Deathtrap with tangible distress.

"Now listen, babe, you got this," she told him, her composure audibly quivering, "Just...just- be careful up there, okay? Now go," she ordered, choking up and conflicted, "before I change my mind!"

Together, Moze and Amara watched the gradual softening of Zane's face. He had clearly underestimated the redhead's emotional attachment to her robotic companion, as well as the upset the thought of separation inflicted.

Visibly feeling some nuance of guilt, he addressed the mechromancer while waving off his teammates' stern glares.

"Don't you worry, lass," he said confidently, "Us and Deathtrap are gonna have a fine ol' time up here!"

Finding it necessary to add her own reassurance, Amara channeled her most smooth, motherly voice. "Deathtrap will be home safe and sound soon enough."

He really had to be, considering the role Gaige had devised for him. How else would they break the barrier protecting Eleanor and Gythian's heart?

Sniffling, the redhead managed to say, "Make me proud, babe!" before presumably cutting the transmission to better collect herself.

With a swirl of light, Deathtrap appeared, his flat head rotating left and right as he surveyed the area and greeted them with a series of muted beeps. Hovering up and down, his lit accents were clear cut in the otherwise dark recesses of the ship. Amara didn't have an opportunity to wonder how brightly his claws would illuminate the darkness before the blobs around the room began pulsing to life and spit out their repulsive inhabitants.

"Craaaaap," sighed Gaige as though she was the one inconvenienced and disgusted. "Routing power to the system woke up those hives of kriches. But now you've got a killer bot with you to help!"

Then, to her BFF, she gave a verbal fist-bump for encouragement, "Killer Robot on the loose!"

Between the five of them, the kriches didn't last. Their jelly-filled bodies popped like boils from their target practice, their gnarly remains oozing flat and smelling up the already stagnant air. As entertaining as it was to see Deathtrap zap the floating ticks from the air and fry them with wild tendrils of lightning, the smell remained nauseating. The rancid odor of liquified kriches made them more eager than ever to get underway with their mission.

Alas, there were always delays. When had that not been the case? After dodging the vomit of so many sickener kriches and those of the detonating variety, Amara wanted to avoid the hives altogether...but the electrical grid had other plans, its lines likely chewed through by the pests.

Giving the order, Gaige was ready to see the plan she had formulated put into action. "Okay, Deathtrap, I need you to interface directly with the ship's mainframe and get me into those systems. Got it, babe?"

Then, upon making the same realization Amara had, Gaige growled in annoyance. "Damn! Looks like the door to the mainframe has no power. See if you can reroute some electricity to it. Better hurry up! Those thrusters are overheating like crazy!"

Already ahead of the anarchist, Zane had taken off toward a live wire spitting sparks. Following her partner closely, the Partalian admired the effortless way he hauled the heavy machine gun he carried. She decidedly did not admire the breadth of his shoulders as he wielded the Monarch with ease and only set it down while kneeling alongside two severed ends of that sprawling electrical cord.

"Uno momento," he chimed, humming merrily as his hands busied themselves with something she couldn't actively see. By the time she slowly rounded him, careful not to show too much curiosity, the once mangled cords had been woven together.

She loved a man who was talented and quick with his hands - and with that, cursed herself. Oh god, stop this. Since when did you turn into a drooling fool?

Since never, so she rolled her own shoulders and denounced her sexual frustration yet again. She could handle it later and experience some much-needed relief without a lover, she reminded herself, regardless of how proficient Zane was with women. In clear conscience, she couldn't say she wanted to forgive him for how greedily her body responded.

Oblivious to her plight, Zane hefted that massive weapon again with only one of his aggravatingly capable hands and tilted the bulk of it against his shoulder. She didn't miss the cocky slant to his mustached mouth - or his hip - and the wink he gave her.

"Love turnin' things on," he teased - casually, as he had no means of knowing how flustered she was...did he? It didn't matter, she decided, after everything that had happened between them.

Instead of responding to her partner's nonsense, she moved to the unlocked data room. Turning her much more reasonable ally she said, "All right, Deathtrap, show me what you can do."

Joining them among the massive accumulation of data towers and command consoles, Moze added her own nudge. "Get in there and do your thing, buddy,"

From behind her, she heard a bit of naughty brogue. "Go on and get to the machine on machine action!" growled the operative before giving pause. Then, after considering how suggestive that sounded, he grinned wolfishly. "Wait, nope. I stand by it."

Narrowing their green eye in skepticism, FL4K slowed to a stop beside Zane and studied him for a humorously prolonged moment before humming in belated comprehension. At that, the Pandoran chuckled and gave their shoulder a manly pat.

Not a minute passed before Deathtrap succeeded in his designated assignment. Mischievously giggling, Gaige complimented her BFF. "Nice one, babe! I'm in! How about I just go in and cut power to the engines real quick...There!"

"Okay," she continued, sounding relieved and more than a little proud of herself. "That should keep you guys from melting for the foreseeable future. Deathtrap, I'm uploading the schematics to you. Take the lead."

Undoubtedly, that was the best news any of them had heard all day. Their team joined in a unified sigh of relief, glad to have the looming threat of a terrible demise lifted from their shoulders. Amara, for one, was certain she didn't want to be roasted to death and knew her friends felt the same.

Not only that, but they were spared the task of navigation for the time being. She didn't doubt that Zane would have taken the same initiative and had Zoomer lead them, same as he had in the past, but having Gaige manning the helm was a convenient change.

Indeed, Deathtrap made quite the tour guide, smoothly humming along like a threatening beacon. The blue light glowing beneath him made him an easy target to follow through the complex corridors. Past blinking red lights and staircases, they ran after Gaige's faithful creation and basked in the absence of human error.

"I'm sending him toward the ship log database," explained the mechromancer, not wanting to leave them in the dark. "The system isn't showing me where the heart piece is, so I'm kinda hoping she left a clue."

Of course - because simple instructions were never available. Still, it wasn't as though she expected its location to be aptly named "Heart Storage" or something equally revealing.

"Eleanor does love hearing herself," grumbled Moze, their team already having been subjected to her research logs and taunts throughout their journey.

"Whatever gets the job done," sighed the Partalian, completing yet another turn alongside the gunner. Up ahead, Zane's long legs allowed him to lead, while FL4K and his beasts brought up the rear.

How was it again that the inner corridors of the vessel were filled with so much snow? Piles of it had collected alongside the walls, suggesting that maybe flakes had gradually drifted in through the ductwork but even then, that seemed like a stretch…

Hammerlock's sudden transmission caught them by surprise but not as much as his odd enthusiasm did. There was something strange about his animatedness when he said, brimming with zeal, "Ho, Vault Hunters! I was thinking. The Lodge is rather dark and drab, and...well, it could use a little flair. Be a dear and hunt down some monstrosities for me. We'll mount their gruesome heads and give this lodge a more festive spirit!"

Erring to their specialist, Zane confirmed his teammates' overwhelming suspicions.

"Ah, hell, he's gee-eyed an' sounds like he's gonna give the place some flair if someone doesn't keep 'im from the bar...like, say, Gaige."

"I'm on it, I'm on it!" huffed the wedding planner before reminding them, "I'm multitasking here, thank you very much! Eesh, if only one of you guys were here to Hammersit while I combed through this maaaaassive database."

Then, talking off to the side, she tossed out to Mancubus, "Hey, a little help with the tipsy groom here!"

The moment another holoprojector came into view, Deathtrap rushed over to it. Situating himself before the controls, he made a series of computing burbles before scanning the system with a sweep of light. At the same time, his creator was talking through her process.

"Now, let's see...personal logs...final entry is...there!"

Booting up, light illuminated the platform of the device and, with it, the dim ship. From top to bottom, Eleanor's former self pixelated into view, her hands kneading together in a nervous tic. Chin-length hair swept back, that digital depiction succeeded at showing her run-down and wearied condition. Never had a human existed with such sunken, black-bruised eyes or so Amara felt convinced.

"Personal log, day one hundred and... something," the researcher sighed, her shoulders slumping in utter defeat. And still, on occasion, she glanced behind herself as though paranoid of being discovered. "I've lost track of time since Vincent was consumed. I can't sleep. I've been studying the heart piece day and night, and I think I've found my answer. The others won't understand, but no one matters except my beloved. I will make any sacrifice, cross any line, if we can be together again...

"I need a large amount of power, so I am locking access to the reactor core to keep the others away," she continued, stepping back to sit on an available bench and reserve whatever energy she had left. "I won't stop until I've saved him."

"The reactor core!" blurted Gaige in epiphany. "Makes sense - she'd need a ton of power to work on the heart. Uh...it's down in the bowels of the ship. Get a move on!"

The Vault Hunters did precisely that, breaking into a sprint only hindered by the Bonded arriving to intervene. Even then, the four of them were versed in run-and-gun, unwilling to waste more time than necessary for both Wainwright's sake and to avoid having the tentacled bastards accumulate. Switching to their heaviest firearms ensured their quickest and most gruesome slaughter.

For now, Amara ducked to avoid splatters while shooting off rounds and flinging phaselocks at their wickedly wailing enemies. True to his namesake, Deathtrap decimated the Bonded in his wake, shooting blinding tendrils of lightning that erupted their gray bodies. In the background, Eleanor's laughter was perfectly villainous.

"You can't take control of my own ship from me!" she threatened. Before anyone could challenge her, she proved that to be true. The moment the vessel thrummed around them, just as it had before, Amara's stomach dropped. She didn't need to hear Gaige's angry "Damn it!" to set the stage.

"She's reactivating the thrusters," confirmed the redhead, effectively telling them one of the last things they wanted to hear, followed by: "Ohh, that ship is gonna crack like a rakk egg! Man...I wish Deathtrap was here. I could so stress-eat an omelet right now."

Zane appeared more stressed at the mere mention of omelets than being cooked alive like one, his disgusted expression not lost on his partner. Even then, he leaped onto the ladder in their path and scaled it effortlessly, reaching to assist her up and over the edge when he reached the top.

Tense as that whole situation was - and that entire damn trip had been - she still marveled at the gentleness of his calloused hand. The demure way his thumb brushed her knuckles was too gentlemanly for her heart to beat as ecstatically as it did. He spared a moment to ensure she was secure on her feet before glaring at the Bonded appearing nearby. The smooth way he pivoted at the waist and took aim, expertly plugging the nearest enemy's head with three pistol rounds, did nothing to quell her attraction.

Soon enough, she joined him in emptying their clips into the Bonded trying to swarm them. They came from left and right and above, cackling madly and refusing her the chance to see if Zane assisted Moze just as daintily.

With dimensional rifts expanding all around, Amara focused on the slaughter quite literally at hand. Between blasting incendiary pellets from her shotgun and lobbing grenades, she propelled herself in all her siren glory toward Eleanor's peons. Nothing could stand in her way and she proved it, punching through their fleshy bodies and throwing aside tangles of tentacled remains.

With the Vault Hunters laying waste to her minions, Eleanor was unable to sound anything but as vengefully upset as she was.

"I won't let you destroy the life we've built here," she threatened with icy wrath. "You will not take it away from us, and you will never sever our bond! You will die on that mountain, worms."

"We'll see about that," Amara challenged, smirking as she crushed yet another mutant in her glowing grasp. Mindless as they were to serve Gythian, the Bonded insisted on sacrificing themselves.

Still in pursuit of Deathtrap, who flew ahead to lead them through metallic corridors and past tufts of snow, the Vault Hunters found themselves exposed to the chilled outdoors. An entire hall had collapsed, exposing the inner ship to the elements. Beyond that, it seemed an entire wall of the structure had been sheared off, allowing snowfall to dust them again.

Wolven appeared to greet them, baring sharp rows of teeth and thick manes of hair. They didn't expect to be solidified into place, their bodies abruptly consumed within dense blocks of ice. Even Amara blinked as behind her, Zoomer returned to its revolutions around Zane.

"Popsicles for everybody!" he announced merrily, while ahead, Deathtrap silently resumed hovering up the staircase.

Not far beyond that, the robot fearlessly descended through a broad hole in the floor. The edges of sharply bent piping and inert, shredded wiring convinced Amara that something had burst out from the inside. Regardless, she was first to jump through, landing on her boots with a huff. She wasted no time in clearing the opening so her teammates could follow one at a time.

The chamber they found themselves in was drastically different from the rest, the vibrant focal point of it casting a ruby glow throughout the expansive layout. At the center of everything, an elaborate pillar tapered to a fine laser that captivated the eye. Suspended at the center of it, a shard that had to be of Gythian's heart made her own start pounding. Finally, she thought, a sense of accomplishment sweeping through her.

Sounding much like she was thrumming with the same excitement, Gaige was audibly grinning. "There it is! Damn, I haven't seen a fusion reactor that old in...well, ever. Grab that heart piece!"

"Gladly," Amara purred, beating the others to the chase. Situating herself at the edge of that red aura, her hand hesitated just beyond that stunning glow. Only after seeing her teammates converge alongside her, their faces reflecting that same glorious garnet, did she look to them...and see their unified nods of

At the same time, Eleanor filled their ears with her scorn. "Don't you DARE lay your filthy hands on that heart!"

Not that anything could ever stop her, but now Amara was obligated to defy that command more than ever. Smirking with pure arrogance, she eased her hand forward and grasped the shimmering crystal before withdrawing it from that brilliant beam.

The witch's reaction was immediate, her shrill rage bringing the Vault Hunters immense satisfaction. "No! You defile us! You are UNWORTHY!"

"Panties officially in a knot," declared Zane, smugly smirking as he physically admired his beard.

"Hohohoo! Man, she did not like that!" sniggered the mechromancer, sparing a moment to sound thoroughly tickled before she focused on the task at hand. "Eh, but screw her anyway. Shove the heart piece into Deathtrap's eye. Just ram-jam that thing in there. That's the technical term."

Her face contorting with worry, the siren turned to Deathtrap and felt her determination waver. It wasn't that she wasn't capable of plunging a sharp shard into the lens attentively focusing on her, but everything in her instincts insisted, do no harm.

"Okay, so this might be unpleasant," she warned, biting her lip. "Since I'm not a robot, I have no way of knowing."

Despite the order, her resolve crumbled. She found herself hastily forcing the heart piece into Zane's gloved hand, catching him off guard with both her uncertainty and abrupt change in demeanor. He bobbled the key item before grasping it securely, shooting her a very distinct what-in-the-hell expression.

"You're the technical one," she defended, propping her knuckles on her hips, "so you do it."

Sighing beneath his breath, Zane recovered quickly. He then took a moment to turn the irregular object over in his hand to determine the best end and angle for insertion - all while the patiently waiting robot continuously fine-tuned the position of his head.

With significantly more confidence, the seasoned operative squared his shoulders and narrowed his acute gaze at his target. "Alrighty, boyo, let's just get this crystal shovin' over with, shall we?"

Nodding with a spill of digital gibberish, Deathtrap steadied himself as Zane, with his impressive speed, plunged the jagged segment deeply into the optical port. Regardless of Gaige's avid instruction, the sound of his former eye shattering on contact made the Vault Hunters cringe in unison.

Other than flailing from the impact throwing off his balance, Deathtrap showed no reaction. He quickly corrected his orientation before rotating his head to study his surroundings through that crudely protruding lens. Surely the refractory of the irregular crystal wasn't ideal, but Gaige sounded far from concerned.

"So, if my usually-always-correct calculations are correct, to use that laser, Deathtrap is gonna need a super mega-buttload of power. Again, technical term. If we drain the fusion reactor's power into him, he'll light up like a Mercenary Day tree. Well, minus the heads."

"Doesn't sound safe or sustainable," Amara muttered, resisting the urge to bite her lip. What were they supposed to do, plug him into some conveniently portable fusion reactor whenever they wanted to use his powers?

Speaking up, Moze shared her same wavelength but nodded with a clearer understanding. "Whatever gets us through that crazy forcefield."

Ah, that. Right. That was their next step, after all, and their reason for being there. She was just so accustomed to having Eleanor's minions trying to crash their party, but then again, the four of them could handle her Bonded while Deathtrap reserved his energy.

Bobbing gently from side-to-side, the robot reminded Amara of something drifting in an ocean as he willingly levitated toward the fusion reactor. Once more, her teeth were set on edge at how dangerous Gaige's plan seemed.

Once more referring to Zane, she made a sound of concern that garnered his attention.

"She knows his specs better than anyone," he assured her with a nonchalant shrug. All things considered, she had witnessed Zane sacrifice his drones and deployable shield for the greater good, on occasion...and he was always able to repair the damages no matter how extensive they seemed.

Gaige, in the meantime, was more than assertive as she gave her BFF the green light. "All right! Get in there and juice up!"

Besides, it wasn't like Deathtrap hesitated whatsoever to insert himself in the reactor beam. The effects were instantaneous: a starburst of energy uniting with the crystal consumed his head like a crackling firework, tendrils of arcing power branching outward. His metal body, locked into a suspended position, thrummed as he flexed his arms and absorbed everything the reactor had to give.

Impressed, Amara watched the dazzling display until Gaige demanded their attention. By the time she averted her gaze, a ghostly afterimage of the charging bot remained imprinted in her vision. Just beyond it, she witnessed a series of portals opening, a collection of Bonded arriving fashionably late.

Their team didn't need Gaige's encouragement to form a heavily-armed wall of defense between the robot and their tentacled party crashers. Even then, the mechromancer insisted on giving them the order. "Vault Hunters, guard Deathtrap as he does his thing!"

With Iron Bear digistructing and Zane doubling up with his clone, they held their line. Utter destruction rained down on the tentacled assholes, the brunt of their artillery directed at the behemoth khel vod that leaped over the control panels like grotesque grapes. Roaring in their fiendish voices, they thrashed their massive arms about, raging until their final collapse. The tubes protruding from their bulbous bodies spewed fluids, painting the metal components of the vast room.

Unconcerned with her followers' demise, Eleanor continued to threaten them. How she still insisted on boasting, Amara couldn't understand. Her only advantage was making the vessel around them resume its meltdown, but as soon as Deathtrap was finished, nothing could stop them from getting the hell out.

Cutting in, Eleanor reeked of arrogance. "I told you, this is my ship. I've kept it intact all this time, and I control when it is destroyed. Hahahaha!"

En masse, the Vault Hunters hastily leaped back from the beam of light consuming Deathtrap with perilous intensity. Thick whips of red lightning flowed throughout the enraged column, the reactor's power audibly snapping like a hundred hungry jaws.

Hair raising across her skin, Amara watched as Zoomer bucked mid-air before listing to one side. Even as its thrusters engaged to correct its unsteady pitch, Zane spared the drone an unpleasant crash by thumbing his handheld module and recalling it in a spill of pixels. She needed no further convincing that the situation was going bad far too fast. Gaige's panic was as palpable as the static searing her senses.

"Wait! No, no-no-no! She's shutting me out of all the systems! She's taking off the safeguards! The reactor is going critical!"

"Go on. Wriggle if you must, worm," taunted Gythian's puppet. "It won't make a difference."

Her teeth audibly gritting together, the mechromancer had never sounded more on edge. "Rrgh - gotta slow down the reaction. Dump the boron coolant into the core!"

The what coolant? thought Amara, instantly frustrated by feeling uneducated and therefore too impotent to help. Had Zane not ushered her in a specific direction, she wouldn't have known where to begin - but their target soon became blatantly clear. After all, it was the only feature in that corner of the room and a massive one at that.

Grasping the hatch, she found it secured - so much that a valiant tug of her fingerhold failed to grant them access. Unwilling to waste time, she boosted her strength and stuck the panel with the flat of her hand. The hinges broke on impact, dropping the sheet of metal. Even before it hit the ground, Zane pushed her aside and began navigating the circuitry panel with adroit hands.

Buttons were rapidly punched and a valve spun, causing all the indicator lights to turn red. Still, Gaige growled in disappointment. "It's not doing anything! Uh, disengage the tritium fuel!"

Directing their teammates standing on alert across the room, Zane stabbed his bare finger at the second story and sent Moze racing up the staircase.

"Should be a cut-off up there connected to that vat!" he commanded, trusting the intel his cybernetics were displaying to him.

In no time, the gunner was there, requiring all of three seconds to locate what seemed most promising. Using both hands, she visibly grit her teeth as she spun the valve - and barely completed a half turn before the cylinder next to her burst, spraying shattered glass and green propellent everywhere.

Nothing changed. Gaige was on the verge of panic as she yelled, "NO! Kill the override control panel! Just blow it the hell up!"

Drenched in fuel, Moze sputtered and began flinging the chemicals off herself, wasting no time in removing her jacket. By then, Zane had rushed to another position in the expansive area, leaving Amara lost and trying to catch up to him.

Whatever he did caused a small but startling explosion, one of the pipes snaking overhead splitting open and curling like a banana peel as the fumes within it ignited. It only added to the chaos, causing Amara to clench her fists while waiting for a final catastrophic explosion.

It didn't come. At least, not yet. Instead, Gaige's intense fear was the worst of it, inundating the airwaves as she cried out, powerlessly, "Nothing's working! Deathtrap, no! Get him out of there!"

FL4K was on the run, ragged jacket flapping behind their hulking body. Their pack followed closely behind as their master slid to a stop, the bare talons in one foot tearing through steel flooring. Despite the piercing shriek forcing her to flinch, Amara forced herself to see the AI strike the main control panel. At the same time, the raging aura consuming Deathtrap shattered with a blast, sending energy fracturing like shrapnel in every direction.

Like a boulder, the robot dropped to the floor. Immediately she was there, beside it, her hands hesitating to make contact. Stiff and sporadic, Deathtrap's limbs spasmed from excess electricity. The intense spark that arced between her and their fallen ally had her stumbling back and bumping into the gunner behind her. At the same time, Zane's gloved hands urged her even further from the luminous platform of the reactor.

"Vault Hunters..." trembled Gaige, now fearfully timid, "...Is he okay?"

Trusting Zane to have some protective measures in place, Amara watched him firmly toe Deathtrap with his boot. As though one last vestige of awareness remained, the robot's arms convulsed before a final shudder wracked his manufactured body. With that, he went still, failing to respond to another tentative nudge.

Audibly quivering, Gaige's choked pleas sent a shiver of sadness through Amara's chest. The raw emotion flooding their friend had their team frowning to profound degrees. Even FL4K's head was tilted in distress unlike the siren had ever seen.

"Babe?" begged the mechromancer, unable to accept her companion's visible fate, "Aw come on, babe. Please. Please! Give me a sign that you're still there. Anything…?"

Brogue grim, the operative among them gave her the news she feared most. He sounded more somber than Amara had heard since Maya's life had been taken. Though he was manmade, Deathtrap's loss meant just as much.

"Gaige…I don't think he made it."

"No...no, no, no, no!" spilled their friend in shocked disbelief, biting back a sob by the end of it and failing miserably.

"He is not responding," confirmed FL4K, slowly shaking their hooded head.

At a loss for words, Amara's sympathies were deceptively simple. "I'm sorry," she apologized, feeling that truth deep in her chest. Sorry that I couldn't save him.

"I'm so sorry too," offered Moze, her visage haunted by her past in ways that made Amara yearn to embrace her. "I know how much he meant to you."

"It is always painful to lose a packmate," sympathized FL4K, proving themselves more sentient than their own teammates expected. Their baritone, resonant voice drove their commiseration that much deeper.

The same could be said for Zane, every nuance in his usually upbeat brogue replaced with heavy condolence. "There was nothing we could do."

And that was the bitter reality, as they had done all they could to save the mech who had so loyally assisted them. Even beyond caring for Deathtrap and embracing him as one of their own, they had needed his abilities to break the dark magic cutting them off from that vital wedding venue. Now, at a loss of what to do, they struggled to swallow the heavy stones in their throats.

Defeat wasn't an option, but how in the hell were they going to destroy Gythian and save Wainwright now? The thought of losing him as a result of failing Deathtrap, like the two were one in the same, had Amara's blunt nails cutting crescents into her palms.

"He was...he was all I had left," choked Gaige, fading fast beneath the weight of her mourning.

On the verge of laughing, Eleanor damned them with her omnipotent presence. Her tone was both gloating and chiding as she said to them, "If only you were stronger, you could save the ones you love. But you're not, so the best you can hope for is to die along with them."

Then, before any of them could snap at her, she addressed another in whatever realm she was in. "Go, my Bonded champion! These worms cannot harm you, try as they might."

Hackles and fists rising to the challenge, Amara spread her stance and saw her teammates follow suit. They drew a single step closer to one another, raising their weapons in much the same way. Unfortunately for Eleanor and whatever she planned to sick upon them, their discouragement only empowered them. The bitch was in for it more than ever now that they had Deathtrap to avenge.

It seemed Eleanor was finally ready to use whatever trick she had kept tucked up her sleeve. After doing so little to stop them, Amara considered that she must have been preparing something to challenge them despite using Deathtrap to get her payback.

Growling beneath her breath, she watched as a hellish rift opened above the second story. Tentacles thrashed along the edges and writhed angrily as a new entity descended from it. A singular, yellow eye immediately fixed on them from below a triangular squid fin, radiant even above the cluster of spiny, surreal crystals composing its chest plate. Garnet-toned gauntlets boasting that same wicked glow embellished its powerful wrists, one of which wielded an ax as massive as a human.

Surrounding it, a dome of Gythian's energy burned brightly. From within, the fiendish figure threw out his arms and commanded his shield to launch massive bubbles of fluid at them

Blood? she wondered, narrowly dodging one of the first splashes while alongside her, her teammates did the same. A sound of revulsion left Moze as she narrowly avoided a splatter. FL4K, in one massive stride, shielded Chew from one before Zane deployed his shield, temporarily sparing them from clots bursting and gushing at them.

From either side, more heavyweight Bonded were summoned. Dividing their firepower, the Vault Hunters set the mutants within their sights and mowed them down before they could make any headway. The rapid metallic spill of Zane's assault rifle shells, paired with her hollow shotgun casings, was musical in very familiar ways.

The same couldn't be said when Eleanor's champion jumped down to their level and charged at them. Right away, it was apparent their gunfire did nothing to the menacing energy swirling around it. Her every attempt to unleash her siren skills seemed to achieve nothing, the manifestations of her powers dissipating upon impact. That, combined with the missiles Iron Bear lobbed at the sorcerer, did nothing to disrupt its dark magic.

As the mech's barrels repeatedly rotated and reloaded, Amara poured strength throughout her astral arms. At the same time, Zane putting distance between them was foreshadowing for the ion cannon digistructing from his personal arsenal. Watching him broaden his stance while shouldering its solid heft, a threatening core of energy sparked with increasing intensity until it fully charged. Only then did he unleash the streak of ionic energy that had, until then, disintegrated everything in its path.

Amara didn't experience a moment of disbelief alone - not with how sharply Zane cursed when the blast achieved nothing. It merely broke apart and deflected in every direction, the Grawn within laughing demonically. Pleased, it stood its ground while the operative triggered his clone. Raising an identical cannon, the hologram mirrored him in powering up his weapon before they, doubling their firepower, discharged their payloads in unison.

Even targeting the same point, the dual beams only succeeded in distorting the barrier with a short-lived ripple. They would sooner demolish the vessel before breaking through, Zane seemed to decide while both he and his copy allowed their cannons to dissipate.

Under any other circumstance, his outburst would have been humorous. Instead, the humorless laugh that escaped Amara was embittered as he barked at the sorcerer, "Oh good for you, you're invulnerable! Ain't that jus' peachy!"

More than anything, the truth was damning. Even her attempt to project a cosmic fist up from beneath the Grawn failed, her summoning arm retracting as a bolt of agony channeled itself through her. She couldn't prevent the cry of pain that escaped her - or her response to it, vibrant rage overtaking her.

Even as her teammates whipped their heads toward her outburst, Amara saw nothing but the very thing she wanted to be destroyed. Still, her means of bypassing the enemy's barrier was trounced, same as any hope she had of capturing it in her own interdimensional sphere.

How could her powers be bested? They couldn't. She was a siren! She trained rigorously to surpass her limitations and had never felt so useless. Up until now, none of them had encountered anything or anyone so invulnerable.

No, she told herself, that's impossible. We've killed vault monsters and defeated the Destroyer. There has to be a way!

Even as sparks danced throughout her markings, she called out to the others, "Any ideas?!"

The last person she wanted to see shake his head frowned alongside his digiclone. For as much of a whiz the operative was at disrupting shields with his technological know-how, his extensive experiences couldn't account for supernatural spells.

"Ain't got a one!" Zane admitted, sounding more perturbed than anything. Meanwhile, his blue copy gave her a thumbs down, adding to her frustration.

Peeling back her lips from grinding teeth, Amara pulled from her center and exploded, irate fire roaring through her arms until all six unfurled behind her in a massive blast of energy. The fulmination of it suspended her off her feet until she sent the spectral limbs hurtling toward their enemy in a spiral of siren fury.

The clashing of the two energies caused a deafening storm of chaos and furor to shake the ship, her dissatisfaction contorting her face as one amorphous fist after another, she threw her everything at the Grawn. The sight of that henchman crossing his arms and tipping his head back with cruel laughter only infuriated her further - so much that she failed to see her teammates hastily retreating from the power she generated.

Soulfire, Blight Tiger - neither succeeded at harming Eleanor's henchman. Their splash zone only wrought damage on the metal environment, acid chewing through the reinforced surfaces and flames scorching them to brittleness. By the end of it, as she doubled at her waist and caught her breath, her tattoos waning throughout her sweat-drenched skin, the smoke was nearly smothering. Fortunately, each portal that delivered another surge of demented underlings sucked out the fumes and exposed the Grawn again in all his ax-brandishing glory.

Refusing defeat to any degree, Amara pulled herself together and denied her need to recharge. Instead, she withdrew her assault rifle and began mowing through Bonded left and right, her arms heavy with exertion and still, her aim was precise.

Across from her, FL4K had created carnage with every elemental weapon they had while their obedient pack tore apart Bonded arriving from their distorted dimension. Even from afar, she could make out Moze's contemptuous glare from where she manned Iron Bear's open cockpit.

"This is so fucking cheap!" the gunner yelled, her frustration feral. Amara could see her hands grasping Iron Bear's joysticks so tightly, her knuckles were shaking. "Ghgn - I can't even scratch this guy!"

Sharing her plight, the beastmaster expressed their own ineffectiveness. "He repels my attacks like they are nothing!"

Bailing from her mech, Moze armed herself with the heftiest Vladof rocket she had and locked onto her target before unleashing its payload. Focused so intensely on landing a shot, and with FL4K engaging other Bonded, the soldier didn't react as a staff swung at her. With how suddenly her attacker appeared, not even Amara could capture it in time.

The strike was enough to dislodge Moze's helmet, sending her and her launcher sprawling to the ground. The Bonded didn't survive beyond that, its inhuman body suspended in an orb before imploding, leaving nothing left to shower over the gunner's fallen body. Filled with concern, Amara rushed to kneel alongside her, her heart pounding deafeningly in her ears. The twitch of the brunette's fingers offered her some relief but not as much as the obscenities that shuddered from her.

Spitting out an impressive string of cuss words, Moze clutched at her helmet before fumbling with its straps. Had Zane's digiclone not sprung to life beside them and begun providing tireless cover fire, Amara would have done just that. Now, appreciating the assistance, she helped her friend release the clasps so she could better inspect her head.

Around them, shots fired and grenades became airborne. Some exploded on impact while others bounced, splitting into multiple components that detonated upon reaching their targets. Amidst the noise, she could just make out FL4K encouraging their pets while Zane barked at the Bonded and called them a bunch'a manky gits.

Recharged, Zoomer lifted off to add to the mayhem with streaks of machine gun fire and white lightning strikes. The operative's order of "Fire at will, lil' bud! Give'm what for!" was followed by the howling screams of its victims.

Without looking, she knew the Pandoran-Irishman had deployed his shield when he laughed at their enemies and announced haughtily, "Don't worry, ye can still look at me!" He was, as always, the master at getting their opponents'' attention and did so, alongside his gadgets, with flourish.

His wild abandon worked in their favor, drawing the Grawn's full attention. As though annoyed by the old man's antics and wishing to squash him like a burdensome pest, the champion reared back his ax and threw it. Sharp head-over-handle, the weapon embedded in the vessel wall behind where Zane had been, his clone appearing in his place. Shooting a pair of finger guns at the demon, the handsome hologram turned to shake its booty at it.

Marching toward the taunting digistruct, the Bonded lashed out in an attempt to capture it. Not only did its hand achieve nothing, but Zane's likeness blew it a kiss before vanishing in a flash of pixel dust. Erupting in a bout of hateful, soulless laughter, the champion proceeded to retrieve his ax and tear it from carved metal without perceivable effort.

Zane's methods didn't do damage but at least his distractions allowed Amara to inject their fallen teammate with a hypo. As eager as she was to fight, she couldn't retract her hand from reassuringly holding Moze's shoulder. It earned the other woman's flirtatious smirk, which quickly softened into an authentically tender smile. That alone had the siren peeling her lips back from her teeth in renewed vengeance. No one hurt her teammates.

Clasping Moze's gloved hand and helping draw her upright, she felt the other woman give her a reassuring squeeze. Even then, she supported the soldier until she was steady on her feet, enabling her to put her helmet back into place and pop a fresh piece of gum in her mouth.

"Fucking fucks," spat the gunner, looking to the Partalian with doubt shadowing her face. "Fuck, if you can't hurt him, what in the hell do we do?"

"We kill him," Amara stated, another inferno igniting within her bronze flesh. Grinding her molars, she fixed the lumbering Grawn in her sights, the violent blaze of them causing Moze to back away.

Reaching to grasp the eridium fragment at her collarbone, she squeezed until it broke into dust and flowed into her. Even seething as she was, her lids fluttered as its energy accelerated her heart rate and surged through her like a supernova. Caught up in that glorious rush, she had no control over the force extending her astral arms or the scorching elements that overtook each radiant limb. She only embraced the promise of destruction as she pushed off the ground with a burst of breakneck speed and roared while rushing their enemy.

Blinded by fury, Amara didn't register her teammates shouting at her. Nothing could stop her, nothing-

Until it did. The instant she made contact with that swirling red forcefield, she was overtaken by the same inexplicable pain she had experienced before and felt her magic break, the ground leaving her feet.

Too much happened all at once. She knew only shock and disbelief as her powers splintered from the fibers of her being. Then she was suddenly so far away from her enemy and colliding with something solidly leather - and recognized the uff of Zane's breath being forcibly knocked from his chest.

With her senses rushing back to her all at once, Amara felt dizzy. Her muscles twitched erratically while sizzling from remnants of dark energy. All she could do was drop her head back as she felt her partner wracked by violent coughing beneath her. Long before she could force herself to react, the arms around her spasmed tighter before Zane rolled and spilled her off to the side with a hoarse groan.

Flustered guilt drove her to rise on hands and knees and reach for her cursing partner. Even as he caught his breath, and her ponytail slithered over her shoulder, she frowned as he flinched in pain - and who could blame him? He had taken the brunt of her body like one big muscular bullet. It went without saying that his grimace wasn't the kind she preferred seeing.

"Bloody sirens," Zane wheezed, tapering off into a strained chuckle as if grateful that only amounted to a figure of speech. She then felt him shudder as his body refused to obey him and instead dropped him flat on the ground.

"I didn't need you to do that," she snapped, her hackles rising with the adrenaline still inundating her. It was a good thing he knew her - and probably wouldn't have given a shit about her attitude anyway - because it was all-too-easy to mistake her behavior for anger.

His retort was stubborn as always despite him remaining supine. "I'm yer teammate, that's what I'm s'pose to do! Now shaddup an' let me recoup."

That wasn't going to happen, even though they both wanted that. Instead, she huffed at him while rising to her knees and grasping him beneath one arm, locking them together so she could best force him to stand.

"No, there's no time for that. Rest after we kill this bastard."

Insistent as she was, there was no stopping her. Besides, they both knew she could wrangle him up on his feet one way or another and wouldn't hesitate to prove it, even if she threw his back out in the process. The grisly cracks from his spine suggested she nearly had, their onset causing him to momentarily sag.

Choosing to spare himself the embarrassment, Zane grit his teeth and grunted while pushing himself up with his other arm. Even uninjured, he was a couple of decades beyond being able to spring to his feet.

"Feckin'fine, fine," was his aching protest, his bones grinding. Still, despite his raspiness, he insisted on snapping at her: "Damn lass...always treatin' me like...I'm in me thirties…"

Now wasn't the time for snark or arguing. Instead, she resisted the urge to punch him in the ribs in favor of shouldering him until he steadied. By the time he did, their teammates had reunited with them and defensively raised their weapons.

Deploying his barrier, Zane at least spared them the projectiles being flung in their direction by the Grawn and his minions. Never before had Amara anticipated seeing her companions so distraught, their faces drawn taut as they silently grappled for ideas.

A ship-wracking explosion startled them, furious and sudden enough to send them staggering. A second followed, a missile of power colliding and carving through a far wall before Amara could look around herself. By the time she saw the source, another blazing projectile hit the shield encasing them and destroyed it on impact, the aftershock of the devastation knocking them from their feet.

Amara spat out a lock of her hair as one of FL4K's large hands caught her above the elbow and helped hoist her up. They succeeded in simultaneously pulling Moze to her feet, while to their left, Zane's digiclone helped him stand.

The last sight they expected to see was an amassing of energy accumulating at Deathtrap's head before launching directly at Eleanor's champion. With an explosive shower of sparks, it decimated that impenetrable force field and knocked the Grawn back so violently, it cracked vessel windows designed to withstand atmospheric re-entry. His shocked outburst of pain was gloriously rewarding.

Utterly astonished, Amara couldn't make sense of everything until the revived robot was levitating and flexing among them. With equal parts of relief and awe cascading throughout her, she grinned at their friend before watching their opponent shake his misshapen head in disorientation.

With a grin dominating her face, she yelled out in excitement, "Yeah! Now that is what I'm talking about!"

Zane's voice barely survived his outburst of "Attaboy, Deathtrap! Attaboy!" Her throat almost hurt out of pure sympathy.

FL4K's vocal module sounded far more composed in comparison, but even they sounded delighted by their fellow robot's stunning recovery as they announced, "A GLORIOUS RETURN!"

"Oh HELL YEAH!" whooped Moze, pumping her fists and rounding out their four-manned celebration.

Amara couldn't decide what was more thrilling: seeing their opponent damaged and without the barrier that had bested them or knowing that Deathtrap was back and more deadly than ever. Without a doubt, they could now trust their chances of reaching Gythian's heart and could finally save both Wainwright and the wedding.

Startled from her silence, Gaige called out in elated disbelief. "Holy what? He's okay? HE'S OKAY! YES!" she cheered, her spirit restored and her need for anarchy invigorated. "Okay, now finish off those frickin' mutants! That shield's got nothing on your new laser. Hit it!"

With nothing to stop them, the Vault Hunters went nuclear on Eleanor's minions. The Bonded didn't have a chance in hell of surviving their brutally resentful onslaught, the culmination of their rockets, lasers, siren fists - and in Meat Thief's case, a hot pile of shit - left nothing but a fleshy smear where the Grawn last stood. That was a beautiful sight to see - one that had Amara basking in pride.

Insistent that she still had a chance in Hell of stopping them - where she in fact belonged - Eleanor subjected them to her heinous sneering once more.

"Enjoy your hollow victory. It doesn't matter. My beloved will return to me soon. I feel him growing stronger every moment. He calls out to me. And I simply tell him, 'Come home'."

"That's quite the literal interpretation of 'Home is where the heart is,' commented Zane with an acrid chuckle.

Exhaling quietly, Amara was preoccupied with reflecting on their narrow triumph. Had it not been for Deathtrap's enhancements and recovery, their fates might have been tragic. Now, they all had reason to breathe a grateful sigh of relief. Gaige was ahead of them, demanding what they would have initiated themselves had they not been so tired.

"Booyah! High fives all around! Do not leave my boy hanging!"

"How could we?" asked Amara with a smirk, turning to face the robot who raised his arm nearly beyond her reach. Undeterred, she hopped to exchange a hand-tingling high five with him.

With their height, only FL4K managed without adjustment. Zane had to stand on tip-toe but jumped anyway, never one to turn down an enthusiastic celebration. Upon Moze's turn, the robot hovered lower and angled his mechanical palm to her, while all around, the remaining Vault Hunters shared smacks of bravado amongst themselves. It went without saying that they were beyond fed up with supernatural magic.

Unfortunately, their celebration was short-lived. Sounding much like he regretted interrupting, Hammerlock apologized as he addressed them across the airwaves.

"I say, Vault Hunters, I don't mean to pressure you, but Wainwright's demeanor is rapidly declining," he conveyed with fearful urgency, the worsening situation rightfully leaving him with increasing distress. "He's been shaking rather violently against his bonds and- Oh dear, he's-"

A second passed, the team looking worriedly amongst themselves. At the same time, Hammerlock began to yell in the most authoritative tone any of them had ever heard from him.

"No, Wainwright! Stop right this instant!" And then, to them, adding to the tendrils of panic twisting inside them: "He's broken free! Vault Hunters, I must give chase!"

God, couldn't they get even a five minute break? Evidently not, but then again, it seemed like a week had passed since the ring had taken possession of the Edenian and sent them on that wild race against time. Now, more than ever, it was clear that was rapidly running out.

"Wainwright is heading for the venue! I am in pursuit," panted Hammerlock, exerted in ways they hadn't witnessed before, "but he runs like a man possessed, which...he actually quite seems to be!"

"What's going on down there?" she asked - like being a siren entitled her to answers.

Everything seemed to be going awry. There was simply no forgetting how Wainwright had nearly left them in his dust even before supernatural powers had overtaken him. Thinking back to that, there was no blaming Alistair for being so breathless.

Even he couldn't seem to make sense of things as he puffed, "-Wait, something's happening. There's a light and we-"

Faces went white all around as Hammerlock's masculine, yet terrified yell cut off everything and left them in the most unwanted kind of dark.

"What in the bleedin' feck is happenin'?!" demanded Zane, his pitch high with bewilderment. He about summed up what they were all wondering, their startled eyes growing terrified.

Even FL4K commanded answers, their vocal module reverberating. "Elaborate!"

Together, the Vault Hunters' yells for Hammerlock - all ordering him to come in, report, respond - overlapped in their frenzy. The drastic transition from elation to alarm for their friends' safety had their composure momentarily stumbling.

Doing nothing to assuage their fears, Gaige's reaction only filled them with dread. She was there - or should have been - and even she sounded troubled as she called out to them, "This is so not going to plan! Vault Hunters, I'm recalling Deathtrap back to the Lodge. Come meet us pronto-status! Here, I found a Fast Track for you?"

Situated atop that cursed mountain as they were, they truly had no other option.

One thing was certain: they had to catch up to grooms now.

…

Mancubus' greeting - and accompanying suggestion that they stay with him at the Lodge, where it was "safe" - seemed somewhat menacing. Even then, their team had no reason to believe that was his intention. Until then, he was one of the only two allies from Xylorgos they had.

Ready to race headfirst into danger and kick ass, their attentions were briefly diverted to Gaige and Deathtrap's reunion. The mechromancer was hugging tightly onto her BFF and inspecting for damage with hurried hands, evidently needing that physical contact to convince herself he wasn't a figment of her wild imagination. Meanwhile, her every word was laden with sincerity.

"Babe! I thought I lost you! I was so worried! But then you disintegrated all those guys. How are you feeling? You okay?"

Offering her a reassuring series of bleeps, the robot curled his bulky arms in a display of strength. Only then did she wipe aside a tear and turn toward them, her relieved smile short-lived.

"We gotta chase after Wainwright and Hammerlock, but let me check on Deathtrap's eye real quick. In the meantime, go see Claptrap - he says he's got something for you?" suggested the redhead while sounding thoroughly confused.

The looks they exchanged all questioned how Claptrap had managed to convince Gaige, as intelligent as she was, that it actually had something important to share. Urgent as they were to catch up with the grooms and destroy Eleanor once and for all, their tolerance for delays was severely limited.

As it was, none of them had much to say. The tension might have been enough to smother a new patron of the Lodge had they walked in, oblivious and unsuspecting. Even Zane, for as upbeat as he typically was, reeked of impatience and that said something...even if he didn't.

Between the grim set of his stubble-laden jaw and the clench of his gloved hands, he seemed a trigger hair away from breaking into action and barging straight to the venue. In that moment, Amara recognized the cutthroat, critical professional he had formerly been - at least until he mentally 'noped' out of Gaige's suggestion and approached the bar instead.

The siren couldn't help but wonder how her partner might possibly relate to the ongoing disaster. She didn't doubt he could find a way. While he had occasionally - and often drunkenly - shared outlandish and very Zane-like stories of his own eccentric life, she doubted any of the weddings he alluded to had been so disastrous. It went without saying that she, if she ever married again, would never consider Xylourgos even after personally assuring Eleanor's demise.

To their understanding, they couldn't make any headway without Deathtrap. Undergoing a thorough inspection, he was temporarily unavailable, which left their friendly alcoholic a perfect opportunity to do his refueling.

Trailing behind their curious gunner and beastmaster, Amara observed Zane as he exchanged a hefty wad of cash for two shot glasses. Whatever he ordered must have been strong, if the combination of his known preferences and high payment were any indication. He wasted no time in tossing the drinks back, one after the other, and pounding a fist on the bar while growling through the burn. By then, Claptrap's irritating voice managed to invade her senses, half distracting her from watching as Zane subjected his knuckles and spine to a thorough cracking.

"Hey, recruits! Check THIS out! This should help you in the fight against those creepy weirdos!"

What the bot handed the much taller construct must have been an Eridian artifact. Whatever it was, FL4K said nothing while momentarily turning it over on his complex hand. Calling to them, Gaige prevented a closer inspection, leading them to tuck the item away among their many pockets.

"All right! I think the cult has Wainwright and Hammerlock at the venue! Let's move, Vault Hunters!

As if to give them true motivation, Claptrap struck a heroic pose and spoke as proudly, and annoyingly, as ever. "Now go get our grooms back, recruits! I'll stay here and guard the Lodge!"

Not one to have his mysterious influence downplayed, Mancubus spoke up. To no one's surprise, he sounded as disturbed by the prospect as anyone would expect.

"That won't be necessary. The Lodge is under my protection."

In no way deterred, and blatantly egotistical as always, Claptrap insisted. "Yeaaaahhh, but I'll guard it anyway. Just in case."

…

Amara couldn't believe Eleanor's narcissistic crooning could be more deriding than it had been all along. Now, convinced as she was that she had won, it was never clearer how her throat deserved to be crushed by siren hands.

"Ohhh worms...it is almost sad…that you will never know joy like this. My beloved has returned to me, and we are reunited. Together, there is nothing we cannot do."

"Except shut the fuck up," growled Moze before nodding ahead - as if they needed help tracking Gaige's flaming red ponytails and the clawed robot hovering alongside her.

In the distance, the dome consuming the wedding venue glowed menacingly. It wouldn't be long, she knew, until they erased it from the horizon and spared everyone from seeing the aura she was so damn tired of.

That surreal red, however, looked best on Deathtrap. The crystal scintillating in his head reminded her of success. Other than having Eleanor's decapitated head, it was the best trophy she could imagine.

Amara rejected the gnawing fear that they were too late. Despite the witch acting as though Vincent had fully consumed Wainwright, she simply refused to accept the possibility. If her claim was indeed true, then they still needed to hunt her down and inflict the most excruciating revenge. One way or another, they were destined to storm that cursed venue.

With Zane to her left and Deathtrap humming to her right, Amara followed the mechromancer and her black and white striped leggings. No one would discourage the anarchist from taking point, particularly after she was subjected so long to groomsitting duty. She was perfectly happy to mow down the peons sent to impede their progress.

Spewing fatal gushes of ink, thwarted Bonded fell from the sharp ratatatatatata of Gaige's assault rifle. Those swift enough to evade her trigger-happy aim were either incinerated by her BFF's bedazzling laser beam. Adept now at focusing its newfound power, the robot decimated their numbers and left piles of fine ashes in his wake. Adding to the light show, Amara pulverized the cephalopods lucky enough to dodge her allies.

Cursehaven was once more reduced to a warzone, the Vault Hunters making swift headway through its murky, salty streets. Soon enough, they were trespassing the ornate gates that had held them back so many hours before, using fury and firepower to take back Eleanor's tainted territory.

"Why even try?" was all Amara could say, her arrogance brimming with mirth.

At the same time, Gaige released a dreamy sigh. "Ohhh how I've missed you, attempted murder!" And then, to Deathtrap, she hooted, "Vaporize them, babe!"

Among the crisp hedges and primped topiaries bedecking Bleak Terrace, plentiful Bonded swarmed them. Mystical gateways of green and red blossomed seemingly in every direction, inviting Zoomer and FL4K's beasts to race in their direction. Claws, fangs, and alternating beams of ice and electricity broke through black flesh. Severed tentacles and glowing eyeballs littered the ground underfoot as the Vault Hunters continued their relentless pursuit, the operative's drone returning to continuously scan overhead.

Finally charging into an expansive courtyard decorated with tentacle stonework, they found themselves facing the swirling vortex of Gythian's energy. Seeing that infernal red reflecting in her friends' eyes, it seemed they all stared fearlessly at the gates of Hell.

Together, they buckled down. Amara could make out the same expectations hardening everyone's expressions. Without a doubt, conflict would ensue. Deathtrap's laser would surely act as a gunshot commencing a battle more chaotic than others.

Situating herself and her most favorite invention directly across from the menacing barrier, Gaige patted her companion on his shoulder and took a step back.

"Deathtrap's good to go! Just give him a signal when you're ready to blast that forcefield!"

In sync, the four of them fit together back-to-back. The sound of everyone reloading and double-checking their weapons was comforting for Amara, assuring her that her teammates were at their best.

Together, they gave their thumbs up. Without hesitation, Deathtrap pumped his arms while hoisting himself higher and unleashed his matching laser, giving it his all from the get-go. Convinced the entire planet shook as the two forces collided, Amara ground her boot tread further into the walkway beneath them.

"Awww YEAH, it's laser time, babe!" roared the anarchist in celebration. Zane's digiclone flashed into position alongside her, both there to pump his free fist in support and assist in guarding the bot.

The Bonded didn't disappoint. By the dozens, they shadowed the cobblestone walkways with their seaweed-smelling bodies. With Vault Hunters of their caliber poised to greet them, their deaths were imminent. If any of Gythian's mindless minions had any survival instinct, they would have fled.

Gaige's signature "Oooo, they didn't not like that!" was promptly followed by her warning, "More robes coming in hot!" Smirking as she smashed one with her astral fist, Amara figured the mechromancer spoke to best amp herself up. The devilish grin on her ivory face certainly suggested it.

Beside her, Zane's expression was furrowed with intensity, his strong shoulders and arms easily absorbing the powerful kick of his heavy rifle. Hyperaware of his presence, Amara sensed his every adjustment as he changed targets and used his lifetime of expertise to reload with record speed, each depleted clip dropping to their feet among the steady shower of spent rounds.

Gaige's observation was enough to turn her head before she could linger on the gunner manning her other side. Far from discouraged, the redhead nodded to the ongoing clash of energy and how Gythian's forcefield seemed to absorb everything Deathtrap unleashed on it.

"Damn, that thing is TOUGH! Even with the laser, it's gonna take a while."

"Bring it on," Moze growled. With that, their foursome responded to some unspoken agreement and broke apart, the soldier leaping into the air as the familiar sound of Iron Bear digistructing preceded the boom of its cannons bombarding the Bonded with its payload.

With an adrenaline-laden laugh, Amara watched her two favorite people play a game of slaughter. Racing ahead with his fancy footwork and flourish, Zane blasted everything in his path, cryo rounds capturing his targets in solid ice. Following behind at a hulking sprint, the Ursa mech stomped some while smashing others with its massive bear claws.

"Popsicles fer everyone!" the operative laughed, finally breaking his own stone-faced silence in exchange for merriment.

Unamused, Eleanor remained high and mighty atop her omnipotent throne. "You cannot break this barrier. It is the power of Gythian itself. You are beaten. Can't you see that? But I must say, your determination is...almost endearing, in a way."

And it was. Their dedication to persevering, invigorated by their teamwork and uncanny abilities of complimenting each other in the deadliest ways, ensured that nothing came close to Deathtrap. It seemed almost carefree how they shot through the mutants and dodged each other's gunfire - how FL4K threw themself into Iron Bear's turret and Zane spun with his clone, muzzles ablaze, while she slid across cobblestone and uppercut a stunned enemy, their gore staining her cuffed fist. Others became her newest punching bags, pummeled until they sagged on the ground like the invertebrates they were cursed to resemble.

"Barely worked up a sweat," Amara basked while stepping over a khel vod's deflating body - the one that had launched itself into the air, only for her spiraling fists to intercept and send it splashing to the ground in stinking chunks.

She had only just wiped its caustic mucous from her boots as Gaige called out, "Almost there! Keep it up, Deathtrap!"

How she knew was beyond Amara, and still, she trusted the prodigy's judgment. She hadn't been wrong so far, and now was not the time for that to change - not when they were so close to winning that she swore she could taste it.

Gythian's underlings couldn't understand their defeat. They continued throwing energy and teleporting, one after another falling from her brute destruction, Iron Bear's lethal arsenal, or the quick sharpshooting of their taller teammates. Growing tired of the repetition and the lack of challenge they posed, Amara ran toward FL4K's back as they drove their meathook through an executioner's throat. Their sensors triggered, they responded to her as though they had planned the maneuver - and adjusted to catch her, giving her the pitch she desired.

Launched high in the air by the beastmaster's assist, she cracked a savagely sexy grin and came down with eight electric fists. They shattered the ground, blue sparks spreading like cracks in an eggshell and destroying the grand fountain that toppled in massive pieces.

A second later, Zane's hoarse yell of "I live for this!" was punctuated by an equally cacophonous explosion, followed by his gruff laughter. Hearing Moze join in from Iron Bear's cockpit had Amara smirking mischievously but nothing was as rewarding as what happened next.

Little bit by bit, the voids peppering the forcefield continued expanding until finally, the barrier ruptured like a bubble. It dissipated, the paranormal forces keeping it intact collapsing outward, leaving that inner sanctum exposed.

Eleanor's resulting rage was vile and grotesque - and was certainly the juiciest cherry on top.

"What?!" she howled. "Impossible! Gythian cannot feel pain! What have you done?!"

"I mean, she only asked fer it," grumbled Zane as he brandished his flask and tipped his head back to chug from it.

Short of him finishing, Moze walked over and hopped up to snatch it from him so she could steal a gulp. After that, she handed it back and inspected the fruits of their labor with one hand atop her tattooed hip.

Grinning ear to ear, her teeth bright beneath the kohl smudging her cheeks, Moze reconsidered her tall partner's eyepatch. "Maybe we should've saved Zane a shard. He could have had a laser!"

His bushy brows lifting, the Pandoran-Irishman pursed his lips in consideration before taking another merry swig. Then, cracking a smile as he wiped the corner of his mouth, he amicably disagreed.

"Nahhhhh, red ain't me color anyway! Makes me look washed out. 'Sides, I'd prob'ly sneeze an' accidentally vaporize someone's giblets. What a shame that'd be."

Across the courtyard, Gaige's gleeful outburst couldn't have contrasted Eleanor's spiteful fury more starkly, even if her high was short-lived.

"Yeah, babe! You did it! Aw, crap, your batteries are almost dead!"

It seemed inevitable, really, with how long Deathtrap had been functioning. Now that his objective had been so wonderfully fulfilled, the Vault Hunters were confident they could handle any situation from there. What was to say he couldn't recharge and reunited with them again as needed?

As it turns out, the redhead-robot pair were far from withdrawing. Instead, Gaige had another purpose in mind.

"Wainwright and Hammerlock are down there, but Deathtrap is drained," confirmed the anarchist while placing a caring hand on her BFF's forearm. "I gotta stay and keep him going. We'll keep them off your back while you get in and save our grooms!"

"Are you certain?" Amara asked despite wanting nothing more to charge ahead and finish what Eleanor had foolishly started. Still, she couldn't leave a friend neglected.

"You're not comin' with?" was Zane's response, the tail-end of his question peaked in disappointment.

FL4K shared his disbelief, demanding clarification. "You want us to leave you here?"

Having heard enough concern and being eager to defend herself, Gaige spoke before Moze could get her word in.

"You guys are our best shot for keeping our grooms from being consumed by this giant monster. I'm delegating! This is what being a wedding planner is all about! Get going!"

No one could argue against that and nobody remotely tried. Instead, they turned their collective attention ahead to the impressive mansion that stood tall and haunted before them. Amara frowned as she remembered assuming that the tentacle monuments followed some sort of cultural trend. Now, it disgusted her to know those cursed monoliths had been erected as brainwashed tributes to Gythian's reign.

Stepping alongside her, Zane knocked the empties out of his revolver and plugged in a fresh set of slugs before snapping the barrel into place with a sharp flick of his wrist. The sight of him spinning his pistol around his finger before fluidly holstering it sent a tickle brewing deep in her belly.

Inwardly rolling her eyes, the siren silently chided herself. She had only seen that signature twirl every damn time he used his revolver. With how naturally he put on the display, he likely performed the act on autopilot. If anything, it should remind her to do the same...which she did, reloading her own weapons to distract from her unsatisfied desires.

They had grooms to save, and that was the only thing that mattered.

...

Mancubus' voice paired perfectly with the Heart's Desire and really set off its eldritch vibes. Amara found herself expecting his lanky body to emerge from the shadows...with arms linked behind his bony back, naturally.

Instead, his presence remained ECHO-dependent, coupled with whatever spooky ability he used to observe them from afar.

"Ah...I may be of some service," slithered his queer tongue. "The halls of the venue are a nest of secrets. For now, you must travel...deeper."

Whatever that meant. Amara wasn't going to ask questions. To her, it made perfect sense that they would have to cover more ground and immerse themselves further into that expansive mansion.

And so they did, room by room, finding one as massive as the next. Among suction-cupped decor, dusty texts, and ominous light seeping in through red-tinted windows, they split into two pairs and made quick work of searching both stories.

"I always pair explosive barrels with me interior renovation projects!" snarked Zane while pointing out each of those very things.

Amara figured it made as much sense as that entire debacle did, but he was right: they encountered numerous areas where construction supplies were strewn about. Whoever had been assigned to the task - a mindless follower, no doubt - wasn't qualified, as the boarded-up areas were poorly performed compared to the otherwise elaborate woodwork.

Oh well. With them combing the halls and mutilating the Bonded obsessed with pursuing them, there wouldn't be much left to repair by the time they were finished. Stray rounds collapsed statues and punched through walls, sending wood spray and plaster damn near everywhere. The most recent room they ventured into was soon wrought with mulched structures and shredded bodies left as fertilizer.

Through a narrow passage decorated with monster skulls, they discovered themselves in a spacious council room. A large green lantern was suspended above a long table. On the wall beyond, a tentacled sculpture was the focal point of the room. With the Bonded pouring in through the walls, there wasn't time to study their surroundings beyond that.

Unaffected, Mancubus spoke over the steady booms of her shotgun and the rapid popping of Zane's expert pistol fire. Both FL4K and Moze brought up the rear with their long rifle and SMG, the partners dividing to address the threats on either side. Among the casualties: more staff-wielding squids and hooded executioners.

"Should you find yourselves blocked, perhaps inspect the menagerie of faces on the wall. You never know what might be staring back."

"Ugh," shuddered Amara before she could help it, pausing to tighten her gloves after landing a particularly fierce punch. "Why can't he just give us answers rather than be so…"

"So creepy?" finished Zane as he disarmed his wrist blades. Like her, he had to step over a bleeding body to avoid the obsidian stench flowing from it. With a shrug, his mustache cocked with his smirk. "Some fellers prefer bein' all ominous like that. Part o' their character!"

Having a strong identity of her own, the siren chose other means of being intimidating. Even then, she took the hint for what it was and began inspecting the area.

Coming up with nothing in their immediate vicinity, the Vault Hunters scaled another delipidated staircase. Beyond a dark hallway lined with dim wall sconces, they discovered a dead end boasting a handful of alien busts. More than the others, one drew their suspicious inspection.

"Y'know, the glowing yellow X fer eyes and the shoddy wall construction reeeeally are dead giveaways," judged Zane as he rapped his knuckles against the exposed wood. Even to the untrained ear, there was no mistaking the hollow resonance behind it.

Grumbling, Moze knocked something off the bottom of one boot before she crossed her arms, tapping her compact SMG impatiently. "These jackasses could really learn a thing or two about not being so obvious. Or, you know, not wasting our fucking time."

"Their faults are to our advantage," acknowledged their succinct and robotic member. Amara merely nodded in support.

What an ugly thing the bust was. Its bare, bony forehead starkly contrasted the grinning spread of gruesome teeth that gleamed dully. Some sort of armor encased either side of the mounted head, but as the Lodge proprietor pointed out, a portion of the arrangement appeared absent.

"That ghastly thing seems to be missing an antler," he pointed out, neglecting to comment on the luminous button oriented beneath. "Perhaps if you restore it, you will find a surprising passage."

"Surprising...right," she humored, already turning to look around the room for any leads. To her, this was just another pathetic game of keep-away - and a totally unnecessary one at that considering she could smash through to the other side.

Somehow, Moze caught her by the elbow before she could form a fist. "Hoooold on, Biceps," she soothed, appearing to relate but instead exhibiting caution. "Maybe there's something you might not wanna fuck up behind there."

"Shorty's got a point," supported their operative, appearing to scan around the room with his cybernetics. At the same time, FL4K silently stepped up and inserted the missing horn into its socket.

"...The feck?" blurted the Irishman with tickled amusement. "Lemme guess - ye happened to have an extra stored in yer pants!"

Mr. Chew seized their attention as he tromped over carrying a soggy cardboard box in his jaws. Stubby rear-end wiggling proudly, he playfully growled while thrashing the slobber-saturated material to dripping pieces.

"Looks like someone forgot to unpack it?" mused Amara, cocking her scarred brow at the peculiarity of it. Whatever. Better than wasting time locating it.

Reaching forward, she went to press the button beneath that toothy trophy - and never made contact. Instead, the bust came at her, the wall crumbling around an unexpectedly living monstrosity.

Later, she would reject the reality that a startled scream left her. Heart lodged in her throat, she reflexively fell back while at the same time, a strong hand pulled her. She collided with Zane's chest as shrapnel from the wall pelted her, losing her balance as he hastily threw her from harm's way.

It all happened so quickly that she failed to see who killed the monstrosity. Maybe it had been FL4K who had raised a shotgun to its skull? Regardless, that grotesque face was no more than a crater when she collected herself, her dominant hand pressed flat to her chest. Moze was brushing her off while Zane's leathered fingers steadied her, the dual attention nearly overwhelming.

Flustered, Amara batted them off and channeled her frustration into kicking off the mutants remaining head. Given one more second, she would have ruptured its putrid brains with her fist.

"Cheap trick," she hissed. She then proceeded to roll her wrists and tighten her ponytail, pointedly ignoring her teammates' snickers.

Sounding wickedly mirthful, Mancubus went on. "Yes, that should clear the way. The founders keep an office in the venue. They use it... frequently. You will find what you seek near at hand, when you sit where evil stands."

"Hot damn, more riddles!" said Zane while nudging her with his armored elbow. Teasing further, he winked. "Yer favorite!"

Rolling her eyes in response, the Partalian pushed past him and through the demolished wall to the passageway beyond. On the prowl, she felt very much like a tiger baring her fangs and flexing her nostrils to scent out trouble.

"Some say hidden switches are going out of style, but in my opinion, they're a timeless classic," crooned their strangely helpful host.

Other than a crackling fireplace and two loot chests that offered nothing substantial, Amara didn't feel drawn to much. There was a simple desk occupying the center of the room beyond the lift control she couldn't help but take a shot at. Its red light flashed in refusal as nearby, Moze and Zane began rifling through the desk drawers.

The audible rustle of paper accompanying Zane's intrigued humming was interrupted by the gunner's abrupt gasp of shock. Catching everyone off-guard, she yanked him away from the furniture as a detonator chirped - and a grenade went off with a bang!

Other than blowing the drawer to pieces, it only succeeded at kick-starting Moze's most recent slew of cussing. In a much cheerier mood, Zane sauntered back and flapped his findings at her as a distraction.

"Look! Boobytraps and boobies!" he tittered before turning the magazine cover to himself and quirking a thick brow. Scanning the image more thoroughly, he reconsidered. "I mean sorta?"

"Is that porn?!" blurted Moze as her bearded companion threw it at her. She bobbled it in her hands as she caught it and then gave a "ha!" of disbelief. "Woah, Eleanor, miss your hubby much?"

"Apparently one o' 'em has a taste for bandits in bikinis, some really arse-ugly sexbots, and...well, Axton!" described Zane before bending over in crass, ornery laughter.

Startled by the accusation and spinning on her heel to chastise him, Amara glared in disbelief. Another volume of printed material promptly collided with her chest and interrupted her. On the cover: far too much exposed skin and - to her shock - a man who looked far too familiar for comfort.

"It's- it's just a resemblance," she stuttered, thoroughly red in the face and fumbling with not acknowledging the photograph - specifically the title, model, or the large gun providing some very appreciated censorship.

"Bullocks!" was Zane's retort as he stepped up with a shit-eating grin and snatched it from her - not that she put up any resistance. "If it ain't him, it's his brother! Seems right up ally- get it? Ha-HA!' came his deafening bark, as naughty as his expression while he flipped through the pages.

Now Amara snatched the magazine back with force and circled around the operative, her siren-dotted visage both flushed and miffed. Before anyone could convince her otherwise, she chucked the magazine into the fireplace and let the flames happily consume it.

There, evidence destroyed - as if a million copies hadn't been printed. She didn't want to remotely get started on addressing Zane's behavior, boyish and inappropriate as she found it. As it was, she had previously had enough of his insinuating that she was attracted to Axton in that way.

The fact that her ex-lover still had the audacity to make those insinuations was just plain painful… particularly now after he had forfeited their relationship. Before, he had made it all-too-clear that he would have maimed the commando for making a pass at her. The contrast only served as a stinging reminder of everything they had lost.

For a second, her resentment managed to get to her. She snapped before she could think better of it. "Oh, I'm sorry, did you want it for your collection?"

Like old times, the operative opened his mouth to snark back. Upon registering the hint of hurt in her expression, his own fell. He brushed it off quickly enough, opting instead to act as though nothing had actually happened. He shrugged then and casually said, "Nope, I'm good."

That was that, and honestly, it was all Amara wanted it to be and all they could afford. From Moze's expression, it was clear she caught a whiff of that tension. Amara left it up to her to figure out what to do with it while she actively chose to move on...and did so by venturing further across the room. With her back turned to Zane, she didn't see his single eye follow her.

As though expecting another unwanted surprise, the gunner more tentatively peered into the bottom drawers of the desk. To the right, she found an obvious button that, when pressed, changed the lift indicator to green.

"Wait, Bloodtooth's calling that secretive? Totally lame," sighed Moze. Nevertheless, their team was eager to pile onto the platform and see where it would take them.

Mancubus really spoiled their unpleasant destination, even if his intention was to forewarn and prepare them. "You descend into the fleshy shell of Gythian itself. Few who set foot there have lived to tell the tale. But...I hope you will be among them."

"In the belly of the beast. Legendary," Amara hummed, her tune arrogant before she wrinkled her nose at the foul reality. "And smelly."

Upon landing on Xylourgos and seeing Gythian's gigantic body, chances were no one expected to actually enter the creature. That peculiar turn of events was one of many examples proving to be a hey couldn't predict fate.

At most, they had expected to attend a strange wedding, but never one this treacherous and insane. Their experience was definitely worth writing a book about someday - and she didn't think it would find a place among Alistair's classy almanacs. Maybe Zane, who often commented on adding chapters in his saga, would someday include it in a drunkenly composed autobiography.

For now, the operative's chiseled face momentarily twisted as they were subjected to that moist and unsettling environment. Despite the modern technology that comprised the base of the lift, the organic passage beyond the observation deck was glistening.

"Haven't been inside a giant monster in an age," Zane curiously reflected, leading his teammates to wonder the backstory behind that. "Humid in here. Great for me pores," he suggested with disturbing whimsy.

"You are so not likening this to a sauna," said Moze with disgust. The yuck in her expression had Zane smacking her on the back with a hearty laugh

"When yer me age, ye take what ye can get!"

"Whatever you say, Wrinkles," retorted the gunner with a hint of tongue. That was far from the first jab at his age she had ever made and wouldn't be the last - even as immune to that angle as Zane was.

They all knew Moze was full of shit. Amara, in particular, remembered her admitting shortly after meeting that he was "Kinda hot for a crazy old dude."

Zane was more convinced of that than anyone. Proudly admiring his own face with a caress that ended at the tip of his beard, he smirked. "Lass, ye wish ye looked half this distinguished. Ye must be goin' blind if ye can't see how I'm rockin' all this. Mmm, mm, mm!"

"So that's what we're calling it. Riiiight," Moze razzed with a snigger - even as the operative pushed her like she was an annoying little sister. Then, experiencing another wave of disgust, she groaned at their surroundings. "That's so gross. Everything is meat."

Apparently that environment was precisely what Amara needed to quell her appetite. Her stomach had been on the verge of growling before they had descended into that repulsive organ. Poor Moze looked like she was on the verge of hurling.

With two offshoots available to them and little time to lose, they agreed to split into teams and cover the area quicker. The sound of Moze and the FL4K pack's footfalls faded as she and Zane worked their way in the opposite direction, the operative's assault rifle ready to fire without notice as he swept their new territory with efficiency and speed.

A dose of hope came across their ECHOs when Hammerlock's voice transmitted to them. Unexpectedly, it caused them to falter alongside a sharp drop-off and meet eyes as the adventurer said, rather casually, "You know, I'm not even sure I even want to have a party without a Queen Slug's head hanging over the d'oeuvers. Would you kindly?"

"Guess we know what B-team will be doing," she sighed, watching Zane crimp his rugged brows in confusion.

Smoothing over after a moment, he shrugged. "Doubtin' the lad's priorities, honestly, but at least he's still kickin'! Sounds like he's a few marbles short, though."

Sighing, Amara toed the steel edge leading to a lower level. She felt the same, which was all the more reason to locate him and do it fast. "Shall we?"

The operative dropped down first, grunting as he made contact, with the siren only a second behind. They found themselves facing the same cavernous and dripping area visible from the observation deck. Presumably, its sealed orifice led to some unknown bodily cavity which, despite Amara's disgust, was precisely where they wanted to be.

They weren't alone. Two particularly massive monstrosities greeted them with inhuman groans just ahead of the mucous-laden passageway. They reminded Amara of the empowered khel vod but were tankier and, as they soon discovered, stronger. Neither of them expected the uniquely colored monstrosities to launch themselves high and smash down with enough force to collapse the metal flooring.

According to Mancubus, the abominations must have had specific identities at some point. He spoke as though he knew of them, same as everything, leading her to question if he had experience within Gythian.

"Monstrous twins, bonded twice. Kill them together and bond them thrice," he recited. Had the creatures inspiring his macabre poetry given her the opportunity, she might have prodded for answers, but instead, she engaged one in combat while Zane tackled the task of exterminating the other.

Favoring brute strength over tactic, she pummeled her opponent to a crude death. She used shimmering fists to slam that bulbous, neon body into the wall and knock it aside, only to strike it with her siren knuckles again. Confident in her partner's deft footwork and weapon mastery, she still lent an assist. Tendrils of her phasegrasp extended to lock Zane's target into place, allowing him to unload clip after clip into it until viscera spilled from its ropy flesh.

"Ye should know better than to let a siren grab ye!" he told the gurgling mutant, tsking at it while it drew its last breath and collapsed, a ribbon of sanguine energy slithering from it like a snake before dissipating. Reconsidering, Zane tapped his lips in a semblance of thought while snorting wryly. "Then again, why would ye? S'pose she's the one and only ye'd see in this beastie!"

Leave it to her partner to taunt a dead body, particularly as it deflated into themselves. Both Bonded were still soaking in their own gory puddles when their teammates caught up to join them.

"Ew," complained Moze again, crossing her arms and shuddering in disgust as she widely avoided them - and then verbalized the same sentiment while studying their destination. "Ew!"

Unphased, Mancubus spoke of something they hadn't yet noticed. "Quite an impressive lock, I must say, but every safe can be cracked."

The puzzle sealing the rubbery valves was so simple, anyone with a gun could solve it. Four cubes boasting symbolic imagery awaited manipulation at each corner of the entry. The pedestal erected before it depicted a specific pattern Mancubus either knew by heart or could see from afar.

"A crow in flight, blood dark as night. A midnight chime, a hand of slime," he eerily recited.

With misgivings, Amara scrutinized the setup. "There has to be a trick. It can't be this easy."

"Why the hell not?" asked Moze with a shrug. "Let's get shooting!"

Alright, so Amara admitted she might have given their enemies too much credit. With pistols drawn, the Vault Hunters claimed individual corners and shot the cube edges until they rotated to match the pillar. Upon completion, the metal wires embedded by meat hooks retracted, tearing open the wall of tissue. As a result, a deafening and ghastly roar blasted through the opening, the fleshy tomb quaking around them before gradually dying down.

An intense wafting of fishy stench

gusted in their faces, eliciting gags of disgust. They could only hope their noses would go blind to the offensive odor they found themselves subjected to.

"Smells like some'a the scarier seafood buffets I've seen," shuddered Zane audibly before chuckling despite himself. "Ain't enough cocktail sauce in the bleedin' universe worth that sorta food poisoning!"

"I don't even wanna know," muttered Moze. Mr. Chew, on the other hand, appeared as interested as he always did at the mention of food. His jaws were dripping elastic saliva like a fountain - as if the seeping tissues compressing underfoot needed to be any slipperier.

Originating from their ECHOs, Gaige's expressive voice joined them in that living cavern. "Holy crap, Vault Hunters - the entire village started shaking! Whatever you're doing in there, the monster doesn't like it!"

Yeah, well, neither did they, Amara acknowledged while shooting down one of many kriches flying to greet them.

Gradually the pipes lining the grotesque landscape gave way to more and more organic structures. Amara didn't even know what part of Gythian they were working through and decided it was best she didn't ask. Bypassing clusters of strange protuberances, the four of them avoided the green bile pooling in the ribbed canal. A handful of times, the fibers twitched and spasmed, squeezing more of that noxious fluid from its folds.

"No wonder Gythian's so cranky - look at all the pests its got up its arse!" shouted Zane over the gunfire they used to clear the path. She couldn't prevent the growl of revulsion that escaped her, because he just had to insinuate that location. Tempted as she was to shoot him in the ass for it - knowing, of course, that his shield would protect him - she refrained. As soon as possible, she just wanted to get that leg of their journey over with and get so very out of that abomination.

Deeper and deeper, they fought their way into the beast. They slashed through veins and blockages, the destruction causing Gythian to roar furiously around them. Narrow tunnels opened to broad areas that had clearly been invaded by humans before, as walkways and scaffolding were constructed within. If nothing else, it gave them territory to battle Bonded on that wasn't squishy and didn't try tugging off her boots. The number of times she stumbled when rippling peristalsis tried sucking off her shoes was embarrassing but at least Moze shared her cursing.

Revolting as their location was, Amara really didn't care to see a raging khel vod tear apart the remains of another and devour it. Watching it transform into an empowered, oversized adversary didn't do her any favors - or it, for that matter, as larger enemies only fell harder.

Her blood singing, she passionately threw herself into the fight. Spheres of her mystical powers captured enemy upon enemy and splattered them with lethal acid, her own skin immune to its splashes.

With her teammates reaping carnage all around, she punched kriches to clouds of bloody mist. Turning to find her next target, she caught sight of Zane doing the same with his holographic claws - and then matched his smile when he noticed her. How could he not with how brightly her tattoos burned, their corrosive green reflecting off their glistening environment? Intense as her powers were, she could taste their caustic tang on her tongue.

After so many hours spent slaughtering squid people and covering such far distances, they were on the cusp of saving their friends. Now, they were literally in the belly of the beast and anticipated confronting Eleanor in her very lair. What Amara couldn't prepare herself for was the possibility that Vincent's possession of Wainwright was irreversible. As it was, there was no guarantee they would escape that hellhole with both grooms in tow.

For now, she could only focus on whatever minion landed in her crosshairs and dispose of them with bullets and fists. She didn't linger on the exhaustion she saw on two of her three teammates' faces or accept that her own reflected the same. It made her chest ache to see how Moze's undereye circles blended into her face paint or how Zane's appeared excessively baggy.

Consuming as their mission had been, they had lost track of time. They had scaled mountains and been in a near-constant state of battle since stepping foot on that frozen planet, and there hadn't been any real opportunity for self-care or recovery. Surely the star couple, once officially married, would understand if they opted to sleep through the post-ceremony festivities.

Still, the Vault Hunters pushed on. Amidst the violent chaos and the taunts of her teammates rollicking at the mass slaughter of mutants, bickering between lovers - both possessed and not - ensued.

"I pledge myself to you once again, my darlin' Eleanor," droned Wainwright, Vincent's voice overlapping his.

Alistair's desperate outcry followed immediately: "Winny, stop this! You have to fight back!"

"That's quite enough from you, worm," tutted Eleanor, sounding offended that anyone would ever dare to interrupt her and her true love.

"I'll have you know-" snapped the adventurer - until he became muffled, something audibly smothering his unapologetic retaliation. For that, Amara punched her fist straight through a grawn's head and swore to do the same to whomever, or whatever, had apprehended the sophisticated gentleman.

Leaving so many dead peons in their wake, their weapons were steaming as they tore through another pulsing wall and braced themselves against Gythian's bellowing shockwave. Another expansive cavity waited on the other side, occupied with more constructed platforms and long cables strung from a hole seeping light in from above. Everything else was blood red and vile - a perfect lair for the Bonded to call their own.

Being so exposed in that territory made it that much more vital to guard each other. Back to back, they moved in pairs to scour the area and determine where they could proceed. Not that they needed it, but Amara found herself wishing Deathtrap hadn't inadvertently toasted Zane's deployable barrier. At least the smaller shield deployed by the flat of his hand ensured he remained unscathed, enabling them to spin in unison so that he faced the thickest rush of their foes.

With darkness and haze consuming them, their senses were dominated by the stench of alien blood. The emerald portals transporting the Bonded showed even more vividly within that murky interior. Their sparking spells were easier to anticipate, glowing like flares, as their own muzzle flashes and explosives added to the dangerous fireworks.

Together, she and Zane discovered a dead end...occupied by a strange pustule that throbbed while giving birth to something. What, they didn't stay to find out. Instead, they backtracked until they scaled the second story, dodging projectiles and ducking under swooping skrits before Moze and FL4K waved them over to a lift.

"Exactly where I'd put me elevator!" joked Zane with an incredulous shake of his head. "Great view!"

Situated to his right and brushing elbows with him, Amara appreciated his dry wit. God knew she needed something to take her mind off the realization that they could find themselves digested or otherwise smothered by Gythian's body. All the more reason to refuse it as her final resting place.

The things she would give to soak neck-deep in a jasmine-laced bubble bath or be curled up among a sea of luxurious pillows while reading an ancient text and sipping freshly bloomed tea...

At another time, in another place, she might have preferred running her sudsy hands through silver hair and along glistening ridges of scarred muscle…or fantasizing about languidly kissing her former lover while enjoying the tickle of his mustache and teasing her fingers through his freshly moussed spikes.

Hell, at that point, she didn't need something so divine. Simply curling up with Moze in their shared lodge accommodations would have been nice. Lazy embraces and basking in shared body heat was deeply inviting…even if a similar scenario involved punching Zane in the balls and snuggling against him while he convulsed in agony.

For now, her only option was to keep all of Eleanor's annoying minions off Zane's slim ass and have the favor returned. With so many flying kriches around, Zoomer's nonstop machine gunning greatly assisted in the task, the drone a blur of constant motion.

The meat tube they fought through was lush with vile lumps, twitching bulges, and spongy masses. The lonely groan that originated from Gythian itself vibrated everything around them and put Amara on edge - even more so than the exchange between Eleanor and her reviving Vincent.

"Now, where were we?" hummed the witch, sounding as pompous and grandiose as always. "Ah, yes...I pledge myself to you, my beloved Vincent."

"Gythian's renewal is also ours. You and I, my darlin', we are eternal. Our worldly troubles shall break like waves upon the rocks."

"...Do folks really like this nonsense?" gagged Zane, seeming as over it as Amara knew she was. She wondered whose ears would bleed first as he griped, "I've had less cheese in a sandwich!

"No one I could fucking stand," was Moze's tetchy reply, a short laugh leaving the siren. So relatable.

On and on, the cursed lovers crooned their romantic poetry and fed off each other's dramatism. To Amara, it sounded like the utter nonsense that couples posted on social media...before breaking up a week later.

"Whatever stands in our way, it shall be shattered. Whoever stands between us, they shall be destroyed," the wife pledged.

"She wishes," scoffed the Partalian.

"I love you, Eleanor."

"I love you, Vincent."

Then together, they recited the same line that the Vault Hunters impatiently planned to disprove: "We are eternal."

Giant blobs of blistery tissue greeted them in the next area, stung from the ceiling and dangling precariously. It was the darkest portion yet, vascular tissues pulsating from Gythian's heartbeat, the vile sight promising they were nearing that long-awaited goal.

Through dense patches of fingerlike flagella that quivered when wetly brushing against them, their team forced their way through the kriches lurking in that garnet gloom. The creatures' bioluminescence made them easy targets, though after absorbing so much kickback, a dull ache had made itself at home in her shoulder. Forbidding it, she allowed Zane's digiclone to serve as a beacon, the operative deploying it near the opening ahead. Not only did it draw their attention in the right direction but it covered their backs as they rushed ahead, ensuring the repulsive pests stayed at bay.

Passing through metal archways, Amara found herself once again marveling at the infrastructure installed that far into that otherworldly creature. No doubt Eleanor's brainwashed followers had been enslaved to do it. Regardless, the narrower tunnels they ran through felt like the end of the line. Drawing a steady inhale to prepare herself, she slid down the slippery and sloping artery awaiting them.

Past a drop-off, Gythian's massive heart greeted her and, one by one, the others. Her eridium eyes immediately identified Wainwright and Hammerlock where they were suspended, imprisoned within a pair of massive tentacles. Seeing them both moving and alive covered her with a wave of relief and allowed her to concentrate solely on Eleanor's demise.

The heart itself is a repugnant and immense organ befitting the creature it sustained. Massive shards reminiscent of the fragment shoved into Deathtrap's eye protruded from the ropy fibers, glinting and threatening.

Within the most prominent and lowest crystal, a human silhouette reached for Eleanor. The sorceress, levitating in black robes, pressed a visible orb of energy into the shimmering stone. Reacting with a thunderous throb, the heart descended to swallow the sharp gem and entrapped human within. Only then did she turn to face them, her gray visage deplorably wicked.

"You will never shatter our bond!" threatened her damnable tongue, her eyes lit with foul hatred.

Hammerlock refused her the opportunity to say more, instead projecting his injustice over the cardiac throb of his captor. "Vault Hunters! Kill these love-maddened tyrants and save Wainwright!"

Nothing could have better spurred them into action, the siren and her teammates unleashing their most formidable weapons on the accursed queen and the heinous organ radiating darkness. Resisting their gunfire and the astral assault Amara flung at her, Eleanor soon proved she was even less human than assumed. The moment she flailed her robes and cast the first bolt of energy at them, she revealed herself as half-squid, her eight tentacles thrashing and corkscrewing in rage.

To Amara, it made perfect sense that she would be a slimy and spineless freak. She certainly wasn't the human she had once been. The only heart she had now was Gythian's.

Between Zane doubling up with his clone and engaging Zoomer in an aerial chase, Iron Bear digistructing, and FL4K siccing his pack upon the heart, everything was chaos. Jaws and claws ravaged the pulsing muscle as beaks snapped at the appendages apprehending the grooms, the rakks screeching as their talons embedded deep.

Her siren energy blazing, Amara drew her most intense strength from her core. She threw the fire of her contempt at the witch and her neon green underbelly, her contempt for their enemy infinite.

"My beloved, I think I will toy with them for a while," decided Eleanor as she dodged the first, displaying herself with sickening confidence. "It will be such fun!"

Using Wainwright as his channel and invading his voice, Vincent hummed. "Oh take your time, darling. We have all the time in the world…"

Like hell they did and the Vault Hunters were determined to prove it. They pulled their triggers at the arrogant sorceress as she twirled around and swayed her suckered appendages. Even as she opened portals and propelled herself through as though jetting through water, she couldn't outshine them at what they did best. Not even the minions she sent at them could spare her their wrath, their shields deflecting the sharp energy she projected at them.

Honestly, Amara expected Eleanor to pose more of a challenge. It had never been clearer that the cursed researcher had severely underestimated them. All too soon, she was curling her grotesque tentacles in distress. There was nothing sweeter than hearing her shrill cry of pain, the rewarding sound reverberating throughout the chamber even as an orb of Gythian's power protectively consumed her.

Amara would have been angrier had Vincent not confirmed what she hoped to be true.

"Darling, you're hurt. Let me take a turn."

"No!" came his wife's disappointed cry. "I'm not done with them, Vincent!"

Not one to obey her, Wainwright's possessed vocals openly opposed her. "Well I can't let you have all the fun, now can I?"

Placated, Eleanor submitted to her husband and relented with an embittered laugh. "Fair enough. I will sit this round out. For you."

From above, copious streams of blood came rushing down, splashing through the grated flooring. One after another, more vessels broke to gush their own sanguine rivers. Rapidly rising, the sickening fluid collected until it flooded beyond the barrier. Features contorting in disgust, Amara gagged as the crimson flow soaked through her boots and consumed her up to her knees.

Truly, the experience was fuel for nightmares. Wet socks, particularly those saturated with chilled alien blood, were nearly too much for her stomach. Futile as it was, she instinctively stumbled in an attempt to avoid the flood and inadvertently bumped into Iron Bear.

Revolted as she was by the gory cesspool, she wasted no time in climbing the mech in record speed. Just as effortlessly, she flung herself behind the turret before thinking of her partner who sloshed nearby, his steel footwear and under armor possibly sparing him.

"Had worse!" assured Zane as though reading her mind, gesturing at her to remain where she was.

In that situation, Amara couldn't have been more grateful. Should she have thought twice about staying? She doubted it. FL4K didn't care and Moze was spared most of it within her bubble gum-decorated cockpit.

From within his own confines, Alistair yelled out to them while attempting to wriggle himself loose. At the same time, the heart expanded to slurp from the rancid pool, its glowing spikes jutting out once more.

"The heart!" he directed, grimacing as he wrenched his shoulders from side to side and kicked angrily. "You must destroy the heart!"

No one needed to tell them twice. Gun muzzles ablaze, the Vault Hunters targeted the pulsing chambers and blasted away, plasma shells tearing sections to shreds while rifle fire punched holes through the contracting fibers. Still, the booming lub-dub of it beating was sickening, the turbulence of blood compounded by the wet sucking of circulating valves. It was enough to have her own viscera twisting and drive her mad to end it.

From within the churning crimson, green boils expanded. Zane was quick to target those nearest them, their contents bursting outward as his bullets ruptured the distended sacs.

Drawn to the red glow of the heart's jagged crystals, Amara captured one in an ethereal fist and squeezed, her true hand governing the motion. With a commanding clench, it burst into a shower of fragments, another following closely behind as her teammates coordinated their attacks on a single target.

Violently rippling and quaking, the heart spewed more rivers of murky blood. Already, Zane and FL4K were splitting off to either side and shooting at the remaining spikes. With Zoomer oscillating around the organ and gunning it from all angles, Zane targeted the radiant tines with cold precision until they erupted under his concentrated fire spray. Conserving his heftier rounds, he left the siren to marvel again with his coordination as he gracefully drew his pistol and dispatched an incoming krich with a single trigger pull before bombarding the heart again.

Splinters flew as the lengths fractured and shattered in much the same way, more gore spilling back to the carmine lake. Moze engaged Iron Bear's shield while Amara recharged her powers. Leveling the mech's turret with one of the organ's gaping cavities, she laid hard on the trigger and began filling the abomination with hot lead.

"Giant tentacle ho!" yelled Alistair suddenly, a spiked appendage lifting from the blood before slamming flat with a splash. Rearing up quickly, it swiped across the room like a wicked tongue.

With breakneck speed, Zane opened fire, and still, it wasn't enough to deflect the beast. Even deploying his digiclone didn't save him from being struck by the brisk whip of the tentacle but transposing spared him from landing in the basin of blood. Less resourceful, FL4K was incapable of outmaneuvering the attack.

A growl of rage escaped Amara as the beastbot collided with the fleshy walls corralling them. The snaking length then lashed to strike Iron Bear, causing the heavy mech to stumble. Whatever stabilizing systems it had engaged enabled the machine to regain its balance.

Distracted by a second tentacle emerging from the heart, the siren didn't see her partner retaliate. It wasn't until the beam of his ion cannon sheared through the remaining crystal that she discovered Zane recovered and pissed. The explosive force was enough to lodge luminous slivers into Gythian's walls, its roar rippling the sanguine sea within. Another charge followed, the discharged cannon lacerating one of the huge appendages in two.

"You know, dear," said Vincent, his aggravating voice leeching upon Wainwright's, "we're always stronger together, aren't we?"

"Of course, beloved," she crooned, smitten with her husband as always.

Furious for still not being taken seriously, Amara felt more than saw the shift in her tattoos as fire swelled within her. The inferno continued to build as the demonic couple insistently cajoled each other.

"They can't keep us apart any longer. Let's finish this as one!" announced Vincent with finality.

"With pleasure," Eleanor cooed.

Dividing their assault between the Olmsteads, the four of them poured rounds into the heart and Eleanor. Between Zoomer's whizzing between adversaries, the digiclone's efficient targeting, and FL4K's beasts thrashing everything within reach, the interfering Bonded collapsing from the carnage. Their dying gurgles were consumed by the endless rattling of gunfire and the occasional shattering shield.

More than before, chaos ensued. Between muzzle flashes, wildly detonating grenades, the blaze of Iron Bear's flamethrower, Zoomer's searing bolts, streaking magic, erupting crystals, and her siren fists pummeling into their enemies, the battleground became a furious light show. Confined within Gythian's chest cavity, the noise became deafening. At the same time, the rancid fluid sloshing with shockwaves and the mammoth slap of the heart's attacks reflected the fireworks continuously dispersing.

That far into battle, Amara's leaden arms ached. Her powers felt expended, her shoulder threatening to lock after absorbing the kickback of so many shotgun slugs. Her flesh felt no better than the heart shuddering before her, its veiny fibers peppered with oozing holes. Still, the need to punish the wretched beast elicited another surge of energy to her fingertips, the electrical shock she cast causing the organ to spasm violently.

Following the sound of Moze's Vladof assault rifle pounding out a series of rounds, Eleanor went down. Tentacles trailing behind her, she landed like a broken kite, her black and grey flesh spreading like a gore-stained blanket.

"Beloved…" she sputtered in shock, drowning in her own putrid blood, "how could we let such worms...defeat us?"

Even less able to speak, Vincent struggled to draw breath, his immortality slipping from his grasp. "Darling...I…..I….Argghhhh!"

Adjoining his suffering screams, the heart began beating more furiously, sparks emanating from it with increasing intensity until entire bolts of lightning cracked around it, the air growing heavy with static.

Amara wasn't alone in shielding her face out of reflex, her friends doing the same nearby while the organ continued thrashing, and convulsing, and finally shrinking in on itself. The shockwave of it imploding nearly threw them off their feet, and even then, it was among the most glorious events the siren had ever seen. She was even more relieved to see the bath of blood steadily draining away, allowing her to drop down from atop Iron Bear and stand alongside her bearded partner.

Exposed by the descending gore, Vincent and Eleanor were collapsed side-by-side. As full of contempt for the lovers as she was, Amara felt nothing while watching the researcher struggle to reach for his wife. Devoted to the task as he was, he found it within his dying self to roll onto his side and cup her limp hand within both of his own, interweaving their fingers while holding on tightly. Soaked in crimson, they wheezed and drew shuddering breaths while staring at each other deeply.

Hammerlock's sudden outcry of "Winny?! Winny, are you alright?!" drew her immediate attention, her chest warming as the adventurer incoherently reached for his hat in a panic before racing to his stirring partner. She dared to think Wainwright looked better than the rest of them even as he staggered to his feet and rubbed his head, grimacing as his fiance hastily steadied him.

Stunned as the Jakob's heir was, he made a faint attempt to ward off his lover's desperate attention until Alistair rejected it. The monocled man was shaking as he collected that older face between his hands and urgently looked him over before reluctantly allowing him space to breathe.

Maybe another Vault Hunter watched the Olmsteads fall dead, proving they weren't so eternal after all. Amara didn't bother, but she witnessed the aftermath anyway. The ring that had begun it all glitter as it rolled to the grooms and fell still between their feet.

As Hammerlock reached down to retrieve the jewelry, Wainwright spoke in a quiet voice, almost as though afraid to speak.

"I...feel like myself again," he uttered. And then, with more heartfelt strength, he asked, "Are you okay, Alistair?"

Unable to mince words, his partner's mouth quivered. "I was so afraid."

"So was I," the brunette admitted without hesitation, the visible age throughout his face suddenly deepening with resolve. "But not anymore. Alistair, let's do this damn thing. Let's get married right here."

Looking amongst themselves, the Vault Hunters shared touched smiles. Until then, they had kept their distance out of respect for the couple, wanting to give them some very much deserved time to reunite.

Fortunately, Gaige and Deathtrap were mindful as they arrived at the happy scene. Their timing couldn't have been better, particularly considering Claptrap rolled in shortly after. Miraculously, even the Hyperion bot refrained from interrupting the intimate moment shared between lovers. Until then, no one suspected it was remotely possible for the construct to be respectful.

Simply glad to be in attendance, the new arrivals were initially preoccupied with looking around themselves and noticing the dead Olmsteads. Only then, after giving the Vault Hunters thumbs up of morbid satisfaction, did they smile while appreciating the grooms' reunion.

"Oh," breathed Hammerlock, sounding choked as he looked between himself and his husband-to-be, not registering how he brandished the Olmstead's wedding bands with purpose. "But the rings…"

Widening his arms to emphasize himself, Wainwright put himself on full display to reassure his shaken lover.

"Well I reckon the curse is lifted, which makes these rings just some fancy jewelry," he mused, believing with all of his heart that it had to be or else he wouldn't be holding the damn things.

Said with wonder, Alistair envied the gem-encrusted band in his grasp. "Carved from the heart of a vault monster...Quite the collector's item."

Smiling handsomely, Wainwright pitched his voice so low, it sultrily mingled with the smitten desire his gaze showed for his partner. "Well then count me as a collector."

"Vault Hunters," requested the explorer, his chest visibly swelling with emotion, "Would you please do the honors?"

All of them would have happily jumped at the chance but only one of them claimed to actually be ordained. Given his unconventional talents and extensive range of expertise, it didn't surprise anyone that Zane was qualified. Somehow, that was a fact he hadn't boasted - at least not to his teammates - until they found themselves occupying the innards of a vault creature. Somehow, everything seemed so fitting.

"I'm ordained in most o' this galaxy's star systems," he specified, and then added with a wink and a stellar grin, "but who's keepin' track? I'd love to tie yer knot!"

Preparing to make a last-minute confession, Alistair smiled handsomely. Only then did he describe to their guests the misunderstanding that had resulted in their wedding.

"I suggested to Winny that we elope, but he insisted on a more traditional ceremony," he admitted with a lofty chuckle. "I didn't have the heart to tell him I was actually referring to an expedition where we hunt the dreaded e-lope of the Vercuvian Peninsula. Perhaps for the honeymoon."

As outlandish as that entire adventure had been, and for as avant-garde as the grooms already were, they agreed to keep their nuptials equally nontraditional. While Zane insisted he could have stuck to a more orthodox script, both grooms insisted that he needn't worry. Hearing that, Amara and Moze shot each other looks of misgivings while eagerly awaiting to hear what their teammate would say.

"It's not like this whole mess isn't plenty memorable," the gunner whispered, reaching for the siren's hand and holding it when she was received with an affectionate squeeze. "Hopefully this won't be, too, for all the wrong reasons."

Amara trusted Zane, as he seemed delighted to do the deed. Shaking the last of the blood from his boots, he had a skip in his step as he situated himself before the grooms. Then, elongating his tall posture with utmost pride and tugging both sides of his jacket to straighten it, he struck a dignified stance that befitted a wedding officiant.

With that, and after clearing his throat with all seriousness, Zane placed a hand atop both grooms' shoulders before projecting his brogue for all to hear.

"We are gathered here today, in a horrifying palace of meat and mayhem, to bring these two together. Wainwright," he addressed, nodding to the wild-haired man, "do you take this man to be your husband?"

"Damn right I do!" he answered, his eyes twinkling with raw sincerity. As if there was any doubt.

"Hammerlock, do you take this man to be your husband?"

"Without hesitation," the explorer promised, his expression earnest and tender. "Indubitably yes."

Satisfied, the operative nodded and gestured for both men to lock hands. Eager to oblige, they turned to face their delighted audience and put themselves, as much as their souls, on wholesome display.

With even more showmanship, Zane puffed out his chest. He announced then, with a wild glee shining in his eye, "Then, by the power vested in me as three-time winner of the Galaxy's Sexiest Hitman Award, I now pronounce you groom and groom." Then, with gruffly giddy passion, he gave them his oh-so-important permission: "Now kiss, ye wonderful bastards!"

Watching the two husbands celebrate their permanent union with such a loving and spirited embrace, Amara's chest filled with jubilation. She might have been a hint teary, the tingle in her eyes compounded by the triumphant whooping and cheering of her teammates - and soon after, the overjoyed hugs shared all around after the grooms had finished their romantic kiss.

Considering the nightmarish storm they had weathered to get to that moment, there couldn't have been a more beautiful reward.

...Except, of course, admiring the occasion without Claptrap wailing in happiness behind them.

"I TOLD MYSELF I WOULDN'T CRYYYYYYY-Y…!"


	27. Appetence and Party Tricks [Not to Try at Home - Xylourgos]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> -Welp, I had a baby before I got around to finishing this. Guess I'm working under new management.  
-Postpartum depression has really destroyed my confidence as a writer...so I mostly want to pretend this fic doesn't exist.  
-This chapter is as disjointed as these comments and was split into two halves...because I can't force myself to read the second part yet.

Amara couldn't recall much of what happened between escaping Gythian's carcass and submerging herself within the glorious spray of a hot shower. She only knew that their team had reconstructed at The Lodge and that Fast Track technology did _nothing _to improve how drenched in blood and sweat they had been.

It went without saying that her teammates had similar destinations in mind. They _all_ needed to wash away the unspeakable filth covering them. Literally dripping with gore like they were, where else could they go? They hadn't remotely had the opportunity to celebrate being the heroes of the hour or honor the newlyweds further. Hand in hand and gazing longingly at each other, it was clear that Wainwright and Alistair had no greater desire than to enjoy their reunion alone together.

If Amara was honest with herself, she could relate. For her, victory was an aphrodisiac. Seeing Zane made her crave physical comfort. Neglected as her body was and yearning for an emotional connection, she would have given anything to tangle with him in what would have amounted to tired, yet satisfying intercourse. She would know since they had indulged more than once in the past, and she was still convinced there was no better way to wind down from such an adventure. Why not enjoy the reward of one last coordinated effort with her partner?

Unfortunately, the operative proved he was only interested in escorting a bottle of liquor to his room. _Her _thoughts no longer crossed his mind. By the time he had performed one last check-in to ensure the grooms were settling comfortably, he had already taken three chugs of booze and had been tipping the bottle over-end for a fourth.

Too appreciative of all their efforts to be concerned, the grooms were more than glad to free their beloved Vault Hunters of any lasting sense of obligation. They did, however, pause after linking hands and address the foursome where they stood - weary, thirsty, starving, and stinking.

Clapping and then clasping his hands together, Alistair made an announcement. "Our wonderful Vault Hunters! Now, more than ever, it would be our honor to treat you to a most exquisite feast! However, after today's unplanned events, it will be postponed until tomorrow. We shall share, say, a bountiful brunch? And only because I presume everyone will sleep through breakfast!"

Already, Amara knew he couldn't possibly be wrong. Three two of her teammates nodded agreeably while the robot among them remained indifferent.

Much to their relief, Wainwright and Hammerlock had arranged for them to stay over the weekend. Despite the creaking shutters in The Lodge, Amara appreciated the much needed respite from the elements. While she couldn't speak for the others, she preferred recovering sensation in her fingers and toes. She did precisely that while huddling closely to Moze alongside the lobby's crackling fire. The way they snuggled together, they must have seemed an item...while nearby, FL4K fed dried meat to his pets. She could hear the prickles of Zane's stubble as he scrubbed a heavy hand over his squinting face and proceeded to yawn like a scruffy lion.

After agreeing to Alistair's suggestion, they had trudged toward their rooms, unified in their desire to offload their gear and shed their fetid combat attire. The newlyweds shared their own lavish suite while she and Moze paired off in another. The two remaining accommodations allowed both the mechromancer and operative to split off with their favorite robots. Without a need for sleep, FL4K ventured off to further survey the wildlife and allow his beasts space to roam. Zane was, naturally, perfectly pleased with that arrangement.

Amara couldn't help her mind from churning and thinking of a time when she would have roomed with her grizzled partner. After having their affair discovered, their teammates wouldn't have blinked twice at them emerging from a room together. Now, her fantasies were lost opportunities. Despite knowing they needed to recover following their intense mission, she couldn't think of a time she would mind waking alongside him and gearing up for more violent forms of action.

With that not in the cards, Amara entered her room with Moze. Never had she ditched her clothes faster, unashamed of her near-nudity as she deposited the soiled fabrics and her footwear within the bin waiting outside the doorway. Already, she could see glimpses of teal leather piled in with FL4K's massive accumulation of rags in the cart nearby.

Unless housekeeping wanted the halls to reek of noxious guts, blood, and ink, she doubted it would take long for the offending garments to be whisked away. She only hoped the staff could be trusted to properly care for the expensive equipment left in their care. At least one of her expectations proved reassuring when the hotel stewards rushed to fulfill their purpose.

Now, she sighed dreamily as the filth cloying her skin rinsed away and swirled down the drain. The luxurious bath products she brought with her - her own line, naturally, as she used nothing but the best - washed away everything but memories. She found comfort in knowing her found family were surely appreciating the same relief, hot water soaking her aches away. Soon enough, she would curl up in bed alongside Moze and spend what was bound to be a record of hours peacefully recovering.

Surprisingly, her first stop after toweling off and slipping into her pajamas wasn't the bed. Instead, she wrung most of the water from her hair and pinned it in a loose twist atop her head. Clad only in a purple cami and a black pair of jersey capris, curiosity led her to wander the commons while hoping to encounter her teammates.

Soon enough, familiar voices beaconed her. There, she discovered Mode snacking on something while Zane drummed the fingers of one hand atop the bar and thoughtfully combed through his beard with the other.

Both of her fellow Vault Hunters were quite the sight without their tactical attire, the shorter of the pair sporting baggy sweatpants and a matching gray racerback top. Dressed in equally comfy bedclothes, the operative's appearance was definitely the biggest change. Gone were his tight leathers, replaced instead by the black cotton of his lounge pants and loose white t-shirt.

Even visibly exhausted as he was, post-shower Zane was adorable. Free of styling products, his fluffier hair was free to fall over his forehead. Even his beard appeared softer, not yet tamed into submission by a comb and expensive conditioner. Everything about him tempted her to run her hands along him and crave the same attention he paid his facial hair.

_Damn him._

Tempted to observe her companions from afar, the Partalian lingered just within view and leaned back against a wall with crossed arms. She wondered if Alistair felt similarly when surveying wildlife from afar. Though her teammates weren't in their natural environment, they were exhibiting behaviors that, for them, were unusually mundane.

Seeing two of her favorite people appear all sleepy and ready to call it a day warmed her heart. Granted, it was a lot cuter before Mancubus delivered two bottles of ale, freshly uncapped and chilled. Whatever they had been murmuring about was interrupted as they accepted their drinks, the taller of the two wasting no time in tipping the neck of his ale toward the gunner. Returning the gesture, Moze met it with a tap of her own, the subdued _cheers _befitting their casual attire.

Satisfied, they tipped back their drinks in synchrony and didn't stop swallowing until they ran dry. Making a gesture Amara didn't quite catch, Zane nodded as Mancubus arranged a small triangle of three additional bottles and presented them to the Pandoran.

Before accepting them, the operative yawned dramatically, stretching his pale arms overhead and arching his spine in a way that exposed his midsection. From the side, she could make out the fuzz along his lower back and the dense spread below his navel. It was that trail he scratched at before smacking his lips and subjecting the nape of his neck to another thorough raking.

Seeing Zane like that reminded her of the times they had spent making out and lazily soaking up each other's company. More often than not, she had eased her hand beneath his shirt and lulled him to sleep by stroking his rigid stomach and playing gently through the hair there.

The moment she officially stepped into view, his hand fell away to brace against the bar, his tall body casually leaning while Moze habitually stood at attention. Seeing her face without kohl or eyeliner was a rarity - one Amara smirked at as she held her arms akimbo and considered the two with mock concern.

"Isn't it past your bedtimes?" she asked, proud to play mother when her companions were so prone to misbehaving. But honestly, she preferred to see them functional the next day and not as listless as all of Cursehaven's other zombies.

"Right y'are," agreed Zane with another yawn so intense, it made his eye water. He knuckled at it before taking a glance at his non-existent wristwatch and tapping at its equally imaginary display.

Creeped out by Mancubus as Zane supposedly was, she didn't think she would find him drunk eating a sandwich at the bar or doing something far more obscure at 0300 like she occasionally did aboard Sanctuary. Instead of suffering his usual insomnia, he seemed easily sold on mustering some sleep. Based on the bruised appearance of his undereye and fatigue evident throughout his other features, he could clearly benefit from twelve hours of rest. They all could.

Holding his beers to his chest with one arm, Zane used his other to first hug Moze and press a kiss to the side of her head. Then, leaning over to her, he treated her to the same innocent affection before excusing himself with a drowsy "G'night, ladies."

Sweet as his gesture was, Amara discovered herself frowning. It persisted even as Moze linked arms with her. Together, they watched their shaggy-haired Pandoran plod barefoot toward his suite while they, after grabbing identical bottles of water, retreated to the bed awaiting them.

For how relieving the change in their surroundings were - _far _preferable to freezing their butts off and having their tolerance for tentacles exceeded - their mission had been emotionally draining. Even the warm and fuzzy feelings the siren gleaned from Wainwright and Alistair being so lovingly enamored with each other didn't last as long as she would have liked.

Spooned behind the gunner, Amara fell asleep the instant her head touched her pillow.

...

The smell of steaming food woke her up, her stomach _and _Moze's making poor excuses for songbirds. Come to think of it, those strangled and gurgling noises would have suited the Xylourgian equivalent to finches had there been any on that godforsaken popsicle of a planet.

Instead, the steady wind that had been blowing for hours seemed to reserve one mighty gust for the exact moment Amara opened her groggy eyes. After a long, noisome minute, the entire lodge shuddered and creaked. About the time she grew convinced that the roof would tear free from the walls, the gale tapered into a mournful howl.

As anticipated, neither she nor Moze had stirred anywhere as early as they routinely did. While the Partalian couldn't speak for her companion, _she _felt surprisingly refreshed after quietly performing her stretches and calisthenics. Discovering herself as capable as ever, she commended her resilience, proud of the clean lifestyle and rigorous conditioning that allowed her to be _amazing._

After donning a complimentary robe, she found their clothes freshly laundered and crisply arranged on a rack in the hallway. She didn't hesitate to bring them inside and inspect each item closely, admiring the concierges' handiwork. They might have been strange, with their oozing eyes and assorted weird curses, but they knew what they were doing. She wouldn't have wanted the responsibility of removing squid stains from all the assorted fabrics and honestly wouldn't have known where to begin.

Amara's muscles practically sang as she maneuvered into her compression top and adjusted her breasts until they were securely in position. She then shimmied her panties and form-fitting jeans into place before donning her vest, belt, and socks. She had finished toeing into her boots about the time Moze began pawing at her empty side of the bed. After discovering her missing, the brunette brushed back the disheveled disaster of her hair in order to locate her.

For as much of a morning person as the gunner usually was, her severe squinting suggested she needed caffeine. Smiling, Amara perched on the edge of the bed beside her and affectionately ruffled her hair with a gentle "Good morning" and promised she would be right back.

With that, the siren left the soldier to stretch and yawn loudly. It didn't take her long to navigate the hallway and descend the staircase, particularly when she heard her other teammates' unmistakable voices.

Intrigued, she leaned over the balcony and confirmed that she and Moze, for once, weren't the early risers. Seeing FL4K already seated at the table was to be expected, but discovering that Zane had resurrected himself before they had deserved a curious lift of her brows. Clearly, stranger things had happened, and he, now freshly shaven with his facial hair impeccably styled with wax, was likely famished. If nothing else, perhaps the bar had been too tempting for him to resist. It _was _midday, after all.

As expected, her teammates weren't alone. Wainwright sat at the head of the table with Alistair to his left and the operative to his right. Mr. Chew's tail nub was thumping excitedly on the floor between the present Vault Hunters, with FL4K's impressive form towering over the rest.

Despite her and Moze's absence, brunch had been recently served. Aromatic foods steamed where they were generously arranged amidst polished plates and glasses. There was no denying that Alistair and Wainwright had fulfilled their promise to treat their guests to a feast fit for royalty. As hungrily as her eridium gaze devoured the colorful spread, she couldn't make sense of all of it before backtracking toward her room.

Coffee would have to wait. Even if she had to drag Moze from bed half-dressed, Amara's appetite decided it was time to eat.

…

Even up close, breakfast proved to be bountiful, the extensive table occupying the foyer cleared of gifts and decorated with more high-piled dishes than Amara swore she had seen since her last fundraising banquet.

Foods both familiar and exotic awaited her and Moze's arrival. By then, someone had poured coffee and left it waiting for the caffeine-reliant soldier. Even before she pulled out her seat, she snatched it up and began chugging it without discernible reaction to its hot contents.

Always one to get in the action, the Partalian sat beside Alistair. Only when settled did she more closely inspect the unfamiliar offerings scattered throughout the extensive fare. Some must have either been favorites requested by the well-traveled grooms while others might have been specialties specific to Xylourgos...among them being a strange plate covered in something _moving._

As a centerpiece, a peculiar cluster of orchids extended a series of woody roots that actively unfurled and curled. Greeting the newcomers with a flare of its black and violet petals, the flowers shook with a synchronous hiss.

Taken aback, Amara faltered before realizing she was beyond its reach. Noting her hesitation from afar, Mancubus arrived with a tray of orange drinks - mimosas, maybe? - and placed them among his precious guests.

"Do not be afraid. This lovely creature here...is friendly," he assured while extending a skeletal finger and stroking one of the flower's stems, the plant visibly relaxing. "At most, if it finds you particularly _appealing_, it may...try to pollinate you."

What did one say to that? In Zane's case, a table-slapping laugh sufficed. Moze gave the specimen a faint glare as their host poured her a second helping of pungent coffee, while to FL4K's right, Mr. Chew rose on his hind legs so he could sniff at the flower. Snapping aggressively at him, it sent him scampering beneath the table with a high-pitched whimper.

Other than _that _facet of brunch, everything seemed refreshingly homely. There was a particular frittata that caught her attention, enticing her to serve herself a piece before she spread her napkin across her lap. She occupied herself with patiently clearing her plate before digging into other promising offerings.

For a man with such an unfairly slender waist, Zane could cram an impressive amount of greasy food down his face. Not only that, but he consistently proved he could ingest more unhealthy calories than one would expect of someone so lean and middle-aged.

By the time she and Moze had put food on their plates, there had already been an amassing of oil-soaked crumbs on his. Soon enough, he was reaching for more bacon and chewing merrily while simultaneously buttering a pastry decorated with a sugar swirl..._and _he dipped it in syrup.

Months ago, the health-conscious brawler had learned not to watch her partner's eating habits too closely or else she would shudder. He more than proved himself to be a nutritional disaster, miraculously getting by on meat, more meat, and sugar, both successfully fueling his highly energetic personality.

With such good company, surprisingly flavorful food, and not a single tentacle in sight, brunch was perfectly pleasant. Stories were passed around like the aromatic dishes, shared happily and freely with those around them. The table was a melting pot of multiple conversations that flowed together like ripples in a pond, participants frequently coming and going, speaking up in one exchange before blending into another.

After everything the Olmsteads had put them through, the welcoming ambiance of that gathering was heartwarming. Their laughter and lighthearted ribbing enveloped everyone like loving arms. For Amara, there was no place she would rather be than enjoying that pleasant company and being surrounded by her found family. She only wished Ava was there, alongside Axton's crew and B-Team, but regardless of their absence, she wouldn't change a thing. Most of her favorite people in the universe were right there at the table, and she couldn't help but consider Wainwright and Alistair as their beautifully gay uncles.

Two years ago, as the war with the COV raged, she would have never anticipated sharing such a domestic meal with her teammates. Who would have guessed all that chaos and destruction would forge their lasting bonds and flake away to reveal something so unbreakable?

That was the sentiment interrupted by something small striking her chest without warning. Her attention suddenly broken from thoughtfully surveying her tablemates, she glanced down to see a small berry drop into her lap.

It took her all of a second to connect the dots, common sense guiding her to the culprit. She leveled her accusatory gaze at Zane, his clueless act failing to fool _anyone. _Not only did the reserve of identical projectiles on his dish give him away - and they both knew it - but there was absolutely _no way _it came from the true gentleman he sat alongside.

The bearded delinquent most definitely _wasn_'_t _listening to Wainwright as attentively as he pretended to be. The hint of a smile that twitched his lips proved to be a dead giveaway, his remaining eye flitting to her as she cleared her throat. Even beneath the chatter surrounding them, she couldn't miss his sly chuckle.

"Man-child," she chided, crossing her arms and rolling her eyes. She had to put on a show, after all, even if only to emphasize her muscular arms.

"Takin' that as a compliment, y'know," he retorted with an eyebrow wiggle and a grin. "Good to be youthful!"

She wanted to ignore him. Really, she did, because she didn't want to egg him on or otherwise reward him for his immature behavior. Maybe that was a mistake in itself, as in her visual periphery, she caught him reloading a fork in preparation for a second fling.

"_Zane_," she hissed, resisting the incredulous laugh that tried bubbling up inside her. She squelched it as he exaggeratedly looked around in a comical display of innocence before poking the intended ammunition into his mouth.

He whistled as he casually brushed the utensil side and shot her a wink. In response, she could only roll her eyes again and maintain the obstinate overlapping of arms against her chest. More resolved than before, she _refused_ to give in to his senseless flirtations.

He was just like that, she reminded herself. It didn't mean anything….just like everything they had shared meant nothing.

Unfortunately, there was no possible way to avoid his zaniness despite so many people vying for the spotlight. His brogue, easy laughter, and outgoing nature made him the focal point of the gathering. As well-versed as the grooms were at engaging their guests and equally spreading their attention, the newlyweds seemed most captivated by the operative's colorful stories.

Who could blame them? With his bottomless well of experiences, Zane could give Hammerlock's stories capable competition. Between his animated accent and charismatic verve, he could command any audience. Instead of stealing the spotlight for himself, it was the more proper Jakobs who insisted on knowing how he had become the Galaxy's Sexiest Hitman.

Without being enlightened, Amara would have never guessed such a title existed, but that was only a testament to her confined life on Partali. By now, she shouldn't have been surprised by the variety of strange things happening in other star systems.

"Ahh, _that _silly thing," Zane hummed, appearing surprisingly reluctant to explain it for a moment. It took as long for him to throw caution to the wind and chuckle heartily. "Where _do _I begin?"

According to the operative, the competition was the talk of the year among assassins...which led her to wonder what other events their profession could possibly have. The fact that they held _any _kind of award ceremony proved the trade wasn't as clandestine as she had always believed. By now, she should have known better since Zane had always described professional murder as big business. Clearly, corporations had no reservations of justifying their crimes and were, in many cases, too powerful to be held accountable.

As much as she detested corruption, it was the last thing on her mind as Zane reminisced about his latest competition. With both hands intertwined and supporting the back of his head, he reclined in his seat while describing it.

"The whole shindig is only as fun as one makes it - but let's be honest, professional killers need'a good laugh, so us easygoing fellers have the advantage. Plenty'a contestants show off their skills by shootin' or knifin' each other. That's only part'a the fun! Where it's at is the talent show," he explained with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Without reservation, he proceeded to use flamboyant detail and hand motions to depict his last act. He described his outfit as having been little more than his jacket and a fluorescent yellow G-string that matched its linings, as well as a pair of nipple tassels and a pair of teal thigh-high heels he _swore _"stole the show".

"I got me crossdressin' game on, I s'pose!" he boasted without shame while stroking his beard in grinning reflection. "'Cept technically, I wasn't wearing much!"

Standing from his chair, he went on to place a hand on one hip while striking a toe-pointed pose...and began strutting with all the fierceness in the galaxy. He pretended to twirl a head full of long hair when he came to the end of his imaginary runway and then, after parting his lips in an expression of lust and easing one sexy finger along them, began teasing an invisible feather boa around his body.

He even proceeded to recite some _choice _lyrics to one of his performances - all while everyone watched him with assorted expressions.

"Don't ye wish yer girlfriend was hot like _me_," he crooned with a hip swish and blown kiss.

"Don't ye wish yer girlfriend was a freak like me," followed by a booty slap.

As much as Zane _tried_ to remember his dance routine but couldn't stop tripping himself up with laughter - and that was _before _he described, with animate detail, dirty dancing with his digiclone.

By that point, Amara was surprised he didn't deploy it for a demonstration. Even without a boa, he could have pantomimed using it to leash his blue likeness by his neck and draw him in for a steamy skimming of mouths. Without a doubt, his coded self would have re-enacted being lashed to the ground, only to kiss his way up the operative's leg more vividly than described.

Needless to say, based on the grooms' faces, they hadn't expected..._so much. _Of another ilk entirely, Alistair and Wainwright still appeared enthralled with the story and fell into peals of laughter while leaning into each other, their fingers remaining interwoven. They were very much the quintessentially blissfully wedded couple already, unscarred and refusing to allow the horrors of the previous day tarnish their celebration in any way.

"Oh _my_," was all Alistair could manage, his olive skin tinged with pink. He was still tittering when Wainwright settled down and patted the back of his hand.

"Some make it more _professional _but bah, that's what missions're for," denounced Zane with a good-natured shrug, not particularly caring for that school of thought. "Can't hurt to add a wee bit o' _zest_ an' make a real show of it! 'Sides, competitors hafta be nominated. Sure, there are some gorgeous faces," he said while gesturing to his own, "but there's nothin' sexier than success for us assassin-types! Most o' us are in it for the money _more_ than the booty."

...Insinuating that _he_ was, Amara wondered? She resisted the urge to scoff. Then again, Zane was swimming more in wealth than lovers. At least, she suspected as much, but didn't know for certain.

Unknown to her, and wisely omitted by him, was how he had celebrated his title by sleeping with most of the judges...all at once. And that he might have ended up engaged to one had the lad not expected him to exclusively bottom. That man's dick and techniques weren't _that _impressive, and besides, where was the fun in that?

Chewing on a bread end, Moze regarded their bearded teammate impishly. "Why only _three_ wins, old man? Who beat you the other hundred years?"

Slapping the table with a crass laugh, the operative recovered by tossing a chunk of biscuit at her.

"Sure, I received requests to annually defend me title, but I was just too bleedin' busy! Bah, who needs consecutive wins anyhow? That's so overrated! Truth be told, I preferred winnin' it back whenever _I _felt like it. Kept me competitors on their toes! 'Sides," he added cheekily, "it's good sportsmanship lettin' others win."

Well, he wasn't wrong. Contrary to appearances, they knew he wasn't the type to make a big deal of himself _all _the time. Having been in his forties when he had first competed, his confidence had already been established, so the title was nothing more than the cherry on top of his other amassed bragging rights.

After his enthusiastic presentation, Zane settled into a far more subdued role. He resumed addressing the grooms with genuine interest, asking questions and chuckling heartily at stories, and he didn't hesitate to pitch in when filling in the blanks of their own vault hunting adventures. Other times, he tipped back a breakfast beer and folded his hands over his stomach. He passed dishes when requested and spent some time tossing a number of treats to his favorite skag and the carnivorous plant situated among the table spread.

Perhaps Amara would have paid him less attention had FL4K cared more for conversation or spent less time petting his four-legged companion. Instead, they said very little, preferring to process the data Alistair provided them. The questions they did pose were precisely what she expected, concentrated on the game hunter's most extraordinary kills.

Finally, Hammerlock had the opportunity to tell them his rotten banana story, as well as recount Eista's most memorable accomplishments. Together, the newlywed couple shared past memories of their budding relationship before proceeding to more recent - and less cutesy - endeavors. Listening to their history reminded her so much of her grandparents back when she had been a young girl full of hopes and dreams, never capable of predicting what fate had in store for her.

Allowing her gaze to rove, she found herself considering Zane again. He was busy discussing _something _with Wainwright, their prominent accents blending into the background. Their gruff laughter permeated her senses most, but beyond that, she found herself trying to block her partner out.

And to think, in the past, she might have secretly smoothed her astral hands up his thighs. She might have teased at his zipper and reminded him of the handjob she had given him in the commons aboard Sanctuary. More likely, she would have twined her magical fingers with his and shared the same quiet contact they had hidden from their friends. She would have given him her ungloved hand so she could feel his bare thumb trace the sapphire henna from memory.

Now, her stomach dropped at the thought. It immediately knotted as her frustration took the helm, her black-polished nails curling into her forearms. Everyone was having such an innocently fun, enjoyable time - as _she _should have - and instead, she felt dissatisfied.

For now, she used Moze as a distraction. Simply turning her attention to the gunner had the soldier vying for her attention. It was sweet, really, and made her a reliable friend. And it worked to take her mind off everything, at least for some time, as the siren felt herself relax into casual conversation...until she reached for a piece of fruit and noticed Zane looking at her.

Tension snapped into place like a tight rubber band. Uncertain how long he had been gazing at her - whether it had been seconds, minutes, or if his attention had been drawn by her reaching - she felt exposed by the attention. As much as she wanted to act like she hadn't detected him, she was never one to back down from a challenge.

The moment their eyes met, he gave her a soft smile not unlike the ones he had when enjoying a full belly of booze: a touch hazy, paired with an easiness that made him especially endearing.

Unsure how to respond, she was convinced her indecision was obvious. She attempted to conceal it by adjusting the beaded bracelet adorning her wrists and extending her neck to regard the offerings dominating the far end of the table.

As though influenced by her forced interest in brunch, both of her human teammates treated themselves to another helping. They impressed her yet again with the amount of food they could both stuff themselves with. As petite as Moze was, Amara figured her attitude burned half of her calories, and she never quite bought Zane's routine of loosening his belt.

The operative was the first to appear stuffed and reclined back in his seat with his hands stacked on his non-existent belly. Giving a satiated sigh, he plucked up his napkin and mopped at his facial hair until he was satisfied he wasn't packing a personal lunch buffet. Following that, he flicked out the fine metal pick from his utility belt and began cleaning between his teeth.

Perking up, Moze leaned forward in her seat to better see the newlyweds. She seemed eager to ask, her fingers curling into the table edge, "What's the plan for today, lovebirds?"

Turning his wildly crested head toward his hat-wearing soulmate, Wainwright broke into a slow-spreading grin while patting the back of his metal hand.

"Glad as I am you asked, I reckon that's up for us to decide. After yesterday's bedlam, I'm feelin' up for an adventure of the _personal _variety, if Alistair doesn't mind me sayin'," he husked, not giving his lover the chance to protest if just to see him blush so adorably. "Though I trust you amazin' Vault Hunters to read between the lines, it's safer said that you're all free to do as you please. I know that's _my _plan."

Reaching to remove his feathered hat and fan himself with it - possibly as much to distract from the color in his cheeks as to relieve himself of eager heat - Alistair used it to gently swat his husband on the tip of his hooked nose before placing it back atop his head.

"What Winny is _trying _to say is that you mustn't wait on us in any way! We will be, ah, otherwise _disposed. _That said, the brochures Gaige has collected map out many sites worth seeing that are far less hazardous than the innards of a vault monster! You, of course, are by no means_ obligated _to stay, particularly after how you've already gone above and beyond for us - and I do say so with emphasis! It's also quite certain that our wonderful host has some ideas in mind of how you can pass the time!"

Gazing at them from beyond his circular spectacles, Mancubus spoke up in his eerie voice.

"_Indeed_. If you are in search of entertainment, there are some locals in search of assistance. Some may offer payment...for services such as yours. You might find their requests somewhat…._intriguing._"

Now positioned at the edge of her seat, Moze was already motivated and grinning. As much as Amara shared her sentiment, she was far more conserved and nodded with smugness.

"Don't see what it could hurt!" announced Zane while balling up the napkin from his lap and tossing it atop his plate with gusto. "Certainly not me pride! Don't s'pose I need to clarify that I'm game, so long as the grooms are off doin' their own thing. Or each other!"

All FL4K did was snap their metal digits and send their loyal skag romping off to retrieve the rest of their pack.

"I'm with crazy grandpa," said Moze. She paused to pick at something between her front teeth before sucking out whatever it was. "Why the hell not? Don't think we have anything better to do."

Speaking for the grooms, who remained too polite to ask for more from them, Mancubus' voice cut in like fine nails on a chalkboard.

"Allow me to remind you that there are _festivities _planned for this evening. Be sure to return before then. I'm certain your kind would certainly enjoy..._the firework display._"

With gusto - and without thinking - the operative among them picked up his steak knife, twirled it between his fingers, and used it to express his enthusiasm.

"Right you are!" he assured while simultaneously stabbing the utensil upright into the table. Instantly, his lips pulled back in a silent _yikes! _His expression turned outright sheepish as he dislodged the blade and set it aside with utmost care...and transitioned to apologetically stroking the table.

Though she liked _actual _fireworks as much as anyone, Amara was more interested in performing her own. She could only hope someone could point her in the direction of a challenge, though if Gythian's horde hadn't sufficed, probably nothing would. Still, that wouldn't stop her from searching.

"You got something in mind?" asked Moze as she curiously eyeballed Zane. Between them, enthusiasm was always contagious.

Reaching to palm the length of his beard, he cracked a roguish smile. As an operative, he always had _some _sort of a plan - even if it involved outsmarting and outmaneuvering everyone he encountered.

"Ye bet, lassy! Figure I'll go check on our bloke Burton! Feller said he was lonely, after all, an' we can't allow _that_! 'Sides, didn't he say he needed some help 'round his agency? Dunno 'bout anyone else, but I've got a thing fer that detective stuff!"

_Or that detective, _thought Amara dourly, but still, she said nothing.

…

With women in the lead, the Vault Hunters' boots scuffed the powdery snow on the outskirts of Skittermaw Basin. The short ride across the tram - which, to their surprise, remained in working order - took them closer to where everything had begun.

Why had they backtracked? Sometimes, there was no rhyme to their reasoning. The expansive ice field connected them to a number of settlements, many of which had been marked on their ECHOs as having potential missions. The last time she had checked, there had been quite a few to choose from.

Mancubus was right as always. Even after defeating Gythian's army, their work on Xylourgos wasn't quite finished. Along the way, they had received requests for their services, proving there was no shortage of work promising decent pay and, for her moral conscience, peace of mind.

Acclimated to the arctic wasteland as they had become, they had no legitimate reasons to refuse. A bit more money never hurt anything, and like herself, their team was never done fighting. Zane was always looking to add so-called chapters to his saga, whereas Moze always needed funds to maintain Iron Bear, and FL4K remained fixated on their hunt. Her personal motivations were to restore order to the region and provide the newlyweds a peaceful haven so long as they chose to stay at their wedding destination.

More often than not, the odd jobs they accepted were strangely entertaining. They certainly gave them something to talk about over lunch or drinks, particularly when they tackled missions separately. With the remaining Bonded left in disoriented tatters, their foursome unanimously agreed to split off into two teams in order to maximize their final day planetside.

Deciding that it was as good of a plan as any, Amara realized she hadn't fully taken the repercussions into account, and why would she? She didn't question that Zane would link arms with her, physically or proverbially, and lead them in one direction while Moze and FL4K headed off in the other. Since first joining as a team, they had adopted that natural division. The last thing she expected was for Zane to elbow bump the beastbot and tip his spiky head to the side, silently instructing them to follow.

"Fancy some action with me, tall, dark, an' deadly?" asked the Irishman with a wolfish grin, his face tilted up at their teammate's cycloptic sensor.

Suddenly grappling with her own stupefaction, Amara struggled to guess his possible motives. At first, she assumed her ears had betrayed her, but her suspicions were proven wrong when FL4K responded. Surely analyzing the altered arrangement, the AI focused their lens before giving a mechanical hum of acknowledgment.

Appearing touched by the bot's acceptance, the operative clutched his hands against his chest and bashfully pivoted on his tiptoes.

"Awww, it's a dream come true havin' me own bloodthirsty chaperone!" he crooned while fluttering his lashes at FL4K. "Can't say I blame ye, me fav bucket o' bolts, fer wantin' to follow me fine arse everywhere. It's one hell've a looker!"

At the onset of the construct's vapid sigh, Zane clapped his hands together, the lingering frost on his gloves puffing into the air. He paused only to scowl at the icicles steadily forming on his facial hair and scraped it off with a few passes of his palm. Once satisfied, he pointed dual finger guns at her and Moze while casually leaning against the beastmaster.

"That settles it! This handsome boyo is mine today. I figure ye two lasses got each other covered," he added with that single-eyed wink. It took everything for Amara to refrain from summoning a shimmering hand and smacking the coy expression off him...and maybe his formidable eyebrows in the process. Meanwhile, Moze gave a thumbs up before happily linking arms with her.

What she _truly _wanted to do was tackle Zane, flatten him on the frozen ground, and stand over him as she demanded to know what his game was. Wasn't it well past time she reamed him a new one and lashed out with everything she had been withholding for the sake of civility? And wouldn't his most recent actions justify her verbally brawling him, especially now with him adding to insult? One thing was certain: if he felt they _needed _the separation, he was sorely wrong.

What, did he expect her to hold a grudge and leave him fighting for his life while enemies swarmed them? Did he think that by being isolated with her, she would make him talk about _them_? Or was he convinced she would hogtie and gag him before personally delivering him to a bounty hunter? Maybe he imagined her breaking his elbows, ankles, and knees before dumping him at their feet..._after_ she had smashed his SNTL digistructor to shards and sprinkled it with remnants of his handheld device.

As much as she wanted to shake Zane by his neck and unload her anger on him, she didn't. Instead, it took all her willpower to try and consider everything from his perspective. Flirtatious as he was, he likely thought twice about biting his tongue so often or walking back comments that might be construed as suggestive. Once upon a time, that would have been fine, but _now…_

Knowing his cerebral implants were malfunctioning, she was even more tempted to reject his plan. It seemed so irresponsible and unacceptable to risk him having another episode when she wasn't there to intervene. Begrudgingly, she remembered how FL4K had lent _her _partner an assist when she had been distracted with crushing krich. Still, as much as she respected the beastbot's abilities, theirs couldn't compare to hers.

Already, she could hear the argument that would explode between them if she rejected his idea. Zane would disregard her all-too-relevant concerns, remind her that it had _barely _been an issue throughout that entire mess with Eleanor, and accuse her of worrying too much. He would likely throw around some line of "I jus'_ knew _ye'd go makin' a big deal of everything! That's why I didn't tell ye!" and "Oh _look, _she thinks she's me mammy!" until they outright dissolved into one of their most heated altercations.

Despite trusting Moze to back away from the blast zone and dragging FL4K with her, achieving the division she had wanted since the beginning, she didn't want to risk Zane storming off in his own, nor did she trust her own reaction. One way or another, the fallout wouldn't be pretty and that was _not _how she wanted to break the ice between them.

Short of making demands and risk escalating the situation, Amara merely crossed her arms and ensured her voice was as stern as ever when she responded with a curt "Fine."

It wasn't lost on her how she, under other circumstances, would have teased him._ Did I exhaust you already? _she would have asked, her taunt dripping with pompousness, or she would have scoffed, _I see! This Tiger was clearly too much for you!_

Now, they both knew that was true. Recognizing that, she locked her jaw and turned on her heels, headed in no direction in particular and not remotely waiting for her newly assigned partner to catch up with her predatory strides.

For a man with enough heart to warn opponents to leave before they got hurt, Zane sure didn't spare her. And that was perfectly _fine, _she swore with finality, her powerful gait adopting an edge of aggression she would soon inject into her fighting. If he chose to miss the marvel of her engaging in combat, that was his loss. What bastard would give up his chance to see a siren destroy her enemies as only she could?

Refusing to look back or slow in her pursuit of opportunity - or wait for Moze, who fussed and rushed after her - she was far beyond noticing the operative frowning at her retreating back. She also didn't cast a backward glance until well after he shrugged at FL4K and gestured for them to follow, the beastbot pausing only to brush errant snow off their sleeves before initiating the first of many steps after him.

As quickly as everything had happened, Amara hadn't braced herself for witnessing that arachnid-emblazoned back walk away. The fluorescent accents of the design both beckoned and taunted her, shrinking into the distance until the fog billowing across the frozen sea dulled them beyond recognition. By then, even Zane chipperly chattering at the AI had been swept away by the frigid winds, leaving her standing alongside the shorter soldier.

Popping the pink bubble she had blown, Moze casually shrugged and tapped her polka-dotted SMG against her armored shoulder. She then clapped a gloved palm on the siren's hard deltoid and confidently steered her elsewhere.

"Let's give those two some privacy," chuckled the gunner, chewing her gum as though preparing to inflate another stretchy orb. "I'll miss all the jabber crap like you'll miss Zane breaking a hip."

As much as Amara wanted to snort at her friend's humor, her response was tepid. She did, however, overcome the intense urge to glance over her shoulder and search for a sign that the operative had changed his mind. Obviously, that wouldn't happen, and she inwardly scowled at herself for hoping it would. Still, her ego was feeling the effects of the trade. She preferred that her teammates fight to have her - not for Zane to hand her over.

How was it that his actions seemed like a second breakup? Not that there had _technicall_y been a first. Still, it surprised Amara how much more hurtful it felt to be shelved by her long-term partner. Worse yet was how it happened without any explanation, though she knew there had to be one. As inclined as she was to think Zane had acted on a whim, she believed he didn't do anything substantial without meticulous calculation.

He was just giving her some distance - that was all it was, she vowed definitively. He couldn't possibly see her as being any less capable of a partner than FL4K or than she had ever been - she was sure of it.

_He's an idiot_, she reminded herself. By now, there was no denying that.

...

Despite the collection of unwrapped gifts stacked high at The Lodge, a handful of packages sent by some of the grooms' favorite friends had been scattered around the region instead of arriving at the venue.

"Let's just say it's a long story...kinda sorta," Gaige explained, preferring to keep the details vague. "I mean really, it's more of a _stupid _one but hey, what can ya do! I'm thinking we should find them before you guys get busy with other stuff - and, you know, before other people do. I'd _hate _to file a complaint with their postal service!"

No one had any reason to argue. As it was, they were traveling in every which direction anyway. As incompetent as XPS clearly was, at least the packages had tracking beacons. They weren't the most accurate technology, clearly, but they were a step up from relying on sheer luck to recover the gifts.

With each successful retrieval, the Vault Hunters transmitted across their shared channel and kept Gaige informed of incoming packages. Digitizing each gift not only relieved them of the burden of keeping their contents intact but allowed the mechromancer to reconstruct them at The Lodge and ensure their much safer delivery.

Assuming Gaige had received permission to read everyone's cards aloud, Amara found herself eager to hear from their mutual allies.

Most, if not all, messages included genuine apologies from those unable to attend. As genuinely understanding as the grooms were, it remained a shame that so many of their invitees were absent. Then again, considering the insane turn of events that had imperiled the wedding and nearly devastated everything, the high absenteeism had been for the best.

It made the Partalian that much more grateful for their team, as she could only imagine her disappointment if any one of them had opted out and sent gifts on their behalf.

Between her and Moze, they discovered gifts-gone-awry in an assortment of oddball locations. She found herself questioning, again, how their delivery had been so botched and curiously wondered if Zane and FL4K discovered themselves equally confused.

Based on how winded Zane sounded when confirming the first delivery, she had every reason to believe his accomplishment had been quite the chore...and that said something, considering everything she had watched him climb while intercepting COV propaganda. Given his profession, he was surprisingly adept at scaling obstacles and maneuvering himself into complicated places.

"Oi! Bloody thing was on a feckin' cliff - an' I ain't exaggeratin'!" came his dubious complaint. "Ye wouldn't _be-lieve _the mountain I had'ta climb fer this! Even weirder - there were all these planks shoddily throw up there - like _that _was gonna save me from fallin' an' snappin' me neck! _Shite_! Is this normal fer their postal service or what, 'cause I swear I've seen mailboxes 'round these parts!"

"Indeed, it was excessive," attested FL4K, their voice module resoundingly baritone.

Not one to hold a grudge, Zane optimistically added, "This gift has an adorable bow, though! So _quintessential!"_

A moment passed before Gaige confirmed its arrival on her end. Humming happily, she audibly scratched a name from her list and announced, "That's from Marcus. His letter says-" she began before clearing her throat in preparation for his thickly Slavic accent, "-ahem! Gotta get into the voice here. _'Dear customers, I won't be able to make it to the wedding, mostly because I am philosophically opposed to destination weddings, so really, this is on you. But here. Never say I never gave you anything! But don't get used to it.'_"

Snorting under her breath, Amara tossed her ponytail over one shoulder before drumming her fingers along her crossed arms. "It seems he's as pleasant as ever."

"Wait, you mean that cheap bastard _actually_ bought a gift?" gaped Moze in disbelief.

"Doubtful!" chimed Zane, very familiar with the type. "Bet it's somethin' he couldn't sell fer a pretty enough penny. That or it's actually somethin' decent, considerin' he should be kissin' up to Jakobs. Wouldn't be smart business to offload scrap or pathetic grenades on a weapon manufacturer!"

Anticipating that they would witness the unboxing that evening, Amara refrained from speculating. She definitely wasn't curious enough to shake any of the packages, convinced that time would show what they contained.

The next present awaited her and Moze on the outskirts of Olmstead Square. They quickly found it situated on the edge of a second-story deck overlooking the green ooze passing beneath a bridge.

After uploading the gift and watching it pixelate away, Amara waited to hear of its safe arrival. Gaige wasted no time in tearing open the adjoining card and clearing her throat as though preparing for an audition.

"Aw, looks like Brick and Mordecai went halfies on this one. Mordecai's letter says _'Hey, guys. Sorry I couldn't make it, but I hope you have, like, a really special day. Also, Talon says Scraw. _And Brick's just says _'HELL YEAH!'_ in big, giant letters," described Gaige in a comparatively flat voice.

Poor Mordecai. Did he really sound as stoned and braindead as the anarchist depicted him? As much as she wanted to defend the sniper, she couldn't deny how much her impression resembled him.

It also made perfect sense for Mordecai to include his feathered soulmate, and they all knew there was never any him without his bandana-wearing beefcake.

For a while, transmissions from the others tapered down to nothing. Even with her and Moze's small talk and snarky commentary whenever something killable came their way, their travels just weren't the same.

Try as the gunner did to strike up conversations, their combined efforts barely put a dent in the awkwardness. Neither of them was capable of Zane's zingers or the AI's rigid, looming presence. Even Moze's bubblegum popping seemed unusually loud.

The frigid tundra, without the operative's incessant chatter or FL4K's tromping beasts, seemed significantly more barren. Even the absence of FL4K's reticent, looming presence felt like an aggravating itch. Without their skag, jabber, and rakks roaming nearby, Xylourgos' environment seemed void of life. As someone who appreciated meditative quiet, Amara found the silence unnerving.

It wasn't as though she expected their teammates to maintain frequent contact but still, she appreciated when their voices struck up across ECHO. Exclusively, their more social operative initiated contact and gladly spoke up on his stern companion's behalf.

"So many damn cliffs today! Gonna form an allergy," groused Zane before he muffled a sneeze. After that, he blew into his hands before giving an audible shiver, the sound of arctic winds howling in the background.

"I could have retrieved it," stated FL4K bluntly - and then grumbled darkly as Zane disregarded them.

"Nahhh, 'cause ye like me complainin'!" insisted the Irishman, audibly grinning from ear to ear. He then turned his attention to Gaige, sounding less flirtatious. "How about it, sassy lassy? Got it yet?"

"Yeaaaah," replied the mechromancer, sounding a touch unsure before she brightened and worked up to her best socially-awkward-sirentologist impression. "That's from Tannis. Her letter says, _'Warmest greetings. I believe that is how you are supposed to start a correspondence like this. Plus, you will need warmth due to the frigid climate due to the planet you have chosen. Which is why I will not be attending. I do not want to be cold. Also, I find weddings terribly boring. But, you know, congratulations and all that.'_"

"Wow, that's so Tannis," remarked Moze with a laugh.

Shaking her head, Amara felt the same. As much as she accepted her siren sister, she really was something else. Maybe they could all learn from Tannis about being socially immune, as the pixie-cut woman was unapologetically confident in her own skin...and in her isolating infirmary. If nothing else, her blunt ability to excuse herself from events she didn't wish to attend was an admirable one. Amara could count on many hands the number of receptions she had wasted her own life at.

Even as unexpectedly chaotic and action-packed as the wedding proved to be, it still wouldn't have been Tannis' cup of tea. Then again, she might have gladly occupied herself with studying the vault ruins and the innards of Gythian's body.

Around that time, she and Moze had arrived at the Fermentation Station and were on the cusp of locating another misplaced gift. As far as they could see, the area had been cleared of _most_ bodies, though a few were dusted with fresh snowfall while attracting insects.

Not that either of them would have minded slaughtering the frostbites there again, but it really hadn't been necessary. Instead, they found the package some distance away, poised on a ledge overlooking the dilapidated area they had saved Claptrap in.

"Aww, this one's from Tina!" swooned Gaige, sounding sweetly fond of the blonde. "Her letter says,_ 'Dearest gentlefolks. Monsieur Hammylock and Winny-Win-Winnifred. It is with a heavy heart that I say to you, I will not be able to attend these nuptualities. But,_" continued the redhead, her impression of the polite-bomber-turning-deranged surprisingly spot-on, "_you twos is the cutest. So break a leg! Wait. Is that the right saying? No. Uh. Mistletoe? No. Mozel tov! Hey, that's the one. 'Kay, bye! Love youuu.'_ And yes," clarified the anarchist, "she actually did write ALL that."

Did anyone doubt her? Not in the slightest. Even without the mechromancer's animated reading, the message conveyed Tina's unique speech loud and clear.

Following that, Gaige seemed preoccupied with scanning whatever list she had and gnawing on what might have been a pen. Humming as she went, she commented with _some _certainty, "I'm pretty sure there's only one gift still unaccounted for. So, who's gonna nab it and win this girl/girl versus guy/bot tie-breaker?"

"We are," stated Amara with both conviction and reason. Already, they were close to it. Had they not had that advantage, Zane might have challenged them. Competitive as both she and the operative were, it was rare that they _let _the other win. Generally, Moze could care less...and FL4K never did.

As it turned out, the operative and beastbot already had another mission lined up, initiated by no other than Mancubus himself.

"Sounds like ye got it covered, ladies. FL4K an' I are gonna track down a wanker with a deathwish. There's some feller who stayed at The Lodge an' swindled our creepy friend outta both his tab and some o' his prized stock. Guess this Gideon lad's in fer one hell of a visit!"

Rarely were their house calls without bloodshed, particularly when they were working within enforcer capacity. While the same couldn't be said for FL4K, Zane had been the go-to corporate hitman for decades. Surely, at his level, few debts were handled with mere roughhousing or intimidation. Between his experience and the hunter's thirst for murder, Gideon would regret not dying sooner.

At least their team specialized in overkill. That, however, made their foursome painfully overqualified for most assignments...particularly those lacking violence. As a siren, Amara had far more momentous aspirations than retrieving lost parcels. Still, what _wouldn't _she do for the newlyweds?

Near the founder's office, Amara found herself skirting around the glowing sludge that slithered throughout the rocky land. Illuminated by her own azure and the emerald permeating the gloom, she jumped off a crumbling staircase and caught herself on the ledge nearby. She effortlessly hoisted herself onto the stony shelf while Gaige confirmed what she wanted to hear.

"Yo! One of the wedding presents should be around there. Go find it!"

_Not sure what she thinks I'm doing_, thought Amara dryly. Yeah, because she performed parkour over alien squid seepage _all_ the time.

At least it wasn't for nothing, since the package and its attractively sparkly wrapping paper came into view. She snatched it right off the edge of that steep drop-off and turned it over in her wrapped hands, inspecting it for damage.

Finding none, she proceeded to scan it with her ECHO and upload it to Gaige's database...all while ignoring the huge tentacle concealing her in its shadows.

"Ooh, that one's from Clay!" acknowledged the redhead with poignant excitement and then went on to explain, sounding thoroughly impressed, "Just met that cowboy the other day. _Cool _dude. Great voice. Anyway, his letter says, _'Congratulations. Now, I'm not one for long letters…_'"

There was an awkward pause before the redhead started up again. For being so gifted, she sounded baffled and oblivious to the irony as she verbally fumbled. "And, is there…another page, or…? Nope. Noo...that's...that's it."

Amara could have patted Gauge on her head but was not in a position to do so. She was, however, left wondering how long it took the humor to dawn on her.

…

Without question, Amara decided that she was very, _very _tired of Xylourgos.

It didn't seem to matter that the region had a number of missions to keep her and Moze occupied or that there was a never-ending population of bandits to kill - she was simply _over _the dreary, chilled planet. To her, it was just a frozen version of Pandora.

At least on the sun-baked borderland, she had fond memories of meeting her found family. Now, she found herself missing their other half.

Together, she and Moze left the corpses of obnoxious frostbiters staining the arctic wasteland. Leaving their littered bodies was a bit like trailing breadcrumbs for their other teammates to find.

More than once, it became clear that they had already crossed some of the same territories. Amidst spent shell casings and familiar claw marks, they had every reason to believe Zane had brought out the cryogenic arsenal he kept. Moze had pointed out a number of crystalline forms along the way, sometimes pausing to scrape at the ice to reveal the stricken faces encased within.

Whenever she and Moze fell into thoughtful silence, their frigid surroundings seemed even emptier and less forgiving. In those moments, she felt Zane's absence looming heavily over her. Without his commentary, which was entertaining in ways that caught their team off-guard and had them further questioning his sanity, the creak of the ice beneath their boots seemed deafening.

It just wasn't the same siding with someone nearly as serious with herself. As a soldier, Moze was often blunt and to-the-point. There wasn't really anything superfluous or dramatic about her...which Amara would have ordinarily appreciated had she not been accustomed to someone so different.

As time stretched on, there was a disappointing lack of transmissions sent from their absent teammates. She found herself wondering if she could adjust her ECHO settings to pick them up, though the environmental interference was high. Though she wasn't quite sure how the technology worked, she convinced herself she didn't need the distraction of listening in on whatever chatter Zane pelted FL4K with.

For all she knew, the operative reverted to his assassin roots when in the beastbot's succinct company. They weren't the most intrigued by conversation unless it concerned death or their pets. Odds were that Zane got more interaction from cooing at Mr. Chew and the rest of the pack.

Now that her nerves had settled, she found relief in knowing the Tall Team, as Moze had coined them, would keep each other safe. Already, FL4K acted like Zane's keeper when he was inebriated. More than once, she had encountered the mechanical nomad carrying their plastered teammate from Moxxxi's to his cabin. And there was no forgetting how closely they had hovered over him while he was temporarily incapacitated. Leaving their mustachioed teammate behind had left the beastbot broody up until they had reunited.

For as strangely fond as FL4K was of Zane, it was somewhat surprising they hadn't yet collared him. Then again, it wasn't necessary given how willing the Pandoran-Irishman was to trot after them - much like Mr. Chew and Broodless did.

It wasn't unusual to see FL4K orienting themselves behind their operative like a death-dealing behemoth. Perhaps they felt they could best relate to a human full of his own circuits and wiring. Given Zane's eccentric conduct, the sentient bot likely considered him an interesting specimen to observe. He did, after all, offer an impressive range of behaviors capable of stimulating their sensors. Maybe they felt accepted by his keenness for technology. Whatever it was, they demonstrated no reservation in allowing Zane to lead them with his charisma and aplomb.

In fact, Amara wouldn't have put it past them to have hooked up at some point - as in, literally, with a data jack and port. Overwhelming curiosity seemed to be one of Zane's few weaknesses, and given how eager he was to integrate himself with technology, she doubted he would have turned down an opportunity to interface with the former indexing bot.

In return, Zane was always happy to offer FL4K his expertise and keep them in expert repair. Considering how antisocial and isolated the bot chose to be, the trust established between them was beneficial. From what Amara had personally seen, the AI only begrudgingly allowed Moze to service any damage they sustained. Despite their stoicism, they always managed to seem relieved to have Zane undo the gunner's well-meaning patch jobs and perform more solid fixes.

Thinking as much of their missing half as she was, Amara decided to take her interest one step further. With her mind, she reached out, unable to resist the opportunity to test abilities she hadn't yet demonstrated to her team.

Never before had she used her ability on someone other than a fellow siren, and certainly never across such vast distances. It was Zane's energy she knew best and could detect despite the atmosphere thickened with ice crystals and wind.

_Can you hear me? _she projected, confident in her detection of the operative...and resisting the frisson of excitement that inundated her, invigorating her senses, as her energy felt his. As she _connected _with him...in that intimate, unique way.

In an abstract sense, she felt his concentration fracture. The disturbance lasted only a second before she heard him laugh, shortly and sharply, before he submitted to her unexpected presence.

"Oi! Things suddenly went all_ Amara TV_ in me head," he snorted, sounding impressed. "If I didn't know better, I'd say I was hallucinatin'."

He couldn't have possibly forgotten that she was a siren, but then she couldn't blame him for being caught off-guard. After relying on their ECHOs for two years, she had refrained from telepathy as Lilith and Tannis had so casually used. She couldn't describe _why_, even to herself, but perhaps she more highly valued peace of mind.

_Sorry to surprise you. I've been capable of this for some time...but that's not important. I couldn't resist seeing how far I could reach._

Knowing Zane as well as she did, she didn't doubt he nodded while replying, "I'd say yer the new Lilith...an' a better sight than Tannis. Ye might wanna give her pointers on applyin' her eyeliner."

As flattering as that was, it was unexpected. She wondered if her subdued snort reached across their mental connection or if Zane would have indicated if it did.

With a distinct smile on his voice, he couldn't resist. "I'd say ye have a _hand_le on it."

Just as vividly, he had to hear her protesting moan. He _had _to. There was no way he could possibly miss it, even if his mind had to fill in the blank.

_Okay, be like that, _she sighed with amused exasperation_. We're done here._

She heard his crass laughter a split second before she let go of him. It was perfect timing too, since not only did she want to avoid his puns, but she and Moze neared a destination marked by none other than Mancubus Bloodtooth, who insisted there was a customer nearby.

Amara was less prone to doubting the proprietor when a figure in the distance reacted to their approach. The man, clad in a beige blouse and dark suspenders, practically wailed to seize their attention. The closer they neared him, the better they could make out his obsidian-oozing eyes, stained clothing, and smudged scarf.

"My Queen! She needs my help!" he pleaded, his expression one of torment.

Swallowing her urge to scowl, Amara looked to Moze and saw the same negative association shadowing her expression. They definitely didn't have a positive track record with queens.

This one, however, was not a siren hell-bent on melding with a star-consuming Vault monster and destroying the universe. Instead, according to the panicked man, both he and his queen were…_fish?_

Contrary to how batshit crazy everyone on Xylourgos seemed, Amara probably shouldn't have blinked twice when he lamented, "She's in danger! The Fish Queen! In the lake! My people! I'm a fish! You've got to help me!"

Casting her appraising gaze across the frozen water dominating the region around them, Amanda resisted the urge to turn on her heels and walk away. Meanwhile, Moze used her moment of hesitation to adjust her ECHO so that the others could listen in.

"They're gonna wanna hear this," she snickered under her breath, leaving the Partalian to call the shots.

As much as Amara preferred to be in control, she couldn't refuse someone in need _and_ maintain a clean conscience. That left her only one option...and the gunner knew it. They all did.

"Oh, the Fish Queen! _Right_!" she reluctantly agreed, politely deciding to play along. "What do you need?"

How could she resist asking that when facing such a peculiar situation? There wasn't a detectable doubt in the man's tar-streaked face that his claims were real. Seeing him so distressed, she felt a twinge of sympathy. Just yesterday, stranger things had happened…

Appearing relieved, the man clasped his hands together with renewed hope. "I will need to descend into the underlake. But to do so, we will need to restore my crane to working order! Find me a new power coil! There should be something we can use in the old excavation site. Now, do it for the Queen! She needs me."

_She needs something...as do I - like a reality check, _thought Amara wryly. Actually, that wasn't particularly true since she wasn't buying his story and wouldn't until the man ditched his yellow scarf and sprouted fins. Maybe he had gills under there somewhere, but still, she had agreed to help.

Following Moze to the outrunner they had driven there, she allowed her to climb behind the wheel while slinging herself into the passenger seat. Once settled, she offered the brunette a coy smile. The other woman popped the gum blister she had blown and copied her expression before snickering. Both of them were snickering and shaking their heads as she hit the gas.

The excavation site wasn't new to them, so at least they knew where to go. Moze steered there from memory while addressing their fish friend across ECHO.

"Hey. Probably should've checked earlier. Is this some weird fish cult stuff? "

"What?" gasped the man as though he couldn't believe his ears. He went on to defensively vow, "No! Nonononono. No! No. The Order of the Mesopelagic Euryhaline is not a cult. It's a very healthy constitutional monarchy - we don't worship her. But I'm a Queen's Fish, so I must do my duty as a patriot!"

"Guess that sounds as convincing as everything else he's said," remarked Moze. Another familiar voice cut in across ECHO, armed and dangerous...with smartassedness.

"The feck?" grunted Zane before more of his harsh laughter drowned out the rifle fire sounding in the background. "I'm startin' ta think there's somethin' in the water here. _Ha!_"

Unfortunately, the operative didn't need any encouragement whatsoever to find himself hilarious - a fact they knew far too well. She supposed they had brought everything on themselves by providing him ECHO entertainment.

Sounding very much like he had a hankering for something, Zane pressed on. "I'm trustin' yer opinions here, but would ye lasses say this bloke might look appetizin' beer-battered in a basket with some chips? An' if so, how much tartar sauce do I need to bring?"

Moze revved the engine in reply, their vehicle whipping past the lighthouse's rotating beam at record speed. She didn't let off until they skidded to a stop at their destination, their tires shrieking in protest before they plowed bumper-first into the snow pact.

"Just what I needed: whiplash. Thanks for that," Amara snapped, ignoring the gunner's raspberry as they dismounted their vehicle. Moze didn't hesitate to playfully swat her on her sash before defaulting to her assault rifle, both of them expecting unwelcomed company.

And they found it, but not for long. After slaughtering so many frostbiters on their first trip through the mining site, few others had trickled in. There were roughly two dozen new bastards who tried standing in their way but failed miserably. Whether the aggressive locals were shot to death or punched into fleshy pieces, it didn't matter to the Vault Hunters _how _they died - only that they did.

Amara was still picking dried blood out from around her fingernails when Moze pointed ahead of them, directing her attention to the location she expected a power coil to be.

Trusting the soldier's mechanical knowledge far more than her own, the siren wasted no time at scouring the buildings and locating a ladder. Half expecting a hailstorm of bullets to interrupt her ascent, she found herself disappointed. Evidently, the sprawled bodies still cooling a story below had been the only action they would get.

Tamping down her dissatisfaction, she reminded herself of the shitstorm Xylourgos had already subjected them to. That did the trick as she balanced herself atop a pipeline conveniently constructed toward her goal. Effortlessly hopping across a missing section, she transversed the final length of it until she jumped atop the detached shed at the far end.

There, she considered the conveyor belt that awaited her. Four massive footings slammed down onto the worn rubber, designed to crush rocks that had been mined from the mountainside.

To anyone else, the prospect of dodging the hydraulic hammers might have been daunting. No doubt being caught beneath one would prove gruesomely fatal...for anyone who didn't have tricks up their tattooed sleeves.

"I _really _don't think you should go up there!" fretted Moze, clearly horrified with the thought of her crush being...well, _crushed. _Unwilling to take a risk, she cupped her gloved hands around her mouth to better project her voice and called out, "Just hang tight, Amara! I'll find a way to disengage it!"

_Ha. Really? _Did Moze even _know_ her?

Rolling her eyes at the gunner's lack of foresight, Amara flashed her a stunning grin and, with a flare of her siren markings, summoned a series of cosmic fists to seize the pistons in place.

If she had the clearance, she would have propped a hand on her hip and performed the fiercest strut down the catwalk. Instead, she had to duck beneath the straining machinery and settled for prowling like a curvaceous tiger. After feeling so undesirable, it was invigorating to see Moze's enamored gaze glitter while following her, impressed by her muscular _and _cunning display.

Smoke was rising from the struggling components by the time she reached the end, the metal creaking against the resistance of her magic clutches. The moment her projections dissipated, the powerful footings crashed down in unison and violently wracked the entire structure. Tossing her ponytail dismissively behind her shoulder, she rose to her feet and boasted, "Didn't even break a sweat."

The power cell wasn't far away. All that remained for her to do was punch off the hatch concealing it and snatching it from its port. Looking much like the cat who caught the canary, she jumped down to the ground below and tossed it end-over-end in one hand while sauntering toward her friend.

Her cheeks tinged pink with puppy dog love, Moze only half snapped out of her daze as she turned to follow the passing siren. She couldn't help but wolf whistle as the Partalian tossed the cell into their outrunner and gripped its roll cage before backflipping inside.

She almost snickered at the way Moze bit her lip while avidly watching her acrobatics. She couldn't help but wonder how damp her panties were as they began speeding back to their strange new acquaintance.

"Okay, okay, okay, great!" praised the fish-man over their ECHOs, his excitement more pronounced in his rolling R's. "Now come back and fix my crane! The Fish Queen will be in your debt for your deeds this day!"

_I'm sure she will_, thought Amara. Sharing her sentiments, Moze snickered. Tempted as they were to gossip, they didn't want to offend him. They focused instead on driving toward the landmark of Gythian's beaked underside.

"So, your Fish Queen is in danger," she reiterated without seeming _too _suspicious. "What's up with that?"

Sounding astoundingly flattered, the man responded with even more exaggerated class.

"Oh, you are SO kind to ask!" he expressed without detecting the slightest iota of her doubt. "The ravenous abominations we've been at war with for _eons_, the Cephalopod's Dominion, they're planning to break the Concord of Abyssal Depths!"

"I can't _believe _those guys!" griped Zane with sarcastic injustice, proving without question that he was listening in.

Humoring the fretful man, Amara said sternly, "They wouldn't."

Terribly glad to have someone who could relate to him, the fish-man exclaimed in enhanced excitement, "I know, right?! Now you understand what's at stake! I must warn her - my Queen!"

In support of that strange goal, the Vault Hunters neared the edge of that solidified lake. The crane and the anxiously pacing man came into view. He all but leaped in delight upon hearing the approaching thrum of their decelerating vehicle. He didn't hesitate to greet them with an urgent demand.

"Now please, restore this device!"

Wondering if that was all that was in store for them - and sort of hoping it was - Amara jogged off ahead to insert the power coil where it was needed. She practically jammed it into the massive motor while nearby, the self-proclaimed fish patriot manipulated the crane's controls.

Overhead, the boom began rotating, the sound of it functioning a welcomed one...she supposed. At least one of them was thrilled, the man rushing off to welcome the metal cage as the steel line unwound from the industrial winch.

"Yes! Most excellent," he grinned as he practically hopped from foot to foot. "My triumphant return will soon be at hand! One of my scalebrothers will take me to my Queen. But first, I must acquire a scalebrother out of the lake. This means burning a hole in the ice. To do that, we will need the blood of the mighty Gythian itself. Please take that special container."

With that, he gestured to the lopsided shack erected atop the ice. At the same time, they could hear Zane smack his forehead over the comms.

"Drat! Left all me squid blood in me other pants!"

"You _always _wear the same pair," contested Moze before poking her head into the open doorway. Seeing nothing, she responded to the man's frustrated pointing before roaming _around _the building toward the item they presumably needed.

Meanwhile, Zane retorted as Broodless released a loud series of clicks. It sounded like her mandibles were right there in the speaker.

"Can ye blame me?" he retorted...and Amara swore she could make out the sound of him stroking leather. "Look at these beauts an' how they hug me arse so nicely." Then, sighed in forced dismay: "Ah, if only ye could, but _nooo, _ye two're off fishin'. Sounds like sittin' on the job to me!"

Unappreciative of his teasing, Amara scowled. "Have you been hearing _any _of what this, uh...fish brother has been saying? His mission is verging on holy_._"

Enjoying her rare and mock-convinced banter, the operative broke into a moment of raucous laughter before dramatically exhaling. "_Ahhh, _you'd be right. Forgive me! Ye two _clearly _have the fate of Xylourgos restin' in yer hands. An' his fins, I s'pose!"

"So what in the hell are you and FL4K up to, Paddy?" demanded Moze as she stepped around the hut carrying the heavily reinforced container awaiting them. Identical to the one they had retrieved from the Fermentation Station, Amara assumed it had been _borrowed._

Either way, it was an armful, though the gunner didn't accept her offer to take it off her hands. Instead, she lugged it to their vehicle before offloading into the passenger's seat - and then leaped up through the window before squeezing herself alongside it. She then patted the driver's seat and cocked her head at the siren expectantly.

Zane was chattering away by the time Amara slid behind the wheel and turned the engine over, the outrunner roaring to life all around them.

"Ahh, we're helpin' our caveboyo Eista out! Figured 'Mara was tired o' him droolin' buckets at her, so we gave him _me _to appreciate instead! Guess all this handsomeness got him feelin' his feminine side, which goes jus' _lovely_ with all his flowing hair. Anywho, he went all traditional by havin' us collect a bouquet fer 'im. Turns out, they have some pretty fancy flowers 'round these parts."

"They are native to Negul Neshai. We retrieved five," stated FL4K flatly.

Scoffing, Moze was as displeased as she felt. "You went _there_ again, you damn asthmatic? _And_ FL4K let you?"

Zane's brogue easily overshadowed the bot's deep grumble.

"I prefer _gentleman, _thank ye very much_. _Stopped ye lovely lasses from freezin' off yer bits, didn't it? Come to think o' it, it was extra stormy, but FL4K an' I managed the climb with _style. _Ohhhh, that reminds me - Eista was gettin' all sentimental too, goin' on about power bein' in water, trees, and animal balls. Said those flowers could make 'im stronger or some nonsense. An' _clearly_ he was thinkin' of a certain beefcake siren while waxing poetic."

"I'd say it's obvious," grinned Moze while admiring Amara from head to toe. Fond of her friend's attention, the object of Eista's rumored affections grumbled at Zane's insinuations.

"I'm sure he wasn't, but whatever. I'm not the one he wants flowers from," she backhanded before sternly changing the subject. "Why does he want them again?"

"Why else? He wanted to _slass_!" answered that enthusiastic brogue before sounding very tongue-in-cheek. "'S always the bigguns needin' performance enhancin' drugs."

Ignoring _that _jab, Amara continued steering toward the marker Omen had pinged on their map. She looked to Moze, expecting her to try and deflect the snark back at Zane. Instead, the infantrywoman occupied herself with scratching her hair beneath the brim of her helmet. She shot her a catty smile all the same, emphasizing the attractive slant of her heavily-penciled eyes.

"_Annnnd?_" hummed the gunner expectantly. "Did it help or are you about to find out?"

Zane gave a hearty laugh before giving himself a verbal fist bump. "Bah, do you even hafta ask? We _kicked his arse_! He was only a wee bit feistier. Kept throwin' flamin' balls at us - an' I don't mean kife! After promisin' to train harder, he offered to let us help ourselves to his armory, but we figured he needed the weapons more than we do."

Clearly a man who valued bragging rights above all else, at least Zane was thoughtful. His question affirmed as much by him taking her and Moze into account. "Sounds like he's expectin' us back so he can have a redemption match. Ye lasses wanna get in on the action?"

"I think you're enough of a handful," answered Amara without thinking - and immediately regretted it. Damnit, of all the times she carefully considered her wording, why did she lapse then? For a split second, she hoped he wouldn't think twice about it.

She was wrong.

Zane's raunchy laughter cut off midway, unexpectedly sparing her. She wouldn't have been surprised whatsoever if FL4K had cut his comms. Either way, she appreciated the respite, even if her cheeks and ears continued burning until they reached their destination. She could practically _feel _Moze biting her tongue all the while.

"Gythian's blood," she reminded, avoiding the twinkle in her friend's amber gaze. With more aggression than was necessary, she brought the outrunner to a halt, snatched the container by its handle, and practically threw herself out of the vehicle.

Glaring at _everything_, the Partalian knew she would be unfairly punished for her verbatim. That much was proven when Moze, practically skipping with both hands cutely tucked behind her back, interrupted the whistling winds by singsonging, "So he's hung."

If Amara could have afforded to break the collection vessel, she might have chucked it at that helmeted head. Instead, she swung it at Moze with a snarl, _intending _to miss but the threat hit the bullseye.

"I mean, I _knew_," admitted the shorter woman, causing the siren to abruptly hit her brakes. Suspecting she had tempted fate, Moze hopped back and raised both hands defensively before hastily explaining: "We share a bathroom! That vain bastard spends so much time primping and flirting with his reflection that I've had to barge in to piss while he was showering."

Her tolerance tested, Amara snapped like a viper: "That was _not _what I was referring to - and you know it! And last I checked, those two didn't go hand-in- You know what, no. Don't you dare say a thing!"

Did laughter count? Moze barely collected herself before those purple eyes bore through her. Cracking a gutsy grin, she knew she would be spared the Partalian's eight-armed wrath.

So much for thinking her teammates respected each other's privacy. Amara refused to admit that she would have envied the gunner and been terribly curious had she not seen Zane, in all his naked glory, for herself. Then again, if they hadn't gotten intimate, would she and Moze have ever talked about him _that _way? She wouldn't put it past the gunner to have mentioned it someday.

Entering the narrow and sulfur-stinking cave, she focused on ensuring she didn't veer too close to the jagged ledge they traveled along. Less than she wanted to suffer the stench a second longer than she had to, she didn't want to plunge her boot into the sizzling creek that burbled and bubbled, threatening fumes visibly rising from the hazardous green. She seriously doubted her immunity to her own corrosion would grant her the same to Gythian's.

That said, Amara didn't take any chances throughout the narrowest walkways. She reached back to grasp Moze's nearest hand, allowing them to rely on each other for stability.

Not far along, the cave vastly expanded, the flow of noxious fluid falling further and splashing higher. As grateful as she was that they could distance themselves from it, she made a sound of disgust upon simultaneously hearing Fishman's excited suggestion _and _seeing the vile creatures bustling ahead.

"Ah, what luck! Krich!" he celebrated, feeling the precise opposite of what she did. "My scalebrother will certainly enjoy an offering of krich meat! While you are there, acquire meat from the mightiest among them!"

Only a moment passed before Zane, from afar, feigned disbelief. "He didn't even say please! ...Unless I missed something."

No, indeed he hadn't.

Glowering, Amara clenched her dominant fist and willed her markings to vibrant life. Had she really expected to be rid of those things? They were only everywhere on Xylourgos. As much as she couldn't wait to never deal with them again, there wasn't a chance of that until they finally left the planet.

She had to give it to the creatures - there were some particularly nasty ones who shot their blisters off like cannonballs. Fortunately, there weren't as many as she had expected to fight and none of them could withstand her and Moze's assault.

The hovering krich fell like flies while others popped like brightly colored balloons. If only the party decor at The Lodge was as glowy. Suddenly more eager to return there than ever, she drew her rifle and ruptured another skittering parade of pests like she was playing a carnival game. She couldn't resist grabbing another in a cosmic fist and skewering it on one of the massive ice spikes protruding from the gulley.

Soon, a massive krich came lumbering out as though out of nowhere. Its bloated and bubbled backside swaying behind its frilled head, it gave a warbling roar before rushing them like a bull.

"That one! That's the one! Harvest the meat!" demanded Fishman, his voice shaking in excitement. Amara could only assume he could recognize its cry or determined it was impressive enough by that alone.

If only she could have shared his exhilaration, but the behemoth collapsed too soon. She phasegrasped it, her electricity arcing throughout its body while both she and Moze unleashed their ammo on it. Between the bullets boring holes through it and her constriction, gore spilled from it like fluid from a wrung sponge.

At the end, her amorphic fist dropped it in disgust. She found herself brushing her physical hand off against her torn jeans even before its last breath deflated its sagging carcass.

"A most righteous slaughter!" applauded their strange acquaintance. "Pick up that tasty, tasty meat!"

"The fish people had better like this," she grumbled, grimacing with repulsion.

Moze simply thumbed her nose. Like a good friend, she spared her the task of scooping up a mass of goopy, vile flesh and tossed it into a mess tin she kept. After that, they both stood with their hands on their hips and gazed proudly at the carnage.

"_Not_ cleaning that up," the siren vowed while looking at a particular mess she had left when splattering a half dozen of them along the cave wall.

At least no one expected them to. Instead, a giddy voice instructed them: "The way is now clear and the fount of Gythian's blood awaits! Use that container and acquire the blood!"

As instructed, they trudged to the source of the toxic flow and performed another visual sweep of the area for good measure. Satisfied that nothing could creep up on them, Amara plunked the device down into the bubbling stream and pressed the user-friendly 'fill' button. With a slurp, it began filling from the bottom.

Scrunching her cute nose, Moze watched the device vacuum up the glowing sludge and asked, "Why couldn't we have done this from the start?"

"Maybe he wanted it closer to the source?" guessed Amara, giving their benefactor the benefit of a doubt. Her teammate had a point, though. Had that not been the case, they could have filled up at the mouth of the cave.

_Whatever_, she thought while reaching to retrieve the loaded - and more importantly, automatically latched - container.

Brimming with glee, Omen sounded like he was practically flouncing. "Yes, delightful! Return to me now! It is time to make an offering to the scalebrother!"

Obviously not feeling his same enthusiasm, Moze spit her chewed wad of gum into the caustic creek before sticking a new length into her face.

"Gladly," she uttered while flinging the balled up foil after her first offering. "Can't _wait _to finish this fishy business."

Lifting her bifurcated brow and one corner of her dark lips, Amara asked, "Why would I need Zane if your sense of humor is just as lame?"

_That _brightened the soldier's spirits. "I can think of _many _reasons but sure, let's go with that."

Half-expecting the man in question to chime in, she was disappointed. That could only mean their missing pair was otherwise occupied. She and Moze had set about lugging Gythian's blood back to their outrunner when their teammates reached out to them again. Though it hadn't been long since they had last heard from them, it still felt like forever.

"Sorry to tell ye, Amara, but Eista's got a substance problem," sighed the operative, his sympathy ruined by his audible grin. "He jus' asked us to retrieve some mystical blue mushroom so we could slass again. Not the first time I've fetched drugs fer someone, but he's usin' us like a couple'a dealers!"

"An exaggeration like many before it," sighed FL4K, providing odd reassurance. "As a hunter, he uses medicinal means to his advantage."

"_Ulum-Lai_, he calls 'em. I'm addin' that to me random trivia stockpile! Says they're specific to a place called the Kortari Pits, so I s'pose that's where we're headed! Maybe yer fishlad knows somethin' about 'em, since it sounds like he's used his fair share."

"No one can argue with that," she replied with a shake of her head.

"Sounds like the pits," added Moze, earning the operative's deep chuckle. Something about it suggested he left that window of opportunity wide open for her and was tickled that she acted on it.

Maybe one of the few normal things they had encountered on Xylourgos was the sight of Omen wielding a fishing pole while awaiting their return. If they overlooked the precise reason why they were melting a hole in the ice, he might have seemed like a man eager to catch his supper.

"Now," he encouraged while extending the line toward them, "place the offering of meat upon this mighty hook!"

Reaching to withdraw the bait in question and stab it securely on the barbed metal, Moze gave the chunk one final poke. "Are you sure a worm wouldn't work better?"

Amara didn't want to think what the equivalent on Xylourgos would be. Ignoring the nightmarish possibilities, she awaited Omen's second command.

"Next, place the container of Gythian's blood upon the ice. Just there," he said with an indicating sway of his prepared pole.

She hadn't covered the distance halfway before he blurted, with far less politeness or patience, "_Do it!_"

Had she been in any sourer of a mood, she might have made him regret his lapse in manners...or perhaps blamed a slip of her finger for a bullet whizzing past the tip of his nose. As capable as her aim was, and for as much as she didn't desire anyone doubting her competency, she might have tolerated it that once.

At least he somewhat redeemed himself when warning them to retreat a safe distance away before detonating the vessel with gunfire. A single shot did the trick, hardly requiring her to aim before she successfully hit her mark.

Like a bomb, the vessel exploded, acid gushing and instantly setting the ice ablaze until a broad hole burned through the ice. The edges continued hissing long after, the blood chewing more out of the bite it had already taken.

Self-satisfied, Omen stepped up to the edge. "Exactly as planned. And now, to provide the offering!"

Rearing his pole back, he flicked it forward and cast his line. With a five-pound _plunk, _the krich meat disappeared into the ominously dark depths.

"Come to me, scalebrother!" summoned the man with the oddest identity crisis Amara felt she had ever encountered. Tugging the line to entice whatever lurked beneath the mysterious waters, his cursed gaze was fixed on his anticipated success.

In the mining camp beyond him, there was movement. Amara's head jerked up the instance she registered it, her acute eyes targeting the bandit that swiftly leaped down from a second story with a rifle in hand. Unable to miss the threatening flare of her unusual markings, Omen glanced behind himself, his stance suddenly stricken.

"NO! They're coming!" he cried out in distress. "The Cephalopod's Dominion must have struck a pact with the frostbiters! Repel them! FOR THE QUEEN!"

"We can do better than that," she assured him, the force of her siren arms fanning behind her lifting her off her feet. As soon as her boots touched snow again, she kicked off sprinting, her posture that of a furious spider launching itself at its prey.

Over the pound of renewed adrenaline, she barely registered Iron Bear digistructing behind her. She didn't need visual confirmation to know Moze steered the virtually impenetrable mech between Omen and their attackers, defending him and his sport in its holographic dome.

For Amara, everything was a blur of brawling magic. She knew only fearlessness, the deadly impact of her fists, the outraged cries of her enemies, and the splintering crunch of their bones. Even the brisk gale of wind that shuddered the surrounding buildings couldn't penetrate her hot fury. Instead, it only managed to flutter the tendrils of her whipping hair.

Everything created a symphony of knuckles colliding with flesh and outbursts of agonized cries, peppered with her own arrogant laughs and lofty taunts. How could she _not _love her own voice when she was kicking ass? Her fans agreed - she sounded as amazing as she looked while throwing herself into the center of the action.

Who was she kidding? She _was _the fight. Her distinct cry of "_Tiger pouncer!_" announced what her opponents were in for, and still, they didn't have time to scatter. She came down atop one with united fists, his body crushing into her bony landing pad, before she threw herself at the next gun-wielding frosterbiter whose eyes went white with terror. He didn't shoot at her so much as throw his shotgun at her face, its metal shattering from her retaliating punch.

Despite Moze being a perfectly capable partner, she couldn't deny missing Zane's spirited encouragements. Without him, there was none of his fist-pumping and "Good one, Amara!"s. She felt incomplete without the snark he shot at their enemies - lines like "Ye oughta know better than to let a siren grab ya!" before comparing their phaselocked suspension to a pinata. Those saying were meant for _her_, and she had been deeply fond of his flattery since the beginning_._

Maybe she was being possessive and greedy, but the thought of him cheering FL4K just as avidly filled her with jealousy.

Anyone would have been foolish to miss out on a front-row seat of her performance. She could only think of him making that very mistake. It was his loss, she reminded herself as she struck down another meathead and reduced him only to that. With her shield reliably absorbing gunfire, she didn't even _think_ of slowing down.

It wasn't until the last opponent lay in pieces that she struck a pose, her tattoos aglow and arms akimbo in victory. She reached up to brush a smattering of blood from across the scarred bridge of her nose before backtracking.

Moze was reloading her Atlas rifle while they exchanged a nod. Just beyond, Omen appeared locked in a battle of his own.

"He's taken the lure!" he bellowed, his stance wide and arms shaking as the fishing pole in his grasp contorted sharply toward the ice hole. "Alas, this frail land body of mine can't reel him in! I need help!"

"You're in good hands," Amara promised as she reached for him, unable to resist chuckling at her own pun. Demonstrating her strength, she caught him by his suspenders and set him squarely on his feet.

She would have stolen the fishing pole from him and flung his catch out of the water, ending his struggle once and for all, if he hadn't physically blocked her.

"Very good!" he called over his shoulder, dismissing her and leaving her miffed in the process. "I am back in control of the rod, but hark! More frostbiters approach! Defend me once again!"

Maybe she should have yanked the reel away and beaten their opponents with whatever was fighting his hook. Then again, he would likely give credit to whatever his catch was, especially if it _was_ a fishbrother. She still expected something far more boring, like a seaweed-tangled tire.

Exhaling a growl, Amara clenched her fists while stalking back toward the settlement. With bullets whizzing past her, she allowed her shield to absorb a number of hits before rushing into action. To her right, Moze was gaining speed to try and catch up with her.

The group that greeted them with insults, clubs, and crappy guns amounted to the same old song and dance. She didn't appreciate how that saying would have better applied had she been fighting alongside a man who might have literally performed both.

Propelling her amorphic arms before her, Amara cast an eruption of magma toward a gathering of enemies who scattered a second too late. They burst into hungry flames, shrieking and flailing about before half of them collapsed from their injuries and the other staggered away in shock. Their heads exploded as Moze landed her shots, covering the grounds in grotesque confetti.

Corrugated metal did nothing to protect the bandits cowering behind it. She proved as much as her eight fists united in a furious punch that blew through the metal and sent curls of it impaling the flesh beyond. Screams of suffering disbelief filled the chilled air until she silenced them with another strike.

With an upward curl of her fist, she caught the largest bandit in an electric sphere, its static pulling the remaining four men off their feet and into smaller orbs like a magnet. From behind, she could hear the whirr of Iron Bear's motors as it locked on and then, with a rapid series of _ka-thuds_, sent missiles spiraling at its helpless targets.

Between her siren powers, fiery explosions, and raining splatters of charred remains, she and Moze had made quite the display. At least it was one Omen appreciated, his dramatic voice calling out far and loud across the solid lake.

"You've done it! The Cephalopod's Dominion will not rule over the Silt Court this day!" The pumping of his arms, still devoted to his task, suggested he would have clapped if he could.

Just then, his entire body jolted, his eyes blowing wide with thrill. "Oh, what's this? Yes! I've got a hold of him! _My scalebrother arrives! _Look upon him!"

After all that, why in the hell wouldn't they? Except it all happened too fast. One moment, Omen's leggy form was arching forward, investing all his strength in winding in his catch, and the next, he was bending back, his white sleeves bulging. A massive shape abruptly broke through the water, rocketing out of the briny depths. All she registered was the sharp snapping of the line and the massive silhouette of a fish soaring overhead.

Wincing at the water splashing down in her face, Amara wiped herself off as her jaw fell in shock. While she hadn't expected Omen to hook something the size of a goldfish, she hadn't fathomed seeing something the size of a human take flight.

"What in the fuck?" breathed Moze, her kohl-smudged face appearing just as startled. Together, they turned to look around themselves in a vain attempt to locate his catch.

Rolling his R's with excessive zest, their strange friend yelled far louder than was necessary: "Now _retrieve _him for me!"

From the way he took off toward the hillside, not even pausing to ditch his pole by his shack, Omen appeared to have more direction than they did. She wasn't the best at extrapolating fish trajectories but she didn't have to be when following his valiant strides.

It turned out his catch wasn't where they expected to find it. Instead, Omen thrust his finger at a ledge overhead and, in a panic, seized fistfuls of his dark hair before pulling down on it.

"_No! _The wolven seek to feast upon my scalebrother! _Do not allow this!"_

From her vantage point, Amara could make out tufts of metallic fur and bioluminescent spikes. Had there been any doubt, the pack's identifying howls pierced the sky. Not just that, but she could hear the snorting of their steaming nostrils as they ravenously tracked that mouthwatering scent.

Amara didn't delay - she jumped at the nearest rock wall and began scaling it, confident in both her ability to climb and the time she could save with the shortcut. The rock formation offered abundant fingerholds. When it didn't, she made her own by punching craters in the dark minerals.

Beneath her, Moze cursed and took off at a sprint, forced to travel on foot. That was fine by Amara. Hand over hand, she forced herself higher one boot scuff at a time. Sure, her methods weren't as quick as Zane's, who would have deployed his clone and swapped places with it, but at least she proved how athletic she was _and _how good she looked doing it.

As soon as she was within range of that final ledge, she lunged for it and captured the edge in her iron grip. With a grunt, she curled her muscular body like a spring and, in a burst of pure strength, flipped over that remaining obstacle. She landed with the predatory grace of a tiger, sinew shifting beneath the bronze of her skin as sapphire energy roiled through her tattoos like mercury.

_Something _made her miss the conversations she and Zane had shared in similar situations. Even with four-legged enemies lashing claws and roaring at them with bloodlust, she could hear the entertaining commentary he would have spouted. She missed the sight of him gutting their opponents with his holographic wrist blades while she threw her own catastrophic punches.

Reducing a wolven to a cloud of blood and blasting another onto its back, its spine severed and limbs spasming, did little to distract her from feeling lonely. She discovered herself missing being paired with someone _she _had to keep up with. Between his tech and his knack at spatial manipulation, Zane had more than enough tricks to keep her on her toes.

In contrast, Moze arrived late to the show. Proud as she was of herself, Amara couldn't blame the soldier for missing out. Maybe she should have left her friend a four-legged beast or two, but then what kind of siren would she be?

Moze was huffing as she slowed, her assault rifle heavy in her arms and finger poised on the trigger guard. As soon as she saw the tattered wolven, she gusted out a sigh and tipped her head back in disappointment. At least she laughed by the time she caught her breath, simultaneously dismayed to miss out on the action but equally impressed.

"_Siren_s," she exhaled. Slouching faintly, she puffed out her rosy cheeks while lifting up her helmet and stuffing her shaggy hair back under it.

"You love it," came Amara's saucy retort, all eight of her arms performing a flexing display before the shimmering set dissipated.

As much as Moze wanted to flirt, their mission remained underway. Together, they scanned the area and made snowy tracks toward the far end of the mountain shelf.

There was no mistaking what they found. There, splayed on the snow, was a creature both finned and scaly. While Amara couldn't claim to know if it was impressive for Xylourgos, the specimen _seemed _like a catch worthy of record books.

"Holy fuck," said Moze with awe. "_That _is a fish."

She certainly wasn't wrong. Gazing wearily at its stiffly spiny fins and gelatinous, glazed eye, Amara blew a stray length of hair from her face. "Looks like a keeper to me. Now...what do we do with it?"

Neither of them was interested in lugging the immense and slimy body of a dead fish back to the man eagerly waiting on them. Instead, Moze assigned Iron Bear the task. Capable as the mech was, both Vault Hunters grimaced at its attempts to effectively lift and carry that uniquely unwieldy payload. Three times, the mucous-coated bass slipped and fell to the snow with a moist _thud._

It would have been more amusing if they weren't so worried about damaging it. Fortunately, being so fresh, the scaled invertebrate appeared to endure the drops well enough. Still, that didn't make them any less awkward.

The process of delivering Omen's dead fishbrother was slow going. Amara could only hope he didn't expect it to still be living. As difficult as it was to transport the bass, it would have been more of a challenge had it been gasping and thrashing.

His tone of voice affirmed he would have been delighted either way when he called out to them, "Yes! Bring my scalebrother back to me! Place it within my hut!"

As glad as Amara was to hear from their absent teammates again - at least, from the talkative one - she would have appreciated the peace of mind sooner. Still, the abrupt communication proved they were alive and tuned-in.

"Lordy, me brain must be in the gutter. Took me a minute to realize what he _actually _said," admitted Zane, his relief palpable. Still, he cackled.

"As excited as he is, I wouldn't be surprised," muttered Moze while making a face and glancing back at the fish limply wobbling with each of the mech's footsteps.

It was painfully unfortunate that Omen insisted the fish be placed within his shelter. Short of knocking out a wall, there was no clearance for Iron Bear to navigate past the doorway. Neither she nor Moze was thrilled about grasping the cold, slippery, and scratchy form by both ends. Hauling a gigantic fish carcass had _not_ been in her plans, nor could she have predicted it. And staring down at its gaping, lifeless lips and dead eye was _not _how she preferred to spend her time.

Still, the Vault Hunters managed to toss it onto the table with a dull _slap._ By that time, Omen was grinning ear to ear and fluttering his fingers with unrestrained greed. The fact that his face remained tracked with inky damnation made everything seem obscene.

"Here's your brother," Amara reminded, walking backward to exit the hut as casually as she could manage. "Family reunion!"

To her surprise, Omen sounded mildly offended when he countered, "We're not literally related. Racist much? It's _metaphorical. _We are brothers in arms, in service to our Queen. Now please, give me some privacy as I prepare myself for an audience in the Queen's court."

At that point, she was more than glad to be free of the hut and have Moze finally follow. As the rickety door shut behind them, it did little to muffle the fishman's rambling nonsense.

"Your sacrifice shall not be in vain, scalebrother! For once I have donned the proper garb, I shall return to our beloved Queen and defend her until my final breath!"

Rolling her eyes, Moze sighed. "Thanks, Zane, for the mental images I'm stuck with. Doesn't help that he _wanted_ to be alone with it."

"Does he still have his pole out?" snerked Zane, earning the soldier's amused snort. Meanwhile, Amara shuddered more than snickered.

She asked, still attempting to mentally shake off the disturbing scenarios that might be occurring too close for comfort, "Shouldn't you be too busy for this childish commentary?"

Humming proudly, Zane replied, "Nope! We finished all that some time ago._ Apparently _those shrooms - which're a hell of a lot bigger than expected - can make a feller breathe ice!" Then, with lilting brogue, he pondered, "Seems some gum company could capitalize on that."

"Uhh, haven't you seen all the fungus around here? It's all huge," reminded Moze as she picked her nails clean with a knife.

Feeling simultaneously intrigued and disappointed that she had missed out on _any _battle, Amara asked, "Does that mean you two fought Eista again?"

"O'course! He knows he's no match fer us. Can't blame him for wantin' to see me handsome face again and again, though."

"Preeeetty sure you weren't the one he hoped would show," winked Moze, relentless in her suggestive teasing. As a result, Amara sighed in exasperation. She could only be so patient. Zane, on the other hand, sounded as agreeable as ever.

"That's a given! But _nah_, he's a fine lad. He can sure take a beatin' and still have a good laugh, so he's fine by me! And he gives us weapons, even if they are crappy."

If there was a quick route to their vault hunting hearts, that would be it. The only better gift would be for someone to give them a vault key or lead them to one, if not open a vault just for them. Like hell _that _would ever happen.

As she parted her lips to inquire further, the creaking of that wooden door interrupted her. Out walked Omen clad in the gigantic fish, its carcass slit open at the belly and inserted atop his torso like a sleeve.

Equally agape and staring, Moze tried recovering by noisily clearing her throat. She half turned as though to check her holster and, pitching her voice low, hissed toward her helmet-mounted mic, "_he's wearing the fish!"_

By the way she rotated her hip and thumbed her ECHO, Amara was certain she was taking photo evidence. She recognized the click - and Zane's incredulous "Eh?" before anticipating his rancorous laughter. Familiar with his volume as they both were, they muted him before his reaction caught Omen's attention.

Wait, could he even hear with his head covered in fish? The mere thought of being surrounded by cold, hollowed-out bass caused a shudder to overtake her. Unbidden, she crossed her arms and rubbed briskly at her goosebumped skin.

Poised in his achievement - and as though there was absolutely _nothing _remotely out of the ordinary - that muted accent filtered out from the bass' distended gills.

"Ah, my scalebrother has given himself to the noble cause! I am nearly ready for my Queen! Sadly, this scalebrother lacks bioluminescence, so we'll have to make do. Please acquire the fog lights from my fishing boat!"

Physically limited by his confines, Omen showed no intention of approaching his own snowed-in dingy. Nearby as it was, retrieving the two lamps only took Amara ten seconds. With an electric lantern in each hand, she hesitantly extended the offering toward the fish's glassy, dead stare.

Turning toward her, Omen ordered, "Now, affix them to my glorious form!"

"It's not like he can see himself in a mirror," whispered Moze with a smirk. Taking the initiative, she grabbed one fog light, weighed it in her right palm, and then grasped it by the lens before plunging it into place.

Rupturing on impact, the eye popped like a grape. It oozed a gelatinous fluid - a fact not lost on the scowling siren while her teammate repeated the process. Between Deathtrap and _this, _she was tired of gouging out eyes. Watching it happen was gruesome enough for her, even if one recipient was a robot and the other was dead.

Engaging the power cores, Moze flicked the lights on. Stark beams of blinding light cut through the hazy air. Amara suddenly remembered the bubble-eyed varieties of goldfish she had seen at Partalian markets as a child.

"_Most excellent," _Omen said with soulful fulfillment. "I will now be able to peer through the depths. Please, accompany me to the mighty crane, that I may descend…_to my destiny!"_

With purpose, he covered the distance with dignified strides, his caudal fin dripping until he situated himself on the platform. Exchanging a look, the Vault Hunters followed before reluctantly pressing the button on the lift. Biting her lip, Amara didn't conceal her doubts, but she also knew it was his right to see his ritual to the end - _his _end, exactly.

Descending to cage him inside, the platform door secured the fishman aboard. Both she and Moze wandered to the crane's controls, the gunner's hand quickest to engage the lever and making the machine thrum to life.

Against the backdrop of that slivered eclipse, Omen was lifted into the sky and suspended above the ominous ice hole. There, at the highest elevation, he called down to them with respect and gratefulness.

"As a Field Marshal of the Mesopelagic army, I bestow upon you the highest honor my rank allows: the Silver Scale."

With that, the steel platform descended into the placid lake and submerged Omen with it. The process kicked up small waves, churning the depths until only the steel cable remained visible. A long moment passed, blubs of gas breaking the surface before gradually ceasing. For a long strength of time, their faint burbling was the only interruption to the otherwise overwhelming silence.

Unsure how to proceed, the Vault Hunters waited there as though expecting more. A shiver ran through both of them as a low howl of wind whipped across the winter landscape, kicking up swirls of loose flakes before dissipating.

"...Sooo…" ventured Moze awkwardly, scuffing one of her boots through the snow before clearing her throat. "That was strange."

"Yeah," came her terse agreement. _Yeah._

The abrupt sound of jerking metal spurred them to raise their weapons, their reflexes quick to react. Their fierce gazes fixed on the metal cable as it began retracting, raising the crane platform with it.

As relieved as Amara _might _have been to see their peculiar associate saved from the chilled water, she didn't hold her breath. She didn't really care to see him reduced to a popsicle - and evidently didn't have to. Instead, a massive chest was in his place.

How it got there was baffling, leading her to wonder if maybe there _was_ something to Omen's far-fetched claims. Either way, Moze appeared equally flabbergasted.

Approaching the ice hole, Amara paused to try and peer into the dark depths. Finding nothing, she joined the gunner in opening the skull-laden chest. With a series of bony pops, sharp clicks, and opening jaws, the elaborate mechanism expanded to display an offering of glittering equipment.

As mysterious as everything was, neither Vault Hunter hesitated to investigate the loot and make their choices. Amara pocketed a promising grenade mod while Moze snatched a shield enhancement she had barely caught a glimpse of.

Her focus was on returning to The Lodge.

….

Within the safe haven, Wainwright's gruff voice called out with contempt, his outburst causing Amara's markings to flare with her spiking heart rate.

"Who took my drink?" he barked before threatening boldly, "I'll kill ya!"

Not even a second later, he withdrew his hostility by correcting, "-Wait, it's right here. Nevermind! Apologies, everyone!"

Among any other company, his outcry might have been offensive and caused a scene. Instead, his reaction seemed relatively routine for the personalities mulling about.

Zane, standing with the grooms, had found Wainwright's flare-up outright _hilarious_ and guffawed while slapping him on the back of his ornate topcoat.

Relaxing, Amara absently adjusted her bracelets before taking a sip of her protein shake. She had just begun watching Meat Thief preen at Mr. Chew and pick something off his rocky hide when Wainwright's thick creole caught her attention again. There, alongside the table dressed for a formal occasion, the Jakobs heir saluted his drink toward a gothic candelabra and announced his intentions.

"Well, Alistair and I are good and hitched, and now it's time to revel into the night! I'm talkin' a party!" he declared with a grin and reached for the nearby decanter to top off his rye. "Let's kick things off, shall we?"

Frowning, Hammerlock placed a well-meaning hand on his husband's wrist while cautioning gently, "Winny, really, you've had quite a time lately. Are you sure you're feeling well enough for such things?"

Hiding her smile behind the rim of her glass, Amara knew what to expect. Hell, anyone who had been acquainted with Wainwright for half a day would know how prideful and headstrong he was.

"Don't you go frettin' over me, Alistair," he chided lovingly. "I'm feelin' mighty fine. Like a new man!"

Nothing short of that would have successfully convinced Hammerlock. Taking his word, however reluctantly, he generously gave his blessings. "Well, in that case - let the festivities commence!"

Apparently Gaige didn't need any convincing, as she had gotten a head start some time ago. The mechromancer, for lack of a better word, was drunk. At least, that was what Amara suspected while watching her sway beside the bar with her pigtailed head tilted down and her emerald eyes struggling to focus over non-existent bifocals. She had that same squint Zane got when he was thoroughly intoxicated. Thanks to him, _that _was a tell she could recognize from any distance.

Confirming she had imbibed a bit too much, the redhead's slurring was a dead giveaway. She stumbled as she called out to Mancubus as though projecting her voice threw her balance.

"Hey Man-bun. We need drinks! Keep 'em coming! Ohh and hors d'oeuvres! Cute ones! Oh, uh, please!"

Not yet embarrassed for the wedding coordinator but somehow feeling apologetic on her behalf, Amara sighed. At least their host appeared infinitely patient and all-too-familiar with that side effect of celebration.

"Of course, young lady," Mancubus replied...and then promised, in his suspiciously queer way, "Whatsoever you desire, The Lodge will provide."

Pointing her index fingers at the eerie gentleman, Gaige grinned while jolting with a hiccup.

"_You, _Mannie-Fannie-Bo-Bannie, are a pretty good dude, dude."

Coughing to conceal a laugh, Moze turned from the painful scene while awkwardly rubbing her neck. Nearby, Zane took notice of the situation and sauntered over to park on the far barstool. From his evident amusement, it was clear he couldn't miss out on the fun.

Not seeming perturbed in the slightest, Mancubus lowered his sunken eyelids while staring down the prominent bridge of his nose. As it turned out, he didn't need to say anything for Gaige to change subjects. Buzzed as she was, she did it all on her own, but not until noticing her Vault Hunter audience and gracing them with a teetering twirl.

"_Yo. _Okay, so like - like I _know _it's party time and all. And _yes, _I've had a few margi-margs, _if you must know_," she confessed...before dropping into a conspiratorial whisper, "but I have a _secret. _I brought a boatload of fireworks! But when those, like, freakshow rejects attacked me, I kinda maybe forgot them in my drop pod. Can you do me a solid and pick them up for me?"

_She finally asks _now? Amara thought within the sanctuary of her own mind. Looking between her teammates, she noticed their identically surprised recognition. Given her questionable management skills, Gaige was wise to decide this would be her last wedding project.

"How could we say no to you?" asked the siren, smiling as she admired the adorable mole on the younger woman's cheek.

"Of course! Anything for the grooms!" chimed Zane merrily. He would have literally jumped at the task had she not stopped him.

Reaching out to grab him by one shoulder and drive him back down on his barstool, Amara leveled with him.

"We've got this," she stated, firmly maintaining her hold as she thumbed at the gunner behind her. "You're the professional drunk - keep Gaige in line while we're gone."

For her, it felt strange to discourage her usual partner. She felt that by doing so, she was rejecting a mission for herself. For now, they weren't a two-for-one deal…and she wasn't brave enough to ask how long their new assignments would last.

It wasn't lost on her how brightly Moze beamed when she referred to them as a team. She was already well on board and assured Gaige as much by promising, "You had me at 'boatload of fireworks'."

Feeling Zane shrug, Amara released him and spared her hand that perilous physical contact. Not only was he perfectly aware of his own vices, but he was never ashamed enough to deny them. There _was _no arguing who was the alcoholic among them.

Fingering his temple in a two-finger salute, Zane signaled his consent. "Can do, ladies."

Trusting his accountability, she knew he wouldn't consume excessive booze in their absence. It was one thing for him to keep himself in check and another, entirely, to keep someone else out of trouble. As far gone as Gaige already was, there wasn't room for leeway, otherwise she would faceplant on the floor. Already, Death Trap had adopted the task of steadying her when she wavered. Clearly, she needed help to remain on her feet.

Needless to say, if they returned and discovered Gaige and Zane dirty dancing on the bar, there would be hell to pay. As it was, she _knew _he knew his limits and when not to exceed them. If he _did _have a lapse in judgment, FL4K would be there to smack his drinks out of his hands and sober him up.

Amara tried her best not to second-guess or overthink everything as Moze trailed her toward the door. And she tried not to worry too much about Gaige when her intoxicated whooping followed them out of The Lodge.

…

Somehow, Gaige's drop pod was _still_ burning when she and Moze found it. Returning there, so close to where their own had crashed down and delivered them to more of an adventure than they had bargained for, seemed almost nostalgic.

Much like before, a group of bandits had been drawn to the smoking wreckage. They were milling about and tearing at its components, too distracted by their salvaging attempts to notice the two newcomers glaring in their direction.

Feeling her siren stripes flare, Amara made two fists. At the same time, Moze aggressively bit into her gum bubble and forced it into her cheek before hollering, "Hey! Hands off the goods, you whackos!"

What were the chances that they just so happened to arrive when the frostbiters were actively stealing the fireworks? Slim to none, but still, their asses deserved to be kicked for even _trying _it.

That was exactly what they did. Amara rushed into the thick of them and did what she did best, manifesting orbs and slinging punches and throwing _herself _through everyone who entered her path of destruction. When she wasn't driving her knuckles through their weak bodies, she was uppercutting her open palm and capturing the fleeing cowards in sparking spheres.

Moze wasn't far behind, her assault rifle chewing through the fleshy bodies in her iron sights. At one point, Amara saw her plunge her bowie knife into the side of a bastard's neck and slash through his esophagus. More followed immediately after, sent to their grave by her quick shooting and well-aimed grenades.

Together, they couldn't help if they sorely outmatched _and _outclassed the natives, even if they were outnumbered. Between her siren strength and the soldier turning their adversaries' own weapons against them, it was a battle they easily won.

By the end of it, they were forced to step over a few dozen bodies. Such minor inconvenience didn't stop them from approaching the smoldering wreckage. Between the two of them, Amara's wrapped hands were the first to grasp the open cockpit and support her as she leaned in.

What she had hoped to find was nowhere to be found. Just as she suspected, someone had discovered the explosives much, _much earlier_. Without any sign of waste or debris, she was certain they hadn't detonated from the heat.

"Bad news, Gaige," she was reluctant to report. "The fireworks are gone."

Quick to shove her aside and perform her own double-check, like sure willpower would make a difference, Moze begrudgingly accepted the truth. "Yeah, they're definitely not here."

Amara knuckled the gunner away in a _No-duh-you-dope_ manner as the mechromancer cried in disbelief…and took on the tone of an annoyed teenager.

"_What?! _Oh _come onnnn._ That was gonna be the big surprise for the newlyweds! Freakin' bummer. But, like, someone must have taken them, right?

'Someone' could have been anyone, as far as Amara was convinced, but one thing was certain: whoever had made off with the pyrotechnics had signed their own death wish. Based on the local populace, it was extremely doubtful that whoever ripped off the goods wasn't going to return them to their rightful owner, nevermind happily hand them over to those doing her footwork.

Adding waypoints to their ECHOs from afar, Gaige seemed to know the whereabouts of her valued cargo. According to her, the payload wasn't far from the wreckage site.

In no time at all, the Vault Hunters had digistructed an outrunner and laid on the gas, equally speeding and skidding toward their assigned destination. There, they would have performed a quick sweep of the shack had the sound of hasty movement not lead them to the garage.

With a rusty squeal, the hatch door began to rise and broke down a spill of icicles. From the darkness, a rusty technical emerged, the contents of its boxed cargo loudly labeled 'EXPLOSIVES' and 'FIREWORKS'. There was hardly a surface on the crates not emblazoned with warnings of its contents.

Moze was already confirming their discovery to Gaige as the truck pulled past, her fingers engaging her earpiece while she rushed back to their vehicle.

"Got the thief in our sights."

Intent on beating the life out of the driver in the very seat in which he sat, Amara reacted fast. Adrenaline spurring her, her glowing arms and legs pumped as she ran. At the same time, the bandit gunned the ignition and sent the tires into a squealing kick-off, flinging ice chips into her determined face.

Had the driver not been alerted and quick to fear for his life, she would have succeeded in catching the roll cage, and then _nothing_ could have stopped her. Lucky for him, as she roared and sprang toward her target, her fingers came up a few inches too short.

Landing on her knees and palms, she snarled. She instantly pushed to her feet and made a mad dash toward their outrunner while Moze drove to reunite with her.

"Heh-heh, you two are the best!" Gaige was complimenting over the pulse drumming loudly in her ears. "And currently my heroes, but don't let that go to your heads. Get those fireworks back!"

Not far beyond the mechromancer, Zane was feeling the chase. His enthusiasm came across her ECHO as he hooted, "Kill the tossers who knicked the cracky-bangs!"

He didn't _sound _intoxicated but then did he ever need to with his particular vernacular?

As soon as she slung herself behind the mounted machine gun, the race was on. Moze manned the wheel while she impatiently cracked her knuckles and rolled her wrists. At the time, it hardly mattered that she might not get to use her fists as she loved best, but that didn't stop her from gripping the turret at her disposal.

Meanwhile, Gaige offered her oh-so-helpful and slightly questionable advice about how to take back her cargo. "You gotta pummel that truck with bullets. That should cause the boxes of fireworks to fall off that janky wagon!"

Janky. She had only ever heard Zane use that term. The look she exchanged with Moze asked, identically, _Are we sure they're not related?_

All-too-soon, Amara remembered that Moze drove four-wheeled vehicles much as she manned her lumbering, nuclear-capable destroyer. Needless to say, it was _not _a smooth ride.

Granted, Zane wasn't at all risk-averse behind the wheel, but he exhibited superior handling that fit his experience. Without a doubt, his expert maneuvering would have made their pursuit of the technical smoother and their retrieval of the stolen fireworks quicker. She didn't doubt he would have deployed Zoomer to shoot out their tires and stall the vehicle instead of relying on her to line up her shot - all while they skidded, swerved, and bucked out of alignment.

Amidst the exhilarating chase, Amara cursed the stark differences in their teamwork. She just didn't have the same feel for Moze's maneuvers to accommodate for them and spent more time bracing herself than maintaining her aim. More than once, the gunner's unpredictably sharp turns sent her stumbling behind the weapon mount and stabilizing herself with whatever was in reach.

"This is gonna be sooo sweet thanks to you," credited Gaige, now sounding equally excited as she did tipsy.

As nice as it was to have their efforts acknowledged, their newest task was _nothing _compared to what their team had already accomplished. Still, it was compelling to think of the grooms enjoying something as festive as a personalized fireworks show.

Either way, Amara reminded herself that she shouldn't complain. Reveling in the manmade wind tossing her ponytail and feathering her bangs past her face, she sharpened her focus. Hauling the mounted machine gun, she lined herself up with the fleeing fuckers and let loose a spray of hot lead toward their tires.

Try as they did to swerve, the driver wasn't half as skilled as he needed to be. Even as her rounds pelted the backside of his tailgate and hammered through the bumper, the vehicle jolted. As much as she would have loved to watch everything go up in flames and explode with a shower of brilliant colors, the fireworks show would have to wait.

Their wild ride didn't end when the frostbiters ditched one crate, the sturdy box crashing onto the ice. Yanking the wheel, Moze managed to dodge around it, their outrunner tearing past and continuing their high-speed pursuit.

"We'll spin around to nab it!" she called over the blaring engine as they picked up speed. To Amara, it sounded like a plan until Gaige interrupted.

"Got 'em? Nice! You know, you do good work, Vault Hunters. _Real _good. Did you snag the remote detonator too?"

In hindsight, it made sense that there would be one. To clarify, Amara asked, "You mean it's not all together?"

"Ugh! That dickwad must have it. There should be four boxes, total," explained Gaige before pausing, the sound of her gulping a slushy drink coming across the connection before she sighed in delight. "Be sure you stay on those bastards until they cough them all up!"

Then, still transmitting, the redhead raised her voice as she called out, "Deathtrap! Another marg! Pronto!"

"_Pretty _sure she's had enough, even if she's cute," snorted Moze while throttling up and working the outrunner as hard as she could.

"I agree," gusted the siren before urging their bearded teammate expectantly. "_Zane."_

With a hint of annoyance, the operative assured, "I'm on it, I'm on it…_eesh. _To think I could be playin' with explosives an' endin' bastards but _nooo_, I hafta play chaperone."

A moment later, they heard him urging the drink out of Gaige's hand. "I'll be takin' that and its adorable lil' umbrella! Now, let's try to _remember _the party tonight, shall we?"

Whatever the redhead had to say was drowned out by Moze engaging the boosters and propelling them closer to their target. Without any other choice, they continued their relentless strike on the bandits attempting their escape.

Trying to shake them off, the thieves lead them through narrow settlements, weaving throughout terrain only locals were familiar with. Even with their advantage and armored vehicle, they couldn't compete with the Vault Hunters' vengeance.

Moze, in particular, seemed to enjoy giving chase. Her predatory grin was interrupted only by her adrenaline-fueled laughter. With regret, Amara knew she should have joined her...and that she really needed to stop comparing her teammates.

It definitely wasn't doing her any good to think of Zane whatsoever. For all she knew, the new team division was permanent. As it was, their pairings had never been set in stone so much as they had become habitual, and it wasn't fair to Moze for her to have a preference. Given time, Amara didn't doubt that the two of them could share the same sync that made her and the operative such a deadly force.

Despite the bandits' wild laughter, one box after another was flung at them from the bed of the truck. From her position, Amara could make out a number of cylindrical mortars as they spilled out onto the frozen lake. As glad as she was that the short-minded thieves weren't spiteful enough to sabotage the stolen cargo, she couldn't wait to put them out of their maniacal misery.

Their end came sooner than later. The moment the frostbiters tossed out the last crate in hopes of scuttling off with their wasted lives, she was free to unleash their missiles. As damaged as the technical was, it only took one direct shot to send it spiraling out of control and spewing smoke before erupting into dozens of blazing pieces. They left the wreckage to cook as they backtracked to retrieve the scattered packages.

She and Moze had just finished loading the pilfered supplies securely into their vehicle when Gaige treated them to her sprightly voice.

"Okay, now that you've got everything, I picked out the most perfect spot to launch those suckers. Only problem is...it's a teensy bit occupied. Think you could, y'know, handle that?" she wondered with an audible grin.

Did she even have to ask?

Past a dock, a steep incline, and four stories of rickety stairs, the siren-gunner duo fought their way through Umbergrist Village. Compared to the other frostbiters they had slaughtered in the region, there was nothing memorable about the group defending their base. They died the same, destroyed by the Partalian's ruthless brawling and the astral magic she unleashed on them. Others failed to flee Iron Bear's stomping tyranny, the woman within lobbing rockets and shredding through them with her walking death machine.

By the end of it, the snow of the settlement was stained and slushy with vibrant blood. In her trek to reach the altitude Gaige had assigned to them, Amara was relieved to clean her boots off in unsoiled powder. She was certain that the gore would freeze long before she offloaded the wedding planner's equipment - and she wasn't wrong.

Glad to do the heavy lifting, she hauled three mortar-filled boxes onto the roof overhang while Moze brought the final components. She then kept watch while her demolition-trained partner went about confidently connecting the detonator. From the way Moze brushed off her knee pads and confidently admired her own handiwork, she had all the trust in the assembly.

"Gaige, we are cocked, locked, and ready to rock," reported the brunette before dusting her hands off.

"Awesome! Okay, now being that detonator back to The Lodge," she instructed before sounding very much like she was pumping her fists in anticipation. She then repeated, brimming with glee, "This is gonna be _so _awesome!"

Amara wished she could say the same about returning to The Lodge. As much as she wanted to appreciate the convenience of the Fast Travel system, she couldn't shake her mistrust of it.

…

Even knowing the distant location of the celebratory explosives, alarm bells went off in Amara's head when she and Moze ascended The Lodge's deck and immediately saw the quintessential bomb detonator situated there. Seeing something so destructive reminded her a touch too much of cartoons she had seen as a child.

Preoccupied as she was warily staring at the T-handle, she registered Gaige's bubbly tone more than she did her compliments. A moment later, she noticed the two grooms linking arms and admiring each other more than they were the lookout.

To her surprise, the other Vault Hunters weren't already there. It wasn't until Moze exchanged a few words with Gaige, the likes of which blended into the background, that their teammates wandered out. Zane was in the middle of chuckling and elbowing the beast bot, earning a flat lens as their only response.

"You know...you two really saved the day," commended the redhead. "I mean, like...again. Because this? This is gonna be freakin' magical!"

Despite her respect for the mechromancer, Amara questioned if her firework show would live up to her personal expectations. As passionate as her intentions were, even she agreed that her foray as a wedding planner hadn't been the best use of her _actual_ talents.

Now surrounded by Vault Hunters and more aware that she had their attention than she was anything else, Gaige gave her next order.

"Now that all the hard work's done, it's time to PLAY hard! Go on! Mingle!" And then, following a pronounced sway that made Deathtrap hover closer, she flapped her hands to shoo them away while repeating, "Do it! Mingle!"

Always one to be in good spirits, particularly where entertaining and alcohol was involved, Zane perked up, eager to oblige their wedding authority.

"Sure thing, lass! Don't gotta tell me twice! Even though you already did," he recognized more subtly before recovering with a grin. "Don't gotta tell me thrice, though!"

FL4K had far more misgivings, their resonant voice pitched even lower with reluctance. "Hmm. Mingling is not my jam...but very well."

"All right...if you insist," Moze muttered, not looking particularly convinced. "Also, I hate that word. Mingle. Ugh."

Lifting a brow, Amara was tempted to comment further - and would have had Gaige not caught both her and the gunner around their waists. With a bounce in both her step and fiery ponytails, the redhead didn't hesitate to propel them toward the other guests.

Since she and Moze had embarked on their latest mission, The Lodge had undergone a decorative transformation. Strings of warm bulbs had been hung throughout the commons and a banner painted with 'NEWLYWEDS' was draped above the bar.

Now officially underway, the soiree was a mishmash of familiar faces and locals with whom she may or have may already met. Drinks flowed and people socialized among the balloons adding their floating pops of color about the commons.

All the safely recovered gifts dominated the table they had feasted at that very morning, displaying a job well done both by their team and the generosity of the grooms' friends. Among them, her own offering proudly awaited opening. She wasn't the best gift-giver, particularly to men who had damn near everything and then some, but she knew they would at least appreciate the culture in the hand-scribed guide to Partali.

Celebrations didn't seem to be common for the residents of that cold and ominous planet. Still, a number of them agreed that marriage was well worth celebrating. Decorations, food, and questionable liquor brought them together and provided them a place to enjoy themselves and join the ebbs and flows of merry laughter.

Despite having a non-alcoholic drink in her hand, the occasion had a pleasant warmth buzzing through her belly. She felt content, accomplished, and happy for the newlyweds who look ravishing where they link arms and affectionately touch noses. Her only doubt was of there being a more sophisticated couple in all the six galaxies. The thought made her smile.

The composure many might consider pompous, Amara saw as dignified. So what if they had a taste for tea sandwiches, scones, and pleated trousers? Both Wainwright and Alistair's lovely personalities set them light-years apart from being condescending.

Wainwright fit the part of a man meant for an oversized tufted armchair and an equally antique fireplace. Effortlessly, she envisioned him relaxing alongside a decanter of rye and enjoying sips while his ancient phonograph played quietly in the background. More often than not, the image was only complete when he balanced vintage spectacles atop his hooked nose and read a leatherbound novel propped up between one bent knee and a weathered hand. Gruff as he was, he was a savant at running one of the galaxy's largest weaponry empires.

Meanwhile, his better half was a master of utmost patience and had thoroughly proven it to them. Alistair was very much a man well-versed in feral wildlife, poisonous fauna and challenging terrain, and the art of conducting hunting expeditions for the galaxy's rarest game. No other explorer was as capable of uncovering the faintest tracks of his prey or had the skills capable of extrapolating its behavior based on a thorough fondling of its excrement.

Probably she needed someone with his qualifications to comb through Zane's bullshit and understand it, Amara couldn't help but think.

Surrounded by those mysterious, wooden walls, she soaked in the festivities. For as much as fighting was her passion, she sometimes preferred hearing laughter and high spirited conversation over busting bones and agonized screams.

Enjoying the body heat of her favorite gunner, she relaxed into the pleasant company and welcoming atmosphere while the building creaked from permanent winter. Being there to support the newlyweds was better than slogging through the odiferous swamp muck of Eden-6...or being trampled by fire-spewing dinosaurs.

Those brief moments of rest were appreciated despite Claptrap's grating voice in the background. FL4K spent their time kneeling beside the tame krich that was making the rounds and begging for attention from each visitor. Mancubite was by far the most adorable crab-like pet she had ever encountered despite her distaste for the species. The shelled creature was so small and twitched its glowing antennae adorably as FL4K stroked one metal forefinger under its purring neck. Nearby, Mr. Chew splayed comfortably, one front paw crossed over the other, contented after having subjected their new friend to a thorough and drool-laden sniffing.

The remaining member of their team was at work chatting up the married couple by the fireplace. Zane, like Wainwright, held a snifter of something syrupy, its rich amber accentuated the dancing flames beyond it. Leaning as he was against the mantle, his ankles crossed and his drink-holding hand proudly poised, he exuded the same refinement as the grooms.

Somehow, the survivor of Pandora's most notorious bandit family spoke their language well enough. For as off the wall and spontaneous as Zane could be, he could also adapt to whatever company he kept. Surely that was a necessity for his profession, and honestly, he appeared more comfortable staying low-key than seizing the spotlight with his shameless excess.

Compared to the older gentlemen, Zane resembled a handsome, albeit untamed mutt that only emulated proper behavior and lacked that sophisticated pedigree shared by the other men. He certainly wasn't as discriminate or proper as they were, but he _could_ mind his manners. More importantly, consuming expensive liquor was both his and Wainwright's idea of having a good time.

Better than anyone, Zane provided Wainwright a drinking partner willing to join him in sampling the local whiskey varieties. The handsome brunette seemed at complete ease while exchanging elaborate stories and rotating the flashy rings adorning his scar-thickened digits. So long as the operative didn't start giving the Edenian marriage advice, there was nothing to be concerned about.

As much as she respectfully resisted eavesdropping, she heard mention of oak brandy passed from one nodding man to the other. As pronounced as Wainwright's creole vernacular was, it was as difficult to miss as Zane's unmistakable brogue.

In contrast to the polite conversation Alistair offered, full of class and wisdom that suited a grand adventurer like himself, Wainwright was less refined. His lush accent, which ran as thick as molasses, was a gruff backdrop to the graceful qualities of his fiance's voice. Compared to the Jakobs heir, the Victorian-garbed hunter was waxing poetic as he sipped from a filigree-engraved canteen. She could easily envision him, just having returned from a successful expedition, cleaning a Jakobs rifle with the same properness.

Amara needed no further convincing whatsoever that the two older gents were a beautiful couple. Even among company, they still gave each other adoring glances and spoke of the other as though they had been spouses forever. In conversation, the ease with which Wainwright referred to Alistair as the love of his life made her heart warm with emotion. Gently blushing, Hammerlock responded with an airy sigh of "Oh _Winny._"

Their love seemed like one from a romance novel, as impossible as that seemed in their galaxy. There was something so authentically touching about it, promising the two would passionately love each other until their final days. All the same, they would continue honoring every guest they had with the same immaculate courtesies.

There was no denying how Wainwright's gravelly drawl grazed the skin like a leather riding crop, the intricacies of his colorful speech never failing to paint vivid imagery. His creative vernacular might have been what she enjoyed best about being in his company. Unlike his better half, the weapon manufacturer's heir was brasher in his formalities, but his generosity was endless. Even before their team had agreed in attending their wedding, both men had insisted that the Jakobs Manor was very much their home away from Sanctuary.

Particularly after their hellish yesterday, it was relieving to see everyone having _fun._ She even witnessed FL4K's lense curve upward with positivity, though their dark voice was easily drowned out by the music and chatter.

With relief, Amara noted that there wasn't a karaoke setup around. Maybe Hammerlock had heard stories of Zane and Moze's infamous routines. She had personally survived _more _than enough of their ear bleed performances, though she couldn't fathom how she had managed.

On the balcony, the DJ spun techno tracks that made her question why Gaige had hired her. It threw her head for a bit of a spin considering the genre sounded _nothing_ like the couple they were honoring, but she supposed that made it more entertaining. Either way, the guests appeared to be having fun. The more trips to the bar they made, the more they let loose. When she wasn't preoccupied with conversations, she certainly enjoyed the people watching.

Most of her socializing revolved around representing the Crimson Raiders and introducing the locals to her legacy as the Tiger of Partali. What better way was there for them to marvel at her than in person? She _was _stunning, after all, between her fierce looks, sapphire swirls, and perfect form as she struck the air with a flat palm and clenched it into a crackling fist.

Moze took the opportunity to squeeze the bicep she put on flexing display. She was easily the most impressed by her gun show and didn't hesitate to flaunt her proudly. Could the gunner technically be considered a wingman if they weren't trying to hook her up with anyone _or _since she wanted her for herself? Amara wasn't sure.

Either way, she was happy to soak up the attention. She was a pro at showing off and working an audience as easily as she could pummel a punching bag - or better yet, a badass. Of course, she was most in her element when surrounded by camera flashes and signing autographs. She truly missed posing with fans and showing her trademark grin.

Disregarding her disappointment, she ate up the praise she received for saving the grooms _and _the town from the Olmsteads. She gladly took whatever credit she could get. Even then, as assorted attendees asked for her take on that wild adventure, her gaze drifted to the man who usually basked in attention beside her - the one whose unabashed laugh she could always make out over music or a crowd. Between his height and stylized attire, he certainly stood out.

Since the party had begun, Zane had done little more than veer toward her and clink his drink against hers in a smiling cheer. At the time, she hadn't thought much of it when he had gone off to impress unfamiliar guests with his quick wit and stir up conversations with his extensive experiences_._ While in a celebratory mood, Zane proved himself to be the most willing to saunter up to people oozing black tar out of their eye sockets and have a chat. He acted like their oddities were common everyday occurrences - and now they seemed to be on that permafrost planet.

Curiously, she had watched Zane charm small crowds and weave in and out of conversations like a pro. With a beer in hand, he struck up a number of his own, offered to peddle drinks, and dialed his charisma up to 'maximum'. She couldn't quite determine if he consciously fell into that persona or if it was a permanent habit of his profession. Either way, he proved himself to be a ridiculously capable socialite.

Between busting a few moves with Gaige and a handful of other dancers near the balcony, he didn't do anything as showstopping as she expected. Likely out of politeness, he refrained from stealing the spotlight from the grooms who were thoroughly invested in entertaining their guests with recollections of wild adventures and polite questions that engaged those around them.

Watching Zane and Moze perform a tame bump and grind was definitely the most attention-grabbing display she noticed - one the operative withdrew from when they danced close enough for the gunner to draw her in. He slunk out with a bow, allowing the cattishly smirking soldier her full attention while diverting himself to check on the newlyweds - before a certain redhead not intercepted.

Snatching Zane by his wrist, the buzzed mechromancer swayed while attempting to tug him closer.

"Also, just real quick- uh, if you happen to see that Eista guy again...just, _you know_...put in a good word for your girl Gaige, okay?" Following that, she swayed with a hiccup, causing him to preemptively steady her. "And I am NOT just sayin' that because of the uh...one...two...three...uh, because of the some-amount of margs."

Appearing much as though he empathized with her self-induced plight, Zane clasped her shoulder in one hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Then, sliding one teal-clad arm around her upper back, he showed a boyish hint of teeth, "_Ohhhohohohoho_! Eista? All right, Gaige," he cooed before adding, with winking mischief,"You get _yours_, girl_!_"

Amara couldn't roll her eyes any harder. At the same time, she was grateful not to be raked into that mess. God knew she would support anything capable of getting the tribesman off her tail.

_Heh, of course, Gaige, _she silently promised, glad to have that ammunition on hand if she encountered the brute again. _If that's what floats your boat…_

"Oh good," droned FL4K, their lens critically narrowed. "More human mating rituals."

"That little minx," snickered Moze as she shook her head in astonishment. She then nudged her robotic partner to follow her. Without delay, FL4K responded to the unspoken order.

Distancing herself from the nonsense and surely approaching more, Amara submerged herself into the techno track currently shaking the building. As the floor jumped from the bass and the liquor at the bar thumped from the rapid, electronic beats, she waded through the gathering of dancers rocking the tunes. Among them, Claptrap's unmistakable voice modulator called out to her, "Hey, champ!"

Reluctantly, she encountered the Hyperion construct. He was flailing his arms in the air and unsteadily rocking - or was he dancing? - on his wheel. He interrupted himself by falling flat on his front...and stayed that way for an awkward moment before springing upright again.

How, again, was it that robots could get drunk? Having her doubts, Amara wondered if his behaviors were a learned emulation or if there was something wrong with him _beyond_ the ordinary.

Wandering up to her, Moze had similar questions and thumbed toward the unit's floundering as she approached. "Is he..drunk? Is that even possible?"

FL4K, as they walked up to station themself beside them, factually confirmed her suspicions. "It is impossible that he is intoxicated. He has no organs. Or mouth."

"That's what I thought," remarked Amara as she crossed her radiant arms.

Not long after she left the robot to resume his hobnobbing, she heard him talk at someone else. "Recruit, you're here! Ohhh, hi! _I missed you,_" he vowed with cheesy fondness. "Did I ever tell you...that I like, _love_ you? Not like, in a weird way. Just, you know. Love, man. It's all _love."_

"Ah, sure. Drunk robot. Sure, I'll play along," agreed Zane, good-natured as usual and immune to the bot's strange confession. "How many have ye had there, boyo?"

"Look, the important thing? Is that I'm feeling _goooood. _And lookin' good," hummed the CL4P-TP while circling unsteadily and thrusting the hips he didn't actually have. "Ooh, ooh, ooh! Dancing, dancing! C'mon, dance with me! I won't take no for an answer!"

As much as Amara expected the operative to participate in one of his passions and put on a captivating performance as he had so many times before, he settled for shaking his head. Claptrap, limited by his painfully short attention span, showed his true...nature? Or was he programmed to be so self-oriented?

"_Yeahh_, nice moves! I'm guessin'. I really wasn't watchin' because I was, like, too lost in the groooove. It's like, the whole world disappears when I'm dancing. It's just me, and the rhythm, and me, you know?"

Smirking like he did, and never one to take offense, Zane commented on Claptrap more to himself than anyone. "Heh. Ah, he's havin' fun. Good fer him."

What Zane didn't expect, when signing up to be the target of the bot's rambling, was to be dragged onto a minefield by his listening ear. The construct's next foray into social interaction started out harmless enough...until it wasn't.

"My wedding is going to make this one look like a skag pile! All I need is a bride. Do you...know any brides?" asked the cube hopefully.

"Might have some leads," replied Zane so casually, it made her wonder if he was bullshitting the bot or not. "Whole planets of 'em fer sale - not that I needed any," he clarified offhandedly.

"Yeah," sighed Claptrap, "Veronica and I almost went the marriage route but it just wasn't meant to be. She's great, don't get me wrong...I just can't be tied down right now. Gotta keep my options open, know what I mean?"

_Oh, he most _certainly _does, _criticized Amara, completely powerless to stop her mind from attacking the bait. At least she kept it at that. As for Zane, he cleared his throat before applying a friendly pat atop Claptrap's top surface.

"Off on yer way then!" encouraged the Irish-Pandoran, giving the wheeled minion a push in one direction while walking in the opposite. "Good luck on findin' a wife!"

Flexing tension from her hands, Amara looked around herself. Should she have been doing something more than Zane watching? And when had her other friends wandered off? Unbeknownst to her, they had noticed the particular attention she had been paying their grizzled teammate and had, with Moze's initiation, slowly backed away.

Now her other teammates were busy across the room, standing side by side like the familiar partners they were while watching Meat Thief put on a show. The grinning jabber was quite the entertainer for partygoers as he juggled grenades with his hands, feet, and tail.

Had their affair not changed everything, Amara was confident that she and Zane would have also navigated the celebration elbow to elbow. Perhaps she still hadn't lost that habit of theirs and _that_ was why she found herself so closely observing him.

It was only a matter of time until his genuine predisposition showed through. Situating himself at the bar allowed him to reserve himself for brief exchanges while patrons got their refills. Considering it wasn't far from Claptrap, who continued happily cavorting and toppling over, the temptation of alcohol was too present for him to resist.

"Come for a bit of sage advice from Admiral Claptrap?" the Hyperion bot was saying, triggered by a random lady who wandered into the range of his sensors and felt obligated, by politeness, to amuse him. "Fine. You twisted my arm. Ahem! _Don't reheat french fries in the microwave! _They just get mushy. Now run along."

The woman proved she was glad to do just that, scampering off as soon as she was excused.

Bracing one hip onto a barstool, Zane drummed his digits while admiring the establishment's liquor-laden centerpiece. Then, propping one elbow atop the glossy countertop, he shot finger guns at Mancubus while giving him his best Are-You-Gonna-Give-A-Boyo-A-Drink-Or-Do-I-Hafta-Ask? expression.

Setting the operative within his black olive sights, Mancubus stood like a tall and narrow statue while toweling a glass to a blinding polish.

"Ah, greetings to you again, honored guest. How might I_...sate your desires_?"

"Just one of me usual," ordered Zane while thumbing his beard. "Tempting as it is, I can't get all loosey-goosey. Someone's gotta keep an eye on these hooligans! 'Specially _that _one," he said while gesturing - but not glancing - to her over his shoulder.

Trying to ignore what his actions insinuated - that he had been paying _some _attention to her, if from a distance - Amara tried to ignore him. Even then, as she walked over toward the gift table and admired all the wrapping paper glittering there, she saw him conversationally lean onto one elbow in her periphery.

There was relief in knowing it wasn't Moxxi tending the bar. The last thing she needed to witness was the busty barkeep sinking her sexy claws into him...or wonder if the two of them were using each other to satisfy their sexual needs. With the suggestive way the alcohol-slinging beauty licked her lips at the grizzled Vault Hunter, it went without saying that she knew he wasn't spoken for...and would it have mattered to her if he was? Doubtful.

It wasn't any stretch of the imagination to think they could very well be guilty of that...much like she and Zane had formerly been. In fact, those exact suspicions prevented Amara from sleeping soundly more often than she cared to admit…regardless of how many times she recognized it was none of her business.

Even now, her thinking about Zane jogging Moxxi's memories was particularly irrelevant. Instead of having her breasts flaunted in his face, he was being served by a man he still referred to as creepy despite their team having adapted to his peculiarities.

"Oh creepy man," Zane went on to demonstrate, his smile evident in his voice despite his blunt honesty. "You're by far the creepiest creep that ever creeped, but you certainly know how to own and run a bar. And for that, you will _always _be my friend."

As easily as Zane seemed persuaded by Mancubus' booze peddling, she knew there was more to his acceptance than that. Despite being so outwardly jovial, it took more than that for him to give anyone the time of day. He didn't tolerate just anyone, particularly not at length, but the proprietor's consistent help had won their entire time over regardless of his strange behaviors.

"I am most delighted to hear that you have taken...a shine to me. I wish to only offer comfort and hospitality. Perhaps you would like to stay..._perpetually?_"

For a split second, Zane's expression went comically blank. It quickly turned horrified before he composed himself - at least as much as he cared to.

Bursting out into garish laughter, he slapped the bar as though tickled by a joke. "Oh, no no no! No chance of that, creepy man! _Yeesh!_"

Invulnerable, Mancubus maintained his strict posture while turning to navigate the vast selection of liquor behind him. Then, returning with a bottle grasped in his bony fingers, he finally poured Zane his drink.

With a crick in his brows, Mancubus accepted. "Very well. As is your wont. But do know this: The Lodge will always welcome you, should you ever…_return_."

"Doooon't think that'll be in me cards, boyo," chuckled the operative as he proceeded to drain his drink.

As much as Amara expected him to drown himself in alcohol, he refrained from waving on another refill. While she couldn't bring herself to believe he would remain sober by the end of the night, he seemed to be biding his time.

Intrigued by things _other _than his most common vice, Zane appeared to ponder something before addressing the host now thoroughly polishing the bar.

"So, the big tentacle monster is really dead now. What's gonna happen 'round here?"

Pursing his thin, chapped lips, Mancubus managed a hint of a smile. Immensely curious herself, Amara strained to ensure she heard his mysterious answer.

"Do not let it trouble you. The Lodge will provide. And after all, wheresoever there is death, there is also new life. Now, please, do enjoy the..._festivities_."

Was that, like all of Bloodtooth's mannerisms, meant to be unsettling? And why did she feel like he had something disturbing incubating or on the verge of hatching in his wine cellar?

Shuddering at the all-too-believable possibility, Amara jolted as something touched her. There, tugging on the sash knotted at her hip, Claptrap resembled a very square and confused child.

"Did...did you get a gift for the happy couple? Mind putting my name on the card? It's just that I don't get paid until I...until I get a job, so…"

Even before she could get a word in, Claptrap changed the subject quickly enough to give one whiplash. Well, at least she hadn't committed to anything.

"Is it hot to anybody else? Just me? Cool._ Cool,_" he rambled, still waving his arms and bobbing to the beat. Cautiously, Amara tried to draw herself away and leave the bot to continue his own party - and was promptly tugged back.

"I always cry at weddings!" he confessed while giving a dramatic sniffle - and then backtracking, reverting to his norm. "Well it's _like _crying. Cake makes my moisture sink overflow and my ocular panel lee-ee-eeaks!"

Alright, it was definitely time to leave Claptrap to his own devices. Her standing there without food or desired company was just setting her up for trouble. Unfortunately for her, both Moze and FL4K were nowhere to be seen.

Against her better judgment, Amara abandoned her harasser and approached the familiar figure still situated on a stool. Reminding herself that there should have been nothing awkward about her sharing the company of a teammate, she approached the bar.

At some point, Zane and Mancubus had begun discussing the deserved demise of _someone _\- who, she didn't recognize. In fact, the details she overheard of their mutual victim didn't ring a bell.

Whether he had been deeply invested in conversation or hadn't expected to see her, Zane didn't immediately detect her arrival. Questioning his sobriety as a result, Amara leaned onto the bar not even four feet away and waited there until he finally noticed her.

Distinct surprise etched across his features as soon as her presence dawned on him. Following that, he immediately sat back from being hunched over a half-empty drink and tipped two fingers at her in acknowledgment.

"Who did you kill this time and why haven't I heard about it?" she asked, not hesitating for a second to insert herself into their conversation. After all, she had never been one to appreciate being out of the loop, particularly with her own partner - former or not.

His expression brightening, Zane had no qualms about drumming his palms atop the bar and casually filling her in on his former mission.

"So I guess the jackarse used some sorta magic in these bottles to cast a spell on his flat-"

"A banishing ward," specified the proprietor, gazing at the operative over the brim of his tiny spectacles. "They are useful in protecting one's..._stolen property._ Among other treasures."

"Aye, that," confirmed Zane before breaking into a wider grin. "Anyway, he's clearly trippin' balls and starts wailin' 'bout how some sorta shapes are invadin' his place. Hoooo boy, it was a hoot! He was all, '_Nooo, the shapes! I can see them again! Too many corners, not enough sides! Cut off the corners! CUT OFF THE CORNERS!'_

With that, Zane slapped the counter before barking out a spell of crass laughter. He would have recovered sooner had his lungs not retaliated, his amusement caving into a series of hacking coughs before he stifled them and wiped his damp eye with a _"Shite!_"

Settling himself and his hankering for alcohol, he tossed back a few shots of smooth liquor before continuing. The teal sensors of his glove reflected off the glass and stood out against the amber liquid during its brief stay.

"Anyway," he resumed while hooking his boots under the rungs of his barstool and letting his legs fall open, inadvertently putting on display the very area she often admired and didn't _dare _look at so detectably, "we had to play some target practice with the bottles 'til he came bargin' outta his shack. Creepy Man here says he was all screwy 'cause he was cursed but bah, he jus' seemed like an ugly tink to me. FL4K could'a stomped 'im flat, he was such a pipsqueak. Ornery, though, but not enough to save his arse!"

"He had lost whatever vestige of humanity he once had. Still, The Lodge's tab must be repaid," corrected Mancubus as he thoroughly toweled a glass. With that, his anemic lips curled upward as he glanced among the Vault Hunters and promised, "For that, The Lodge owes you a thousand gratitudes. You are ever our valued guests. The Lodge...will..._remember_."

As dark and drawn out as the proprietor's final message had been, it felt threateningly ominous. Preferring to be polite _and _suppress the shiver that ran through her, Amara managed a smile.

From where she seated herself and sipped whatever non-alcoholic concoction the barkeep insisted she try, she resisted scrutinizing her bearded companion too closely. How many drinks had he finished already, and how intoxicated would he be by the end of the night? While he didn't seem very far into his usual venture, he had proven time and time again that he _liked _imbibing himself cross-eyed.

Tossing up a shot glass with expert speed, Mancubus poured another whisky with a high hand before passing it to him. Only then did Zane stroke his mustache before asking, "How's that _spooky_ wine been treatin' ye, boyo?"

Well, it wasn't like she was trying to conceal her eavesdropping. In response to her raised brow, Mancubus offered a basic explanation.

"There is a finder of _rare things_ whose services I occasionally employ. He had uncovered a cask of..._wine,_" he said with a dark twinkle in his eyes. "Yes, a very rare vintage. I requested your friends here...ensure its safe delivery...to _The Lodge._"

Leave it for him to trust Zane with the task. Then again, Mancubus had witnessed first-hand how he favored whisky and ale over everything else. While she didn't doubt there was an alcohol he hadn't tried, he wouldn't think twice about giving suspicious wine a pass.

Relaxed on his barstool, her teammate went on to describe how he and FL4K ended up back in Cursehaven and "fought a bunch'a baddies by a strange lookin' house"

"All things told, it was cut an' dry. We flooded his hidey-hole with flammable gas an' lit the place up. Then the mulligan came zoomin' down a zipline, weapon's blazin' 'til we killed him and took the wine back. Strange barrel, that," commented Zane while studying Mancubus skeptically. "Never heard liquid knockin' and rustling 'round like a livin' _thing _before - not even after drinkin' more than me fair share! Whatever's in there, here's hopin' it's enjoyin' its new home in yer cellar."

With that, the operative knocked back another generous shot provided to him by the very man whose beady eyes squinted. Following that, Mancubus poured his handsome customer the beer he requested.

"Indeed, it is," he crooned before chuckling wickedly. Amara didn't miss the way his skeletal fingertips fluttered together in a diabolical manner.

_Note to self: don't go down there,_ dictated the siren in her head. And to think her instincts had known something was hiding there. Needless to say, she wasn't relieved to have her suspicions confirmed.

Having little hope that Zane wouldn't exaggerate her clearly-no-as-interested-in-him-as-you-pervs-want-me-to-be demeanor, she asked, "How was your latest slass with Eista?

Perking up further now that she actually participated in making conversation, a genuine smile lifted his mustache...however short-lived it was.

"Had to see 'im eat eggs," he gagged, suddenly appearing green in the face. "That was by _far _the worst o' it - second to collectin' the nasty things. We ended up hop-scotchin' damn near everywhere to find 'em."

Pausing, Zane knocked back the remainder of his ale in a single swallow. After brushing a hint of moisture off onto the back of his hand, he cleared his throat and continued.

"We ended up in Gythian's stinkin' arse to gather a dozen. 'Course I had FL4K do that while I killed everything tryin' to attack us fer pokin' 'round in their nest. I trusted the bot not to sit on 'em and hatch 'em. They aren't exactly _maternal..._even if they'd probably like some new pets."

"_Anywho,_" he went on to say, using his bare index finger and thumb to spin his empty glass. The second she noticed it, she didn't like the glint of mischief in his eye. "S'pose ye wanna know 'bout Eista's performance!"

She did _not _\- at least not in the way he and Moze suggestively insinuated. Confident that her expression proved as much, she watched the older man crack a lopsided grin while stroking his beard.

"Can't say it helped 'im much! Tough as he tries to be, I've seen brawnier lads on paper towel packaging! S'all in good fun, though, 'cause he knows that we're - and I quote - 'superior warriors'. Says he learns somethin' new every time we slass. S'pose we can consider that charity!"

With that, Zane tapped one knuckle on the bar and invited Mancubus to pour him a refill. The lanky man did it promptly while casting his eerie gaze upon the partygoers still drinking and dancing in marital celebration.

Despite being surrounded by festivities, it dawned on Amara that she wasn't feeling the spirit. As merrily as Zane continued telling his enthusiastic stories, not even that could improve her mood. Instead, she found herself tuning him out, drowning out his chipper tone with her own disappointment...because he shouldn't _have _to tell her anything. She should have experienced the action for herself...and been listening in on him bringing someone else up to speed while pitching in her own additions.

Between them, she wasn't the talker. She didn't run her mouth as easily as he did, and she didn't have any desire to return the favor of sharing what she had been doing in his absence. The fact that he hadn't asked had her silently bristling and second-guessing if they should bother being partners again.

Clearly, she was unaccustomed to her ego being so abraded. It truly was a first for her. That, coupled with her unfavorable emotions, was a dangerous combination. Regardless of whether it was right or not, she was still feeling their separation like a wound...and only had so much tolerance for him being so self-centered...or outright oblivious.

Somehow, Amara didn't realize she was outwardly frowning until the tension made her face ache. By then, Zane had taken notice and faltered in his eager storytelling. Avoiding his analysis, she bought herself time by finishing her drink. She didn't stop sipping until only ice remained, the cubes spinning at the bottom of the glass when she set it down.

Those brief moments weren't enough to ground herself. When they ran out, she still didn't know what to say or how to explain herself. She simply opted not to, choosing instead to grant Mancubus a smiling "Thank you" before silently excusing herself.

She had to wonder, as she pushed away from the bar, if hormones were to blame. She silently cursed herself and headed toward some much needed fresh air, hoping the shocking cold would clear her muddled mind.

Along the way, she hadn't anticipated a roadblock - certainly not one standing all of five-foot-four. Always aware of her, Moze galloped up and held out a slender arm to intercept her.

Moze, despite her caring worry, feigned a smirk. Knowing the Partalian as she did, she played off her concern as nothing more than a tease. Even if it didn't help, Amara appreciated her trying to break the tension.

"Oh no, _you too?_" she gasped while wrinkling her nose. "Don't tell me you need a smoke break!"

Expelling a snort, Amara gently pushed her aside by her armored shoulder before patting her shaggy hair. Honestly, she would rather subject herself to Gythian again or jump the cliff without a bungee rather than subject herself to carcinogens and Moze knew it...the adorable smartass.

From then on, nothing else delayed her. Heading toward the doors leading to the darkly shaded deck, Amara tried rolling the tension from her shoulders. The chilled wind was a welcome distraction as she stepped through, pausing only to shut the door and lean back against it for a meditative moment before reopening her eyes.

Venturing further, she submitted herself entirely to the unforgiving outdoors by walking to the edge of the balcony and gripping the banister before leaning over. Head hanging forward, she fully planned on lingering there until the merciless frost numbed her inside-out.

She doubted two minutes had passed until the doors creaked behind her, the onset causing her to mouth a silent prayer. They went unanswered, as _his _damn steps approached, her mind nowhere near mollified enough to accept it.

As wrong as she wanted to be, there was no mistaking Zane for anyone else. She could recognize his footfalls anywhere. Determined to stand her ground and maintain her composure, she continued staring into the murky distance with forced indifference.

"Think Gythian's body's gonna collapse now, or d'you suppose it's gonna stay preserved, seein' as it's still cold as a witch's teat?" asked that irritatingly blithe brogue.

Closing her eyes in another silent plea for patience, she opened them in time to see Zane step up to copy her posture three feet to her right, the cyan sensors on his gloves distinct in the gloom.

"I don't know," she sighed, disgruntled by how effortlessly he struck up strange conversation. In contrast, she had no interest in having one and proved it by gazing silently out into the smothering mountain mist.

For a while, neither of them said anything. She half expected him to crack under the pressure and bring up some completely random subject designed to stun a reaction out of her - the weirder, the better. She didn't dare put it past him to resort to more desperate measures when that failed to get whatever response he wanted from her. Maybe, in a last-ditch effort, he would withdraw a cigarette to best test her resolve.

They hadn't yet reached that point and honestly, Amara had no intention of tolerating so much. She just wasn't in the mood. The sense of betrayal she felt from being traded as a partner still gnawed at her. She swore she carried it to her chest like a solid weight.

"Got somethin' on yer mind?" he asked - again, so _nonchalantly_ that she didn't read into it. And she didn't pay much mind to the way he leaned back against the vertical porch pillar to face her.

Was there any doubt when something troubled her? No, because it was extremely unnecessary for him to ask given how well they each other. Still, she didn't know what she found more aggravating: the fact that he bothered asking or him assuming that something was wrong. It made her wonder if their entire team whispered about her behind her back - something that might have been flattering in the past but now felt like an invasion of privacy.

At a minimum, she wanted to smack his mustache off and leave him nursing a throbbing handprint. At most, she wanted to knock his perfect teeth out. Neither option was remotely appropriate, so she did neither. Reckless bastard he was, she didn't doubt he checked on her from morbid curiosity and had calculated the risk of being maimed. If 'Deathwish' wasn't his actual middle name, it should have been.

As calmly as she responded, praising herself for having restraint, she didn't feel nearly as patient.

"No," she answered. She could have left it at that but knew it would be more convincing when she added: "I mean, nothing out of the ordinary. I'm wondering what's next. I need to resume Ava's training as soon as we return to Sanctuary."

Well, there was some truth to that, which made it believable. Between them, she wasn't the professional liar.

Making a noncommittal sound, Zane brushed the back of his nails against his chest before blowing on them quietly.

_I wish I could hate you, _she thought with regretful honesty_. More than that, I wish I could hate myself for being so sensitive about this. Instead, I can't do either. Why can't you make it easier on me and be the asshole I need you to be? But no, you have to be so damn _nice.

If only he hadn't been so friendly in the first place, they wouldn't have ever made that entire mess. Now, here they were - or there _she _was, alone in paying for it.

For a moment, Zane appeared to be chewing on a thought - or was he wrestling it and losing? It was impossible to say, but eventually, his forehead smoothed with resolve, his mind seemingly made.

Propping one hip against the banister, he tilted his head like an attentive listener, the span between his white brows crinkling in concern.

"Yer not mad about earlier, are ye?" he asked, an overtone of dubiety making her stiffen. "I jus' figured-"

Before he could go further, she interrupted. She simply didn't want to go there - because if they did, right then and there, she would lash out and inflict her hurt on _them. _Precarious as their friendship was, they couldn't afford it.

"_No_. Moze and I make a great team," she said with sharpened edges. Then, intent on removing herself, she stepped backed and pushed past when he moved to intercept, effectively knocking his hand away.

Should she have played it off as not having noticed his attempt? All she knew was that she wasn't a coward. Still, she didn't want to look their conflict in the eye and risk disrupting everyone within earshot. Fearless as she prided herself at being, she didn't want to deal with the aftermath and blemish the wedding party.

"Sorry, I'm cold," was her terse explanation, followed by an equally rigid, "Now excuse me." And with that, she committed herself to retreating back indoors, effectively removing herself from the mess her emotions had left them with.

Turning her back to him, she made short work of crossing the deck and reaching for the door handle. She didn't hesitate to haul the heavy entrance open and, without looking back, leaving Zane alone in the cold.

Hearing lumber creak under compression, she wrote it off as the weathered structure reacting to its deep freeze. She had no reason to suspect that the noise originated from the force of Zane's fists clenching the railing, nor did she linger long enough to hear his utterance of frustrated expletives.

…

Upon her return, Moze was quick to lock arms with her and whisk her toward distractions. With FL4K following a short distance behind them, they blended back into the party. It was there she only distantly overheard the gunner making conversation and only begrudgingly reacted when elbowed into participating.

It wasn't until Gaige swayed toward them with spread arms that they were forced into the plans she had for them. With Deathtrap perpetually hovering behind her, the crystal protruding from his head making him resemble a robotic toucan, she managed to force them out to the front porch.

In finding herself there again, far too soon for comfort, Amara pointedly avoided looking at Zane…or the way he, in her peripheral vision, ground out a cigarette on the metal back of his wrist gauntlet before flicking it out into the surrounding abyss.

At some point, Wainwright and Alistair had ventured outside to have a quiet moment by themselves...or had they been there all along? From the way they stared into each other's eyes as though they were the center of each other's universe, it wasn't a stretch to suspect they might have been there all along.

Regardless, Amara was glad they hadn't said anything about the personal moment she and Zane had shared - both when it had occurred and now. Instead, they didn't break into welcoming smiles until the Irishman felt inclined to announce their arrival with a boisterous, "'Eyy! _There's _the happy couple!"

"Hey there, lovebirds," grinned Moze as she braced both hands atop her hips and nodded toward them.

Smiling over his shoulder, Alistair acknowledged them before inhaling in deep pride. Together, he and his tall-haired spouse had been sharing a bottle of champagne and some much-deserved privacy together.

"Ah, yes, the festivities are quite well in full swing. My husband and I- ohh, I do like the sound of that, 'my husband!' - we couldn't be happier!"

A soft "aww" left three of their four visitors while FL4K, being their severe self, remained silent.

"My dear Alistair is right on that count," agreed Wainwright while affectionately squeezing his hand. "Now, granted, the whole 'cursed ring' business threw us for a bit of a loop. But what's a weddin' without a little excitement, don't you think?"

_Far too much excitement_, Amara thought to herself but smiled politely nevertheless. As much as she thrived on adrenaline and battle, she resolutely believed that weddings and baby showers weren't suitable for dangerous drama.

"Ah...that's my Winny," admired Hammerlock before leaning to press a kiss upon his cheek. Then, cherishingly clasping his metal hand to his chest, he addressed them with genuine appreciation. "Vault Hunters - we couldn't have done any of this without you."

"Thanks, Vault Hunters, for everything," added Wainwright, insisting on voicing his own gratitude.

"Ach, nothin' to it!" assured Zane while cocking a hip and crossing his arms. "It was good fun! Hell of a wedding weekend. And hey - congratulations, you two!"

"We're very glad we could help," she affirmed. With everything that had happened, she wouldn't have had it any other way.

FL4K inserted their agreement. "Indeed, I am pleased I was able to assist. And may I say, congratulations to you both."

"Aw, shucks. Just happy to help - like she said," supplied Moze while smirking at the siren.

Not knowing - and not sober enough to care - if she was interrupting a moment between them, Gaige stepped in. Pitching her voice low, she bumped her elbow against Moze's and nodded at the firework setup. "Hey, it's time. Go set up the detonator and I'll get the grooms ready."

"Copy that," agreed the gunner before withdrawing a remote transmitter. She tossed it up and down in her hand while making her way toward the pyrotechnics setup and knelt to install it as instructed.

Meanwhile, the mechromancer tried to skip toward the newlyweds and, after nearly tripping over herself, decided against it. Deathtrap hovered nearer as a result, one alloy hand held at the ready, as she sashayed over to the couple with fake innocence**.**

"Come on, you two!" sang Gaige while hugging an arm around both of them and ushering them, with a slight stumble, toward what she felt was the prime position for the show. "We've got a surprise for youuu!"

Gazing at each other in mutual surprise, both Wainwright and Alistair allowed themselves to be shuffled to the midpoint of the deck. Especially after everything, their wedding planner wanted the evening to be as perfect as could be.

Once satisfied that her clients were situated front and center, Gaige cupped both hands around her mouth and called out, "Hit it, Moze!"

Glad to fulfill her request, the gunner grasped the detonator bar between both hands and depressed it with a grunt. Overhead of the distant Umbriest Village, the crates they had set discharged their payloads and sent them streaking up through the hazy sky.

Rocketing upwards, blazing flares erupted into a brilliant assortment of shimmering vault symbols and sparkling hearts. By the dozens, more decorations spiraled into the air and blew into showers of blazing greens and pinks that captivated eyes for miles. The deep_ booms _and stark _pops_ of the erupting mortars reverberated off the jagged mountain range and tentacles in the distance.

With awe, Alistair clasped his hands together as though in prayer. "My word. How spectacular!"

"Hoo, doggy!" exclaimed Wainwright agreeably, "that's quite a show!"

And it was, the neon showers continuous and evoking. Brushing her thumbs absently along her biceps, Amara appreciated the grand pyrotechnics. She was particular to the shockwaves she felt in her bones. For once, the explosions were innocent and not a result of lobbed grenades or warring rocket launchers.

The display reminded her so much of the festivals she had seen on Partali. As a child, she and her friends had climbed chain link fences to better see the celebrations thrown beyond the squalor of her hometown.

Standing there alongside her teammates, it finally felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. To her, the fireworks show symbolized both their victory and their time on Xylourgos coming to an end. It wasn't often they were free to breathe comfortably and enjoy the rewards to their frequent running and gunning.

By the way Moze sidled up to lean against her, Amara could sense her experiencing the same relief. With a gentle hum, she felt the gunner prop her head against her shoulder and returned the gesture, her cheek resting atop her layered hair.

She couldn't say if their older teammates could relate or if FL4K was capable of being entertained. From what she could make out of Zane past the beastmaster's immense form, she couldn't determine if he was as pensive as he appeared or if his pronounced features were exaggerated by the hues playing across them. His glowing eye patch only made him harder to read.

Either way, she would have preferred to be comfortably huddled between her human teammates...as she would have been so long ago. Now, despite everyone coming together and commemorating a beautiful union, there was still that niggling sense of divide among half of them.

After all they had been through together, Amara couldn't help but remember standing atop the plateau overlooking the Pandoran saloon. In an identical order, they had embarked on an adventure that had bonded them so strongly.

Now, she couldn't say for certain how much longer they could stand together.


End file.
